Red lupine eyes. Sharp canines, stained with blood. A creeping forest. A full moon overhead.
Edward stirred under his duvet, his head slowly turning to the left. His brows furrowed in discomfort. Eyes shut tight, yet twitching. His breathing began to quicken.
The wolf's face emerges in full.
Its features—feral, vicious—forms a terrifying whole. It stares, unblinking. Deadly gaze fixed, unwavering.
The wind whooshes.
The trees groan.
Leaves rustle with a chilling whisper.
Somewhere in the dark: an owl hoots —followed by the sound of flapping wings.
(It isn't seen. But it is there.)
Edward jerked his head to the right.
Now drenched in sweat, his breathing turned frantic—ragged and unhinged. His heart thumped violently inside his chest. Sweat streamed from his forehead, slid down his temple, and soaked the pillow beneath him.
His hands, balled into fists, clutched the duvet tightly.
His body stiffened.
His toes curled beneath the sheets, locked in tense discomfort.
The wolf snarls.
Then—without warning—it lunges forward, its jaws wide open, fangs flashing, ready to sink into flesh and tear mercilessly.
Edward jolted awake—gasping.
Sitting upright, he stared straight at the window ahead, chest rising and falling in wild rhythm.
It was just a dream.
A nightmare.
His face still drenched in sweat, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Moonlight, soft and silver, seeped through the translucent curtains, casting ghostly patterns on the wall.
He was safe.
No wolf.
His breathing slowed. But just as he was about to recline again, something caught his eye.
A shadow moved across the window.
He froze.
His eyes widened.
His breath held.
His heart threatened to thump again.
The shadow moved to the right. Then to the left.
Then again.
Edward's alarm slowly faded as realization dawned.
It was only the branches of Mrs. Wanjiku's tree, swaying in the howling wind.
Sighing in relief, he placed a hand on his chest.
"Just branches, Edward. Phew. No need for alarm," he whispered to himself.
"Just relax. It was nothing but a... bad dream. Yeah, a bad dream."
He was just about to lie down again when his hand brushed against something beside him—cold, smooth, rectangular, and flat.
His phone.
Grabbing it, he turned it on.
The screen's glow hit his eyes like a flashbang.
"Ugh," Edward groaned, shielding his eyes with one hand.
Squinting, he peeked at the time.
2:46 A.M.
Turning the phone off, he murmured. "I must've drifted off while on the phone."
---
Earlier that night, after supper, Edward had gone straight to his room. He'd been texting Mdachi—filling him in on everything he'd missed.
But partway through the conversation… Mdachi vanished.
While waiting for his reply, Edward had opened TikTok to distract himself—but exhaustion weighed him down.
He kept yawning, blinking slowly… fighting to keep his heavy eyelids open.
Guess it got the best of him.
---
Now rubbing his face in tired frustration, Edward sighed. He plugged in his charger, set the phone down beside the lamp on his nightstand, and lay back gently onto the bed.
"I'll talk to him in the morning," he mumbled to himself.
"Not like it's my fault I fell asleep. He's the one who took ages to reply."
Eventually, after tossing and turning restlessly for a while, Edward curled into a quirky, uneven foetal position—and drifted off once more into sleep.
---------
A white, glaring, glowing light.
Edward quickly covers his eyes with his hands, unable to bear its intensity.
Even with his eyes closed, the searing brightness still burns through. But then, he feels the light begin to dim.
He cautiously peeks through his fingers.
The light shifts—turns yellow, softens—and gradually shrinks into a small bonfire dancing before him.
Edward now notices he's sitting on the base of a long log, its opposite end grounded for balance.
As he glances around, he realizes he's in an unfamiliar, rural place. Nighttime. A cloudless sky above him dazzles with thousands of stars.
Crickets chirp. Frogs croak.
Looking down, he sees the earth beneath his feet—dusty, uneven, and scattered with rocks.
When he lifts his gaze again, a few meters across the fire stands a traditionally built African mud hut. Its roof is cone-shaped and thatched, the doorway open and cloaked in darkness.
Behind the hut, a vast landscape stretches endlessly into the distance, fading into soft hills. Baobab trees and others dot the terrain. Patches of grass trail behind the hut, thickening the farther they extend into the distance.
A sudden, piercing scream from inside the hut yanks Edward's attention back.
His heart flips.
The hut is now faintly lit, and a ragged, dirty garment hangs loosely in the entrance like a curtain.
Another scream rips through the air. Edward sees frantic shadows of women moving about inside—cast onto the cloth door. Their attire, hairstyles, and embroidery are difficult to make out from their shadows, but something about them feels ancient and unfamiliar.
The women speak in a strange language—one Edward doesn't recognize.
