4. I’m safe, I’m calm

I jolt upright with a sharp, deep breath. My back is slick with sweat, and a scream claws at my throat. I can feel them—the countless black hands skimming over my body, tugging at my hair, prying my lips open, prickling my skin. It's as if the shadows are still wrapped around me, overwhelming me and controlling my every move.

But the truth is... I'm not in the middle of the street anymore. There are no figures screaming into my skull or enveloping me in their dark embrace. I'm lying in my bed, in my apartment, in my home.

"It was all a dream," I whisper to myself, my voice raspy. Blinking away the remnants of fear, I sit up and run a hand through my messy hair. "A fucking nightmare."

I shut my eyes tight and drag my hands down my face, feeling the heat of my skin. Probably not great for my pores to sweat and then pull at them like this, but who cares right now? Beauty routines are the least of my concerns.

I was just sleeping. I actually fell asleep.

It's all because of Camila. Speaking of which... where is she?

I glance at the other side of the queen-sized bed, made up with white sheets and cream stripes. This is how we usually sleep during our sleepovers—each of us on our own side with our own blanket. It's a good arrangement; the last thing I want is for her to deal with my gross sweat.

But... Camila's not here. Where her head should be resting on the plump pillow, there's just a small, folded note.

I blink a few times, still disoriented, before noticing the sunlight streaming through the clouds into my apartment. I reach out and pick the note up.

You were sleeping so soundly,

I didn't have the heart to wake you up!

I'm thrilled that last night's ritual worked.

Love your face, Cam.

P.S. Please take a shower.

I read the message to the end, but from the very first sentence, confusion gnaws at me like a hungry animal. Then, I read it again. I was sleeping soundly? What...? I can't remember the last time I slept through the night. Even during Camila's sleepovers here, I usually kept waking up, my sleep fragile as a fine thread pulled in the wrong direction.

What the hell?

I swing my legs off the bed and stand up, tossing the note back onto the bed as I head to the living room. My phone must be around here somewhere, probably in the desk drawer where I stash it to avoid distractions during those endless, sleepless nights. I need to find it now.

But just as I stumble into the porcelain-white room, the cream-colored floors the only break in the brightness, my steps falter. There's a huge black pentagram on the floor, one I totally forgot about. Suddenly, the memory of last night floods back— chanting, the candles, the eerie shadows, and my hallucination in the mirror. The ritual... that's what she was talking about in the message!

"How could I have forgotten?" I mumble, rubbing my temples and feeling like a stranger in my own life. This amnesia episode is drowning me.

Shaking my head, I move past the drawing on the floor, grateful for the daylight. Darkness is a huge deal to me. When it's present, it fills my life with nothing but abhorrence. If it were darker outside, for instance, I'd be looking for those shadows again, the ones from my nightmare. I'd be paranoid. Delusional. Completely hysteric.

The way I am now? I'm simply a tad bit neurotic.

I make my way to my desk and pull open the drawer. My phone sits on top of a pile of documents. I grab it and unlock it, noticing the battery is down to just five percent.

Shit. I have to hurry.

I scroll through my contacts until I find Cam's picture and hit the call button. I don't have to wait long before the ringing stops and her cheerful voice comes through on the other end.

"Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty!" Camila's cheerful voice greets me. I hear the familiar clattering in the background—she's probably making coffee at work, her favorite cup clinking against the worn countertop, mingled with distant chatter. "I was starting to think you'd sleep through the whole day!"

I'm too exhausted to even roll my eyes. I just place a hand on my aching belly and squeeze the fabric of my shirt.

"Hey, don't even joke about that," I whine, my voice embarrassingly whiny. "I seriously have no clue what went down last night."

I hear her sigh. "What do you mean? Didn't you get my note? You were out like a light!" she says with a happy chuckle. "I've never seen you sleep so peacefully."

I glance at the drawing on the floor, surrounded by candles and the ashes of sage. It's just too good to be true that I've slept through the entire night. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"I got your note, but…" I trail off, unsure of what I'm trying to ask. "Let's say I believe you and I really was just sleeping... did I, I don't know, sleepwalk or something?"

"Sleepwalk?" she echoes. "Nope, not even close. After the ritual, you just laid down and went right to sleep. You didn't stir at all, Claire. I kept checking on you through the night, just in case. Honestly, if it hadn't worked, I'd be kicking myself right now. Working on no sleep is a pain in the ass. I don't know how you're doing it."

I snort. "I'll tell you how. I don't," I admit. That's the honest truth. I've been living off the savings from back when my business was thriving. Now, it's a different story—every day, there's a bit less in the bank. "But... are you really sure?" I circle back to the topic. It's just too unbelievable. I've been battling this disease for so long, it's been slowly killing me. To find out that I finally made a step forward… I need to hear it again.

"Yes, I'm sure!" exclaims. "I told you the ritual would work, and it did! Now instead of mulling it over, just try to relax. This wasn't supposed to be just a one-night solution, it was supposed to be permanent!"

