015: A Day In Rave's Life

Raven didn’t remember when he fell asleep.

The night had been heavy and the whispers were just as louder as usual. They slipped into his ears, wrapping around his thoughts like a shroud. Now, as he stirred awake, he realized something was wrong.

His shorts were gone.

The chill of the morning air brushed against his legs, making his skin crawl. Sitting up, he ran his hands through his hair and froze. His fingers were smeared with blood—dried and cracked. It was a rust-colored stain he couldn’t place.

His heart sank. Where was it coming from?

He glanced at his legs. A small, shallow cut ran along his thigh. It was barely bleeding but unmistakably fresh.

His gaze darted to the open window.

The curtains fluttered softly, though the air outside was still. He pieced the fragments of the night together. Something—or someone—had come. And while it hadn’t hurt him, the sheer thought of what it might have done made his chest tighten.

Tears slipped from his eyes as he hugged his knees to his chest, his breath hitching in short gasps.

“No... why does it have to be me,” he whispered.

His voice was hoarse. Like a broken plea to nothing and no one. He cried until the soft orange glow of dawn began to paint his room.

The sounds started then.

Soft murmurs, faint but distinct, filled the bedroom. He didn’t dare look, but he knew they were watching—unseen figures that seemed more present in his peripheral vision than his reality.

The heaviness of their stares and the fact he can do nothing about it made his skin prickle.

By 7 a.m., he forced himself to move. He needed normalcy.

He grabbed his clothes with shaky hands, dressing methodically while trying so hard to ignore the heaviness in the air. The kitchen was his next destination.

Toast. Something simple.

He opened the bread bag, placed a slice in the toaster, and waited. The faint hum of the appliance that filled the silence offered a brief reprieve. But when he reached for the bread, his vision dimmed.

His eyes glowed faintly—white and empty, as if life itself had been drained from them.

He froze, then jerked backward.

The glow flickered out just as quickly as it came. “What the hell was that?” he muttered, shaking his head.

His hands trembled as he fumbled with the toaster again. But before he could focus, his body moved on its own, as though driven by something else entirely.

He turned toward the wine cellar.

His feet dragged as he descended the narrow stairs, each step echoing in the stillness. Reaching the bottom, he grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorked it, and drank straight from it. So not him.

The bitter liquid burned his throat, but he didn’t stop or rather, whatsoever was making him do this didn't stop until the bottle slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor.

Snapping back to himself, he gasped. “I just wanted toast,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Clutching his bag and keys, he stumbled out of the house, locking the door behind him. “I just want to go somewhere they won’t find me,” he muttered under his breath.

Driving to work felt like a fever dream. The car swayed unnaturally, as though the road itself had turned against him. He gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles white.

He began yelling at the shadows that seemed to hover in his peripheral vision.

“You’re not killing me! You hear me? You’re not! I own me!”

By the time he reached the coffee shop near his office, he forced a smile onto his face. To anyone watching, he seemed fine, even cheerful.

“Raven, you’re so bubbly. As always,” the barista commented, handing him two cups of coffee.

He nodded, making small talk, even joking about her daughter coming home from college. “She’s pretty, huh?” he teased, his grin bright and convincing.

But inside, his chest felt hollow.

At the office, the greetings came fast. “Mr. Raven, good morning!”

He waved at his colleagues, chatting briefly, his charm as polished as ever. But as he approached the elevator, one of them whispered, “Uh, sir, your zipper...”

Looking down, Raven flushed, muttering an embarrassed apology as he zipped up. He stepped into the executive elevator, alone. But the solitude didn’t bring comfort.

The zipper pulled itself down again, slow and deliberate. He knew why. He froze, his breath hitching. “Stop it,” he hissed. “Not here. Not now.”

The lights in the elevator flickered, dimming briefly before returning to normal. He zipped it back up, his hands trembling. Whatever was playing with him now had no boundaries.

By the time he reached the meeting room, Emerson, his friend and boss, barely looked up from his phone. “Morning,” Emerson muttered, scrolling furiously.

“Morning,” Raven replied, his voice strained.

Emerson glanced at him, his brows furrowing. “You’ve been crying. Are those bags under your eyes? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Raven said quickly, forcing a grin. “Can we start the meeting?”

The session dragged on, but Raven’s mind was elsewhere. When his phone buzzed, he glanced at it to see a message from his brother, Cullen.

It was a picture of a strange artifact he didn’t quite recognize.

“Did you see this?” Cullen had written.

Raven stared at the image, his brows raised up. He didn’t know why, but something about it felt... familiar.