“Mom, where are the car keys? I’m heading to university!” I shouted from the upstairs landing, racing down the stairs in a panic after oversleeping again. My mother had just finished her breakfast and was about to leave for work, but she was washing the dishes first—her refusal to leave the house dirty was unwavering. “They’re on the dining table in the living room,” she called back. “Eat your breakfast, don’t leave on an empty stomach.”

  I gulped down a glass of tart orange juice and stuffed a slice of bread with jam into my mouth. Grabbing the keys from the table, I was soon out the door. I don’t drive recklessly, even when I’m late. I don’t think I stress much about life either. At home, I have everything—or rather, it’s all provided for me. It’s hard to imagine anything that could truly panic me. But my friends at university were expecting me earlier, and I’d only just left, so I figured I should at least look stressed, though after two years, they’ve probably gotten used to me.

  When I reached the university, I dashed to the cafeteria, where the three of them were already standing, ready to head to the lecture hall. Spotting me, one burst into laughter while the other two scolded me for my bad habit—though I think they exaggerate, or they’d have ditched me long ago. In the lecture hall, we sat at the back, sometimes paying attention, sometimes not—chatting, dozing, or playing games on our phones. We weren’t good or bad students; we just were. We had big dreams but put almost no effort into making them real. I think, at least for me, we felt the security of our lives would never change—that we’d stay young, or at least free of responsibility, forever.

  After classes, we ate together, then each headed home. I immediately booted up my computer to play games and watch videos, a ritual that consumed my afternoons and conveniently let me dodge household chores—something my parents never pressured me to take on. That evening, I joined the family for dinner, sharing our day. Later, late at night, I approached the window and gazed at the sky. Something was missing. It saddened me to look at it. I lay in bed with a tear in my eye, wishing to forget that feeling. “Everything’s fine,” I told myself, “and it will stay that way.”

  A metallic tray clattered onto my room’s table, careless of whether it woke me. Annoyed, I threw off the blanket, ready to scold whoever dared disturb me with that racket.

  “What are you—,” I started to yell, but stopped short.

  Before me stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman, more stunning than any I’d ever seen. With chestnut hair, green eyes, a tall frame, and curvaceous figure, her dress barely contained her chest. She smiled, her eyes gleaming:

  “Ha, you’re finally awake. I brought you food—some cheese and bread. Eat, everyone’s waiting downstairs to pick up where you left off yesterday.”

  Her voice was angelic, like a melody in an unfamiliar tongue, clouding my mind. My body trembled, desire surging. I wanted to hold her, feel her touch, kiss her, make her mine. I moved to rise, but a sharp pain stabbed my head—like a hangover from too much drink—though I couldn’t recall yesterday, where I’d been, or how I got here.

  “Don’t rush to get up,” she said. “No one’s going anywhere. Like I said, they’re waiting for you downstairs.”

  She turned, opened the door to leave, and for the brief moment it was ajar, I heard loud voices, thuds, and noise—like a local festival—along with a whiff of alcohol that nearly filled the room. The door closed behind her, but the headache and dizziness lingered. After a few minutes, testing my legs, I sat on the room’s lone chair and ate the cheese and bread slowly, observing my surroundings.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  The room was small and wooden, from floor to ceiling, with a table, chair, single bed, and an oil lamp for light. The window was shut, revealing an eerie scene outside: a full moon lit the night, a dark forest where only the first tree was visible, with fleeting lights like drops appearing and fading, and beyond it, a wooden town reminiscent of an American cowboy era—oil lamps lining the streets, flickering fires in closed windows. My headache and the night blurred the details, but the townsfolk were shadowy figures roaming the streets, indistinct.

  Feeling slightly better after eating, I decided to go downstairs and explore. I barely remembered how I got here, only that my family had died recently and I had something important to do. I resolved to step out, learn my location, and ask around the town. Opening the door, the alcohol stench hit harder, numbing my senses. The noise below was like a war cry, relentless and terrifying. Descending, I saw about fifty people—men and women of all ages—drinking, dancing, and singing in a chalet. At the bar, the woman who brought my food filled large mugs from a massive barrel, not taking orders but endlessly refilling and calling people to drink. They came tirelessly, grabbing fresh mugs as soon as theirs emptied.

  “Come, Leo,” she said, “your glass is empty again.”

  “Empty? What does she mean?” I wondered, glancing at my hands. Sure enough, I held an empty mug with traces of fullness. My head spun worse than before, unable to make sense of it. She kept calling the crowd. Everything blurred and faded until…

  “Leo, will you get up already? You promised to go to the supermarket today. I’ve got nothing to cook,” my mother’s voice called from the kitchen.

  “Now, now, I’m getting up,” I shouted back from my room. I wanted to nap more, unable to feel time passing. I dressed and went downstairs.

  “The car keys are on the dining table. Have some cake I made, drink your juice, and please go,” my mother said.

  With effort, I followed her instructions, took a shopping list, and drove to the store. I wandered with a cart, gathering items, returned home, handed them over, and retreated to my room to watch a new series. My father came back from a meeting, my younger brother and sister were home, and we ate lunch together. I love debating politics and philosophy with my father, who once dreamed of being a literature professor but turned to business due to political setbacks, later succeeding with my mother.

  Back in my room, I gamed until night, joining my university friends online until late. Exhausted, I said goodnight and went to bed, planning an early university start.

  A metallic tray clattered in my room again. Irritated, I opened my eyes, my head foggy like a hangover. Rising, I saw a stunning woman, her smile, eyes, and hair like a fairy tale, her exposed chest leaving no room for thought.

  “You’re finally awake,” she smiled. “I brought food to strengthen you…” Her voice buzzed in my ears, and I missed her words.

  As she spoke, I grew dizzy, desire mixing with confusion, overwhelming me. I couldn’t ask anything, my gaze locked on hers. She turned, opened the door, smiled back, and left, the alcohol stench and noise from below piercing me briefly. I rose, unsure of my location, sat on the chair, and ate the cheese and bread. The wooden room had a window showing the full moon and a cowboy-era town, its shadowy figures roaming. Resting, I gained strength and headed for the door, hesitant due to the noise and smell. Taking a deep breath, I covered my nose and ears, rushing past the chaotic crowd—people tearing clothes, fighting, howling like beasts. The sight nauseated me.

  I fled back, deciding to exit the building. The only way out was through the crowd below. At the window for air, I found it sealed. Using a pillowcase over my nose, I charged downstairs, dodging drunks, and escaped. Outside, I breathed clean air and looked back. The townsfolk were indeed shadows, trembling outside the “Otofós Hotel.” My mind cleared—I had a purpose here, but what? My eyes turned to the forest, where two glowing red eyes stared, a chilling voice calling, “Come to me, shadow. You’re not like the others; you can still be saved.”

  The words startled and terrified me. Raising my right hand, I saw it darkening. The apathetic shadows circling the hotel revealed its truth—it was draining their identities, as it was mine. If I left now, I might escape, but I wasn’t sure I’d reclaim what I lost. Choosing to face one fear, I gathered my courage and approached the red eyes in the forest.