Chapter 1
A Strange Man
PROLOGUE
He burst into the room, his eyes instantly drawn to a shadowy figure beside the wardrobe. A thief, armed with a rod, was prying open the lock. "Hey, who are you?" the boy yelled, his voice trembling. The thief spun around, his eyes, white and unsettling like those of a hunting dog, fixed on the boy as he began to advance. Fear seized the boy as the thief lunged forward, raising the rod, poised to strike.
STORY
"Mike..." a voice called. "Mike, the dinner is on your table. Hurry up, my boy."
"Okay, Mom, I'm coming," replied Mike, a fifteen-year-old who was homeschooled. His father, a businessman, returned home only twice a month, while his mother managed the household.
Mike descended the stairs towards the dining table and pulled out a chair. "Mom," he groaned, "I've told you a thousand times, this chair isn't comfortable!"
"I'll change it next time, son. Move to the next chair," his mother responded.
After dinner, Mike settled onto the couch in front of the TV to watch a movie about the theft of a golden trout. He was engrossed, particularly by a scene where a thief used a hammer to break a lock, which then fell with a sound like shattering glass. Suddenly, Mike heard a similar sound from the kitchen. He turned his head sharply and called out, "What happened, Mom?"
"Nothing, Mike, just a glass fell from my hand," his mother replied.
Mike finished the movie feeling exhausted and headed to his room to sleep. He had been working continuously for eight hours, and the moment his back touched the bed, he fell asleep.
Four hours later, around 3:00 AM, Mike was jolted awake by a sound from outside the house. He trembled, his eyes straining in the darkness, trying to locate the source of the noise. The windows in his room were rattling violently due to the wind. Annoyed by the sound, Mike decided to close them.
As he approached the window, he saw a person standing outside his house. He blinked, wondering if it was real or just his imagination, but after clearing his eyes, he clearly saw an old man. The old man was shouting, and Mike strained to hear his words, but the wind made it impossible. He closed his eyes, concentrating intently, trying to decipher the muffled cries. Suddenly, Mike's eyes snapped open in shock as he finally understood what the old man was screaming. The old man shouted, "SARA, YOU WITCH!"
Wait... what? Did he just say "witch" or "bitch"?
And who is Sara?
Mike was confused when he heard the name "Sara." Why is this old bugger calling my mother's name? Yes, Sara was Mike's mother. Okay, I'll clear this up with Mom in the morning. I want to sleep. Mike turned towards his bed, but the scene he had just witnessed replayed in his mind.
He reached for his phone to check the time. It was 4:07 AM. Suddenly, his phone slipped from his hand as he heard the distinct sound of breaking glass. Hey, what was that? There's no glass in front of the house except for the main door. Mike realized it must be their main door, which was made of glass framed with wood. Is this our main door...? I need to check.
Mike crept downstairs. In front of the main door lay shattered pieces of glass. Hey, what just happened? Did that old man do this?
Then, he heard the sound of a lock breaking. He turned his head towards the room next to the kitchen. It was the third room in their five-room house, and it was his dad's personal room. Hey, that's Dad's personal room. What is he doing?
Mike walked towards the room, his steps small and hesitant like those of a toddler just learning to walk. He peered into the room and saw the old man breaking the lock with a rod. "Who are you?" Mike shouted. The old man abruptly turned, darted towards Mike, and raised the rod to strike. Mike, terrified, wanted to escape and started running.
Unfortunately for Mike, there was no other exit from the room. His only advantage was the darkness inside. Because of the lack of light, the old man couldn't see Mike. The room was a dark, hellish space, and Mike's ragged breathing was more frightening than the old man's presence.
Mike managed to escape the room and rushed to his mom's room, but it was locked. He ran to another room and locked the door behind him. His heart pounded like a drum being beaten with a strong, large stick.
Mike's eyes widened as he scanned the walls of the room. He saw a full-sized photo of the old man. Mike remembered seeing the old man's face in his father's room in his dream. He approached the photo and read the name: "John." Who is he...?
In front of the photo was an envelope. He opened it to find a letter, which he began to read. It stated that John was "the thief of Golden Trout," a street name that referred to the street where Mike and his house were located. He then realized the movie, "The Thief of Golden Trout," was based on a real robbery that occurred on Golden Trout Street.
Mike wanted to confront the old man. He opened the door and looked out; the old man wasn't there. His mother's room, however, was now open. He glanced inside and saw the old man attempting to kill his mother.
"MOM!" Mike screamed loudly.
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Suddenly, Mike woke up in his own room. He looked around, confused. What just happened? I need to see Mom. He rushed to his mother's room, but she wasn't there. His eyes welled up with tears, but a single tear drop stopped short as he heard his mother humming. He ran into the kitchen, relieved, and hugged his mom from behind.
"Hey Mike, when did you wake up?" she asked. "Give me ten minutes, and I'll prepare breakfast for you." Mike said, "Okay, Mom," and stood beside her.
"Mom, has there been any crime or robbery on our street?" he asked.
"Yes, but why are you asking?" she replied.
"Nothing, Mom, just curious." Was that a nightmare or real? Mike's brain questioned. He sat at the table, pondering his dream. Okay, if it was real, I need to check for that old man's photo. Yes, I need to check, he thought, and headed to the room where he had seen the photo in his dream.
To his relief, there was no photo in the storeroom. "Hmm, this was just a nightmare, not a real incident," he sighed. Mike sat on the sofa and picked up the daily newspaper to read.
His mom called him to fix a leaking tap in her restroom, which Mike promptly did. Then, his mother said, "Mike, you need to clean your father's room. It's getting dirty; we haven't cleaned it in months." Mike gathered the cleaning supplies and began to clean the room.
He noticed a large frame covered with a black cloth. Mike pulled the cloth away, and dust billowed, making him cough. He cleared his eyes and stared at the frame, shocked. The photo of the old man from his dream was indeed in his dad's room. Mike didn't know what to do. The name on the frame read "JOHN PAUL." Who is this John Paul?
He also saw some pictures in front of the frame and a couple of books that appeared to be novels. One picture showed an old man with a woman. He turned it over and read the names "John Paul and Lisa Ann." Oh, she's the old man's wife.
He then found another picture—a group photo including his father and mother, along with John Paul and Lisa Ann. What...? Who are these people? Why are they with Mom and Dad...?
He flipped the picture and read a sentence: "My dear father, I love you," from "your daughter Sara." Mike now understood that the old man was his mother's father. Wait, why was my grandfather trying to kill his own daughter, even in the dream?
Mike picked up a couple of books and read the title of the first: "MY DAUGHTER IS A WITCH," written by John Paul. The second book was a continuation of the first. Is this true? Is my mother really a witch...?
"Hey, it's just a story," Mike mumbled to himself. He took the book to his mother, showed it to her, and asked, "Mom, what's the reason behind this book? Is it true? Are you a witch?"
Sara turned to her son, leaned close to Mike, and whispered, "Yes, my dear son, I am a witch."
THE END
