He is after me.
Everywhere I looked, I saw him. His unkempt auburn hair, his wicked grin, his bloodthirsty eyes. There was no way out of here-I was trapped in this never-ending maze. "Help!" I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. He was going to kill me, and oh, how I welcomed it. I could feel him moving around in the darkness. There. He's right behind me now. He's gonna stab me with that knife of his, just a little bit closer...
I opened my eyes. Raindrops pelted my window, though it sounded more like arrows. Lightning illuminated my room. I shivered, drenched in a fine sheen of ice cold sweat.
Squinting at the glowing red numbers on my clock, I could make out a six, a three, and an eight. I shuddered. Those three numbers have been popping up everyway: test scores, change from grocery shopping, the temperature, and now the time when I wake up. What's so special about six, three and eight? Maybe... maybe someone's trying to tell me something. A message? A sign? A warning?
Then I slapped myself.
As much as I want to believe that someone's trying to send me a message, no... just no. But wh-Ugh. I hate that stupid annoying voice. But what if it's true? What if someone's warning you of something? I clenched my fists. SHUT UP! Maybe s-EERAUGH! JUST GET OUT OF MY HEAD ALREADY! By now,my knuckles were white and I was shaking.
Kratysta.
What? Random words are always popping into my head, but... I grabbed my dictionary and flipped to the k's. No Kratysta, just as I had suspected. See? I told you so! Someone IS trying to-I didn't cut him off this time. It was my clock.
It said 6:83. But there are only sixty minutes in an hour! Isn't it supposed to be 7:23? Now the clock was flashing different numbers so fast that I could barely read them. 3:86. 8:36. 3:68. My heart sank as I realized that they were all the same numbers. Six, three, and eight. Smoke was pouring out of the poor little gray clock now. As the ever thickening plume of smoke continued to billow from the alarm clock, I watched in amazed disbelief as a spark erupted from the top and then flames snaked out and licked the surface of the device.
I just sat there gawking at it, until I could actually feel the flames, the heat, and came to my senses. I dressed as quickly as I could, and ran out of my house, without a single glance back. Sweat was rolling down my forehead as blurs of houses and trees went by. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care.
The fire must be burning the whole house now. I tried to picture it in my head. My peaceful little house, being swallowed up by scarlet flames. It was a terrible sight. As I kept running, I was beginning to feel fatigue. I must have been running nonstop for at least thirty minutes now. I picked my way through brambles and bracken, to rest on a big, flat rock.
I closed my eyes to analyze what just happened over the past hour. Okay, so I had a dream-the same dream that I'd seen countless times over the past few years. A guy, probably in his twenties, wanted to kill me, and almost did, but I woke just before he stabbed me with his knife. Then, I had an argument with a voice inside my head and the word "Kratysta" popped into my head. Next, my clock burst into flames that probably spread to the rest of the house and burned it all down. And I ran from the house to wherever my legs would take me, that apparently, is a forest.
Only then, under the warmth of the sun peeking out behind some clouds, did I realize that I had left my parents to die in our house. The realization hit me hard, and I broke down on the forest floor, tears streaming down my face. I loved my parents dearly, and refused to believe that they're dead. I gritted my teeth and wiped away a few tears. This has better be another dream.
A gust of wind blew my dark brown hair back. More wind followed, and soon enough, leaves and sticks were hitting me, and trees were rocking back and forth dangerously. The dirt stung my eyes, and I clung onto an oak that seemed stronger than the rest to prevent from flying away with the wind. I waited for the wind to die down.
It did in less than a minute. Sticks fell back down, and leaves floated peacefully down to the forest floor. But something was different. I could feel it. I scanned the forest, but nothing seemed out of place. Then I saw it. Three words scratched into the dry dirt ground.
BEWARE THE KRATYSTA
