Jack tried to scream, but he had no voice. He tried to run to his father, but his limbs were locked as though chained by invisible iron… it was cold and biting. Only his eyes could move, wide and straining, as his worst nightmare twisted its claws through what had once been his happy life.

  He watched in silent horror as the beastkin guards pinned his father to the ground. Their monstrous forms were a grotesque fusion of man and beast. Their furred snouts twitching with cruel delight, clawed hands tightening around his father’s arms, tails thumping the ground in anticipation.

  Then came Greaves. The Baron stepped forward with the calm, unhurried stride of someone accustomed to murder. His tarnished drow-forged blade, bloody and cruel, caught the moonlight and shimmered with a blood-red sheen, as though it had never been truly clean.

  Without hesitation or ceremony, he plunged the dagger deep into Jack’s father’s gut and twisted the blade.

  Jack watched, helpless and voiceless, as his father convulsed… his eyes bulging, lips mouthing something soundless and desperate. A plea for mercy, a cry for help, or a final farewell to those he loved.

  Jack still couldn’t move or scream. I have to save him. I have to…

  Greaves grinned, his smile wide and unnatural, teeth too long and sharpened to points like a shark dressed in noble silk. “Who’s Green?” he asked in a soft voice, as if the answer was a secret worth savouring. “Tell me who sent you, and I’ll spare your family.”

  The beastkin guards laughed. It was a warped, inhuman sound, like hyenas gargling molten glass in a burning temple of grief and sorrow. Their laughter shook the earth, and their eyes glowed with feral madness while their tails wagged in sync.

  Jack’s father opened his mouth again, but instead of words, a thin stream of ancient text and glowing blue runes spilled into the air. His voice was gone, stolen by the nightmare or the tarnished blade. There was only silence as the words and runes spiralled into nothingness and the sound of crackling flames consuming his life.

  “Who is Green?” Greaves roared, seizing Jack’s father by the throat and lifting him into the air like a sack of grain. He dangled, as if already hollowed out, his legs twitching like a marionette cut from its strings.

  “Tell me,” the Baron asked, “and I’ll heal your burn scars.” He shook him like a rag doll. “Don’t force me to kill a baby. I’m not a true assassin.” His voice dripped with mock sincerity.

  One of the beastkin approached, cradling baby Richard with unexpected tenderness. The infant cooed and smiled, oblivious to the threat, rocking back and forth in the arms of a monster. The furred creature began to hum an off-key lullaby… low, guttural, and wrong. The pantherkin licked the baby with an over extend tongue like a mother cat cleaning its kitten.

  The baby smiled and gurgled.

  Then the flames came. They began at Greaves’ boots, spiralling upwards in coils of flickering orange and red, licking across his limbs like demonic serpents made of fire. The snaking flames spread upwards and outwards, setting his noble’s garb alight. It should have turned to ash, but instead it became the flame. The Baron’s cloak a mantle of living heat; he wore the fire like a noble robe.

  The Baron grinned, and his eyes ignited… twin embers glowing red with a heat that seemed to melt the very air. Greaves smiled at Jack and the flickering flames of death spread down his arms towards Jack’s helpless father.

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  Jack tried again to scream. To move, to intervene, to do something, but the nightmare shackled him in place in deafening silence.

  The fire struck. It washed over his father in a tidal wave of blistering heat like oil meeting fire. Skin blackened and cracked like parchment, flesh bubbled, his eyes boiled until they burst. His mouth opened in a voiceless scream that stretched far too wide, jaw unhinged like a serpent’s. The heat caused his body to curl and fold in on itself, limbs bending backwards, spine cracking like dry twigs underfoot as the flames curled into a burning knot of agony.

  Jack watched, paralysed and impotent, as his father was reduced to a heap of ash, bones, and a scorched slave collar, clinking and flashing blue as it hit the ground with a thud. The smell of burning garlic and hair, mixed with the sweet aroma of caramelised sugar made him gag.

  Baby Richard began to clap, his tiny hands producing the deafening sound of mockery. The applause whipped up into a harsh wind that blew through the nightmarish dreamscape, scattering the ashes across a dark, endless void. All that was left of his father were Jack’s grief, shame, and regrets.

  Then the baby began to cry, but it wasn’t Richard’s voice, it was Jack’s. The child looked straight at him with Jack’s own terrified eyes, bloody lips forming the words, “Why didn’t you save us?”

  Jack screamed; this time, his voice returned. He jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his sheets tangled around him like restraints. “No! Not again. Not again.” He rolled off the bed and landed hard on the wooden floor, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

  He stayed there for a moment, curled on the floorboards, trembling. “Not again,” he whispered, as the nightmare’s fire faded from his vision, but the guilt, and the fear, remained. It was heavy and relentless.

  As he rose from the floor, the door burst open. “Jack! Jack! Are you alright?” his father cried, his dad silhouetted in the doorframe.

  The room was cloaked in shadow, a ribbon of moonlight slipping between the curtains, painting silver lines across the floor. For a moment his bedroom felt… wrong, there were bloodstains on the floor, burn marks on the curtains, and a lingering sense of dread.

  Jack blinked, and all was right again. “I’m-I’m okay, Dad.” He shuddered while taking a deep breath. “It was just… a dream. I’m fine. I had a bad nightmare…” His body trembled, the residual fear still clinging to him like a cold, damp death shroud. “I’m fine… It was only a dream.” He tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.

  I thought the nightmares had ended.

  With his family alive, he had hoped the constant nightmares would be put to rest. He’d had a rare nightmare free sleep the previous night, but it would appear the terrible dreams would continue.

  His father activated the light in his room.

  “Is everything alright?” His mother was just outside the room carrying a crying baby. She comforted little Richard. “There. There. Shush now, my sweet.” She rocked the baby to comfort him which began to settle the infant.

  “He had a nightmare,” his relieved father replied. “He’s fine.” He gave his son a pat on the shoulder. He looked at his wife. “You should get Richard back to bed. He’s fine. It was just a bad dream.”

  Jack forced a smile, even as his heart pounded so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. It was only a nightmare. They are all fine. Dad’s fine. Pulling his father into a desperate hug, he felt a lingering chill… a cold block of fear that rested along his spine. “I’m okay. Sorry for waking everyone.” He looked into the passageway, Polly wasn’t there. Well, almost everyone. His terrified screams hadn’t interrupted his sister’s sleep.

  His mom entered the room. She’d managed to settle the baby. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked in a whisper to not distress the baby. “I can make you a hot drink?” She nodded to herself. “Yes. Lemon balm and valerian root tea will help.” She left the room without waiting for an answer.

  His dad smiled. “Looks like you’re getting a drink, Son.” He looked at his sweaty teenage son. “Go get yourself cleaned up, and we’ll see you downstairs.”

  Jack nodded and looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. “Sorry for waking you all.”

  A few minutes later, Jack was sat in the kitchen with his parents drinking hot lemon balm and valerian root tea with a generous helping of honey.

  “This will help you sleep,” his mom said while drinking her own tea. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” She paused. “You’ve not been yourself the past couple of days.”

  Jack took a sip of tea and forced a smile. “I think it’s just the stress of choosing a class.” He lied. “I should be alright soon.” He took a deep breath. I hope I’ll be alright.

  His dad yawned, causing his mother to also yawn, resulting in Jack yawning as well.

  All three started laughing which lightened the mood while they finished their tea before heading back to bed.