I raise my eyebrows. She can't see me, but if she could, she'd probably rush over to give me a hug. Tears start to well up in my eyes, and I try my best not to let any sniffles get picked up by the microphone. I don't want her to know I'm crying. I'll save this one for when we actually meet in person. Then I'll shower her with my gratitude.

Honestly, how will I ever repay her? First, she gave me a place to stay when I ran away from home. Then, that place became the closest thing I ever knew to a sanctuary, with her mom making dinners, her dad teaching me how to garden, and her two brothers joking with me regularly. And now, she helps with my insomnia. If this really got rid of it for good, then...

No, I can't hope that it did. It's been just one night. Just one night.

"I mean," I begin, clearing my throat, "let's not jump the gun, alright? I still had some nightmares and stuff."

"Who knows? Maybe your protective spirit will chase those nightmares away soon," she answers, unfazed. Her positive thinking is so over the top.

But just as her words register in me, the tears in my eyes dry up. A strange feeling bubbles up in my stomach, and I swallow hard, staring off into space, my mind spinning. What protective spirit? Did I forget something again? There was a mention of it in Camila's note on the pillow, wasn't there? I didn't get it then, and honestly, I'm lost now, too. The holes in my memory make me nauseous.

"Wait, what?" I ask.

"You know, the thing we summoned last night," responds. "I'm pretty sure it's not just for falling asleep. It should help with all sleep-related stuff—the quality of your sleep, your dreams, stuff like that…" She keeps talking, but I'm already drifting away. Some overwhelming urge to remember something hits me hard and fast, leaving me breathless.

I hate feeling like this—like I'm tumbling into an abyss, and the only way to stop the fall is to remember, but that's exactly how I'm feeling now. There's a terrible sense of time pressure hanging over me, like whatever I'm supposed to remember is time-sensitive. That thing… it's right on the tip of my memory.

Any second now… Come on… I'll either figure it out or lose the chance to grasp it forever. I feel it.

"You know what? Let me, uh… think about this for a bit," I mumble into the phone, ending the call. Rubbing my forehead, I toss the phone back into the drawer and pull out the chair from the desk to sit down.

Come on, Claire. Think! A guardian spirit. Did you meet someone in your dream?

No, I can't quite grasp what was happening exactly, just that terrible sensation of being devoured, consumed. One minute, I was happier than ever, and then... suddenly, I was terrified, with shadows closing in from every direction.

But you were happy. You are never happy in your dreams.

That thought echoes in my mind, persistent and nagging. Sleep usually brings unease and dread, yet in that dream, before the fear, there was a moment of happiness, a feeling of being connected with something... someone.

I lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of the dream. Then something happens.

A face with deep blue eyes and abyss-black hair appears in my mind. It's foggy, hazy, but immediately familiar.

A man. I've seen him before. I've seen him in a dream.

"You need to remember our meeting here,"his voice rings in my mind. That's what he told me before everything turned to pain and fear.

He was there right before the dream collapsed. He held me close before I was consumed by the shadows.

Could he be the guardian spirit talked about?

I'm a skeptical person. Ever since witnessing what happened to my mother, I've concluded that no deity could possibly exist and watch over us. That idea clashes with what people say about these deities being inherently good, about them embracing us as long as we embrace them.

Well, my mother embraced.

She believed in God so fiercely that even when she beat me, even when she told me I was a waste of life, she believed she'd be saved. Those memories still haunt me, despite my wish to erase them.

Guess what? The deities never helped. They abandoned her. Just like I did. And unless Cam's family is made up of godly DNA, they never helped me either.

But now, despite always hating to follow in her footsteps, I can't ignore the nagging feeling that this might be different. This guardian spirit might be real. Maybe it finally came to save me.

"Ugh." I run both hands over my face, then sling my head backward and stare at the ceiling, feeling dizzy as the room seems to spin. "Whatever."

Whether the man in my dream was real or not, I can't let this chance slip by. I slept the entire night! And now it's morning. My business is drowning, my body is crying for help, and there's literally no food in my fridge.

Gotta do something about all that.

I push myself up from the desk, my body heavy with exhaustion. A shower and a quick grocery run didn't help much; I still feel like I haven't slept at all. I'm wiped out. Yet, sorting the groceries and getting some fresh air gave me a tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I can handle this.

It's been over six months since I've done any real work. Before that, I kept convincing myself I could manage, even though I was a complete mess. Eventually, I had to face reality and throw in the towel. But now, I have a chance for recovery. I've got to fix my life, no matter what. Even if it's difficult, I need to prove to myself that I can turn things around.

First, I tackle the financial mess. I open my banking app and grimace at the dwindling balance. I start figuring out how much I can set aside for bills and basic expenses. It's tight, but it's doable. If the business hadn't been doing well before all this, I'd be in serious trouble.

