The Bloodline's Curse

Unseen Awakening

Hannah Wainwright was sixteen, whip-smart, and fiercely inquisitive. While other teenagers filled their rooms with posters and trinkets, her walls were covered in sketches of atoms and models of galaxies. She found solace in science—a realm of answers, equations, and constants that kept the world in place. Physics was her favorite subject, and at Riverside Academy, her teacher, Mr. Callahan, had a knack for making the subject come alive, pushing students to question and explore.

Yet, beneath her logical exterior, Hannah harbored an unshakable feeling of dread that had been with her for as long as she could remember. Her family was different—secretive, haunted by whispers that always stopped when she entered the room, and an unspoken fear that hung over them like fog. Cold spots in warm rooms, flickers of movement at the edge of her vision, and the peculiar way shadows seemed to lengthen around her house—these things filled her with questions she tried to ignore. She dismissed them as figments of her imagination, convinced that science held the key to understanding the unknown.

The Group Project:

Mr. Callahan's latest assignment thrilled Hannah. The project challenged students to demonstrate the transfer of kinetic energy in a creative, practical way. Mr. Callahan hinted that if they were daring enough, they might even unlock something "extraordinary." He didn't elaborate, but Hannah's mind was already racing with ideas.

She and her group had brainstormed for days, finally settling on a concept that would convert kinetic energy into an electromagnetic field, aiming to push the boundaries of what they thought possible. The task of creating the prototype fell on Hannah, and she embraced it, staying up late, hunched over her desk, assembling circuit boards and connecting wires, each adjustment pushing her closer to what felt like a breakthrough.

One evening, while rummaging through the basement for spare parts, she stumbled upon an old device wrapped in cloth, hidden behind boxes. The device looked archaic, crafted with intricate copper coils and dark glass, humming faintly even in its dormant state. She vaguely remembered her mother warning her about "things better left untouched," but her curiosity won out. She carefully unwrapped it, reasoning it could be the final component to elevate her project.

The Awakening:

That night, with the mysterious device now integrated into her setup, Hannah made her final adjustments. She connected the last wire, took a deep breath, and flipped the switch.

At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the room filled with a low, pulsating hum, like the steady beat of a heart. The hum intensified, vibrating through the floorboards and into her bones. A strange light flickered in her peripheral vision, casting shadows across the room that seemed sharper, somehow more aware. Cold seeped into the air, unnatural and biting, sending goosebumps racing up her arms.

She glanced around, suddenly uneasy. The shadows in the corners of her room seemed to stretch and breathe, clawing their way toward her with an intent she couldn't quite place. Her breath caught as a subtle, metallic taste filled her mouth, the sensation sharp and foreign.

Then, cutting through the hum, she heard it—a voice calling her name.

"Hannah... come downstairs for dinner."

It was her mother's voice—or at least, it sounded like her mother. But the tone was hollow, stretched thin and distorted, like a cassette tape warped beyond recognition. The words lingered in the air, heavy and wrong.

Hannah froze, her mind racing to process what she had just heard. Something was off. Her mother's voice was soft, familiar, but it lacked warmth, as if it were stripped of the comfort it usually held. The way it echoed in her ears felt wrong, dissonant, like two conflicting notes.

Confusion rippled through her, but her body seemed to move of its own accord, taking a step toward the door. She reached for the doorknob, fingers trembling, her curiosity urging her forward despite the dread twisting in her gut.

Just as her fingertips brushed the cold metal, she felt a firm grip on her arm, pulling her back.

Hannah turned, heart pounding, and her real mother stood before her, face pale, eyes wide and filled with terror. She had never seen her mother like this, her usual composed demeanor shattered, replaced by raw, unfiltered fear.

Her mother's hand tightened around her arm, nails digging in as she whispered, her voice barely audible, but laced with urgency. "Don't go down there, honey."

Hannah's mind whirled. "But... you called me..."

Her mother's grip tightened even more, her eyes darting to the doorway as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows at any moment. Her voice dropped to a tremble, filled with a terror Hannah had never seen before.