Then, a final scream—and the cry of a newborn baby pierces the night.
A child is born.
Suddenly, the hut falls silent. The light inside dies, and all returns to stillness.
Then, without warning, a man appears—seated directly across the fire from Edward, also perched on a log. In his right hand, he holds a long, intricately carved staff.
He is African, his skin elegantly dark, his features regal. He appears to be in his forties.
He wears animal skin and is adorned with bead bangles, bone necklaces, and a cord strung with a large canine tooth dangling from his neck. A turban rests on his head, decorated with upright bird feathers.
Leaning to his left, the man scoops powder from a chipped, crack-lined gourd and tosses it into the fire.
Flames roar to life, rising high and wild before calming once more.
Gripping his staff, the man rises and begins to circle the fire, chanting in the same language Edward had heard from the women.
As the man moves, Edward's eyes dart to the hut. On its wall, a familiar symbol is now etched—one he recognizes, though he can't recall from where.
After rounding the flame, the man returns to his spot, stands firm with his staff, and stares blankly ahead.
He opens his mouth to speak—
----------
"Edward, honey…"
The voice is faint.
"Wake up, son! You're going to be late for school!" his mother called again, her tone sharper this time.
Edward snapped awake and spun to look at his alarm clock on the far nightstand.
"Crap! I'm fifteen minutes late!" he cursed.
"That's right," Miridald said from the doorway, grinning at her son's disoriented state. "Now get your ass up and get ready."
She chuckled and walked away, leaving the door open.
Edward shot out of bed, confused, and rushed toward the bathroom.
"Why on earth did I forget to set my alarm?" he muttered as he went.
Meanwhile, Miridald set breakfast on the dining table and waited. After a few minutes, she spotted him hurrying down the stairs—wearing a black stylish hoodie, blue jeans, and a classic pair of sneakers. His hair was neatly styled, and he held his bag in one hand.
"Hi, mom. How's your morning?" he greeted as he approached the table.
"I'm okay, thank you. And yours?" Miridald teased, clearly poking fun at his chaotic wake-up.
Sighing, Edward sat down and set his bag on the chair beside him. "Honestly? They say 'siku njema huonekana asubuhi,' but my morning's already a disaster. So, horrible."
Then, his eyes lit up at the sight of the food. "But this breakfast might turn things around."
He wiggled his fingers excitedly, then served himself sausages, eggs, some slices of bread, and poured a cup of white tea.
Miridald watched with a smile as he dug in.
When he finished, he looked up. "Thanks, mom. That was amazing."
"You're welcome," she said warmly.
After a moment, Edward glanced around as if something had just occurred to him. "Where's Aunt Renee?"
"She's still asleep," Miridald replied.
"Oh. Okay. So, I guess dad already left?"
"Yeah, he did. Way earlier," she answered casually.
Edward grabbed a red apple from the table and bit into it, savoring the juicy sweetness.
"…Edward…" Miridald began hesitantly.
He looked at her, still chewing.
"I'm really glad you talked to Renee… about whatever was troubling you."
He paused mid-chew.
"I hated seeing you down like that. I'm happy you're feeling like yourself again. And don't worry—she didn't tell me what you talked about. I didn't even ask."
Edward heard both relief and sadness in her voice. Relief that he'd opened up to someone. Sadness that it hadn't been her.
He swallowed, then gently placed his hand over hers.
"Please understand, mom… Sometimes I just can't talk about everything. But you know I tell you most things, right?"
He gave her a soft smile.
She touched his cheek. "I'm glad you talked to Renee. Really. You don't need to reassure me, okay?"
"Sure," Edward said sincerely.
"I have to go now, mom," he added, standing and grabbing his bag, the apple still in his other hand. "Thanks again for the breakfast. Divine—as always."
"You're welcome," Miridald replied, rising to her feet too. "And I heard you the first time, you know. Let me drive you to school."
Edward's face brightened. "Seriously? Thanks a lot, mom. Yes—please do."
They cleared the table together, stacking the dishes in the sink.
Miridald took her car keys and headed to the garage, Edward trailing close behind.
She hopped into her dark blue Honda HR-V as Edward opened the garage door. Once she pulled out, he closed it and got in.
As they drove off, Edward took another bite of his nearly finished apple and pulled out his phone.
He texted both Mdachi and Anita:
"Just left home. Meet at school?"
Mdachi replied almost instantly:
"Funny. Still taking breakfast. Almost done though."
Edward texted again:
"How about we go to school together?"
"Sure 😄," Mdachi answered.
"Mom," Edward called out.
"Yes, son?" Miridald responded, eyes still on the road.
"Can we pass by Mdachi's?"
"Okay," she said with a nod, smoothly turning into the road that led to Mdachi's place.