Next, I brace myself and open my email. It's a nightmare of unread messages: spam, client inquiries, a few urgent ones from past clients. I take a deep breath and start sorting, replying to the most critical ones first. I apologize for the delay, explain I had some health issues, and promise to get back on track. Honestly, I'm not sure I can keep that promise, but it's a start.

I move on to my business website, updating services, refreshing my portfolio, and writing a blog post explaining my temporary hiatus and announcing my return. I lose track of time, feeling more like my old self with each word I type.

Hours pass, and by the time I finish, my eyes are heavy, but it's a better kind of tired than usually—the kind that comes from being productive and making progress.

Finally, I allow myself a break.

I make a cup of tea and sit by the window, watching the sky turn a beautiful shade of orange and pink as the sun sets. It's stunning, really. But it's also terrifying. The sunset means the darkness is coming, and with it, another sleepless night filled with racing thoughts I can't quiet.

I hold onto my warm mug tightly, trying to anchor myself in the moment—the warmth of the tea, the hues of the sky, the gentle buzz of the city outside. I'm fine. But once you program your body to expect bad things with certain triggers, it's easier said than done to break that pattern.

The fear creeps in slowly, first taking hold of my lungs. They feel empty all of a sudden, as if there's no air to breathe. Then it seeps into my bones, sending shivers through me. Before I even realize it, sweat beads on my forehead and my breaths come out raspy and wheezing.

Faster than lightning, I'm in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my hands and then onto my face in a brisk motion. I take a moment to look at my reflection. The person staring back at me looks more tired than ever, like nothing has changed at all. I've got bags under my eyes, they're bloodshot, and my skin's so pale it looks more dead than porcelain.

In other words, I look awful.

For a moment, I feel simply hopeless. All that work I did today, all that effort to pull myself back into the realm of the living, and for what? To be dragged back down by the mere approach of night?

I straighten up, turning off the tap. I've made one step forward. Now I just have to keep moving. No stopping and backing down.

I spin around and head back into the living room, flipping on all the lights in my apartment. Then, I quickly draw the curtains closed on every window. The less I'm aware it's night outside, the better.

Night makes me feel watched more than ever.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to center myself. The bright lights in the apartment help to some degree. It feels safer, more normal, even though the fear still lurks in the shadows of my mind.

Except… the light starts flickering right above me.

This... this isn't normal. I can feel it, right down to my bones. And I swear, it's not just my fear trying to play tricks on my mind.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at it, frozen. The logical part of my mind screams that it's just a faulty bulb, but after everything that's happened, I can't shake the feeling that it's more than that.

Am I hallucinating again? Is that what it is?

I take a hesitant step forward, my eyes glued to the flickering light. Every instinct screams at me to run, to hide, but I stand firm. This is my home, my sanctuary, and I refuse to be scared in it.

The light flickers faster, like a strobe, casting wild shadows around the room. A chill runs down my spine, and for a moment, I'm back in that dream, feeling watched, hunted by something unseen.

"Stop it," I whisper to the room, to myself, to whatever might be listening. "Just stop it!"

I can't handle this. I press my palms against my eyes, trying to shut out everything. I need to calm down. If it's just a hallucination, it will fade if I just breathe.

"Deep breaths, in and out," I murmur. "Nothing bad is happening. I'm alone. Nobody's here. Nobody's watching me."

I'm safe. I'm calm. I'm not hurt in any way.

After what feels like an eternity, I lower my hands and open my eyes. The light is steady now.

"Fuck," I curse, releasing a shaky breath. "It really wasn't real."

But even though I tell myself that, it doesn't ease the awful feeling in my gut. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Sooner or later, another panic attack will come, and I might not be able to calm myself next time.

That's when I break. Clenching my hands into fists, I step into the pentagram circle on the floor.

"Okay," I say aloud, though there's no one to hear me. "If you're there, if you're real... I need you tonight."

I don't even know who I'm talking to, but the thought of another night filled with terror and panic pushes me past my usual skepticism. If a chance at peace of mind comes with me acting delusional in my own apartment, then it's not really a high price to pay.

I sit in the middle of the pentagram, the candles from last night still in place. My hands rest on my knees, and I close my eyes, taking another deep breath. If believes in this, if she thinks it worked... then maybe, just maybe, there's something to it.

"Guardian spirit," I begin, my voice wavering but determined. "If you're there, if what did really worked, I need your help again. Please, keep the fear away. Keep the nightmares away. Just... watch over me, okay?"

I sit there in complete silence, hoping for a sign. When I finally open my eyes, expecting to see someone or something, there's nothing. Just my brightly lit apartment around me.

But something inside me shifts. It's like I'm on autopilot. I get up, step out of the pentagram, and head straight to my bedroom. In the darkness of the one room where I haven't turned on the lights, I collapse onto the bed, my back hitting the sheets. I could swear there's something moving in the corner between my open door and the wall. Something dark and menacing, definitely watching me.

But I can't look it in the eye because my eyelids shut on their own.

And then… I see him again. Ahh, Echo. That was his name.