Inner Demons

Chapter 1: The Cursed Lineage. Part 1

"An evil disease," they say, "clings to him.

And now that he lies down, he will rise up no more."

Psalms 41:8

I jerked to the side, hit the window, and opened my eyes. Another nightmare. Every time I doze off for a few minutes, this inexplicable dream returns. No monsters, just darkness and a feeling of emptiness and dread. Then something grabs my wrist. I can't feel it like a person or a dead thing touching me - it's something else entirely, inexplicable. It grabs me and pulls me down. I can't see who's grabbing me or where I'm falling. Every time I close my eyes it's the same. No sounds, no images. Just impenetrable darkness and sensations that are almost impossible to describe.

My shirt sticks to my back. The terror made my chest ache, my breath ragged, and I shivered. My hands felt like ice. I rubbed my forehead, which was sore to boot, and looked apologetically at the old lady sitting next to me. She stared back warily; I must have screamed before I woke up, and she didn't know how to react.

"Dear, are you all right?" she asked, more out of politeness than concern.

I apologized, grabbed my backpack by the strap, squeezed into the aisle, and made my way to the driver, waiting for the first stop so I could get off as quickly as possible. The hot August wind didn't warm me, even though it felt like being blown by an industrial dryer. The bus stop was empty, and as I looked around, I realized I'd have to walk another half hour to the dorm. Sighing, I thought it might be for the best: I'd be so exhausted by evening that I'd fall into bed and spend the night without dreams. It's strange how close friends complain about not having interesting dreams, while I wish for no dreams at all.

The usual silence of this neighborhood, full of private homes with large pools and small dogs, surrounded me. The sun kept hiding behind gray clouds, and the weather app on my phone predicted a thunderstorm for the night. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any flooding like a few years ago, when the promised summer rains turned into a full-blown tropical hurricane and flooded half the state.

I slung the case with my training weapons over my shoulder, positioning it comfortably next to my backpack with a change of clothes inside. In this heat, the straps would chafe my skin faster than I could notice.

My headphones were playing an as-yet-unnamed radio station randomly selected from the app. This seemingly pointless activity - randomly selecting radio stations - could lead to discovering worthwhile tracks I'd otherwise never hear, simply because their artists are unknown in my country. Although I loved rock, I didn't mind jazz, reggae, or modern symphonic music. To be honest, what mattered more to me was the overall sound and how it matched my personal taste in rhythm.

I stopped at the intersection, waiting for the light to turn green, when I was rudely shouted at:

"Hey, Snow White!"

The voice belonged to Roy Malkin, the school's main bully, a hulking figure who, for all his physical strength, had been shortchanged by God in the brain department. I hoped that someday someone would give him a book of fairy tales and he would realize how wrong he was about the character's appearance - she has white skin, not hair.

Suppressing my irritation so as not to give satisfaction to the idiots who thrived on it, I mustered all my willpower and turned around. If I didn't, they would catch up with me and force me to pay attention. Behind Roy were his friends: Meyer and Chris. Despite their involvement in American football, all three led more than unhealthy lifestyles, giving the impression that they enjoyed knocking people's teeth out and breaking bones without technically breaking the law.