Mafia Stepbrothers

01| unexpected changes

Christina stood at the kitchen sink; her hands submerged in soapy water as she scrubbed the dinner dishes. Though just 9 years old, she loved doing her dishes when everyone was asleep. The moon outside the window cast a silver glow over the kitchen tiles, and the quiet of the night was only occasionally interrupted by the distant hoot of an owl. Her mind was a million miles away, lost in the rhythm of her task and the comfort of solitude. She was a creature of routine, finding peace in the predictable patterns of her life. The house was still, and she liked it that way.

But then, the silence was pierced by a sound that didn't quite fit. A faint, almost inaudible, whispering grew louder. She paused, a plate halfway to the drying rack, and listened. The words grew clearer, more urgent: 

"Christina, run." She spun around, heart racing, but the room remained empty. She glanced at the clock. It was past midnight, and the rest of the house was asleep. The voice had to be in her head.

Christina took a deep, calming breath and told herself she was just overtired. She had read too many thrillers before bed, her imagination playing tricks on her. But the whisper grew more insistent, "Run, Christina, run!"

 It seemed to come from the very walls themselves, echoing through the kitchen. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew she wasn't alone anymore. The feeling of being watched grew so intense that she could almost feel the breath on her neck.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the voice, her heart hammering in her chest. The shadows grew darker, the kitchen no longer a familiar place of comfort but a labyrinth of fear. The whispers grew louder, and she could make out the desperation in the tone, "They're coming for you!" Her thoughts raced, trying to piece together a puzzle that made no sense. Who was coming? Why?

With trembling hands, she turned off the faucet and reached for the nearest knife with her tiny hands. The cold steel offered a semblance of protection, but the voice grew so loud, it was as if it was right beside her. "You don't have much time," it urged. Christina's eyes fell upon the open window, the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. The voice was definitely coming from outside.

Her mom, Daisy, suddenly burst into the room, her face a mask of concern. "Christina, wake up!" she shouted, shaking her daughter by the shoulders. The grip of the knife loosened as Christina's eyes snapped open, and she realized she had been dreaming. there was  sound the steady tick of the clock on the wall. However, she was not 9 but a 16 year High school student. How did she end up waking up in kitchen? Wasn't she supposed to be in her room sleeping?

Christina took a moment to gather her bearings, the lingering fear from her nightmare clinging to her like a second skin. "Mom," she croaked, her voice hoarse from the silent scream she had held in her throat. "It's okay, it was just a bad dream."

Daisy's eyes searched her daughter's face, the concern etched lines deepening. "Christina, it's almost time for school. You need to get ready," she said gently, her voice a stark contrast to the urgent whispers that still echoed in Christina's mind. The mention of school brought her back to reality with a jolt. The normalcy of the situation washed over her, but the fear remained, a shadowy residue of the dream.

Christina nodded, swiping a hand over her damp forehead, and managed a weak smile. "Yeah, I know." She slipped out of the chair and made her way to her room, the dream's intensity leaving a cold sweat on her skin. The whispers had felt so real, so immediate. In the safety of her room, she threw on her school clothes, the fabric sticking to her as she moved. The sun had barely started to rise, casting the room in a soft, early-morning glow that did little to dispel the darkness of the night's events.