That morning, the rain poured with a fury that seemed almost personal-as if the clouds had been holding their breath all night, waiting for dawn to release the flood. Sheets of water lashed against the windows, racing down the glass in chaotic rivulets. The wind howled low and mournful, bending trees and rattling the loose parts of the roof with each sudden gust. Thunder cracked distantly, muffled by the dense, grey sky that hung like a thick woolen blanket over the town.
Rachael stood at her bedroom window, unmoving, her fingertips resting lightly against the cold pane. She squinted, trying to see through the downpour, but the world outside had become nothing more than a blurred watercolor of grey and green. The house across the street was barely visible-its outline melted into the rain, as though the storm was slowly washing it away.
The streets were empty. No footsteps on the sidewalk, no passing cars, no rustle of life. Just the relentless, deafening rhythm of rain, hammering the rooftops, drenching the earth, and drumming against the window glass like a desperate plea to be let in.
Inside the house, it was dim and still. The soft creak of old floorboards beneath her bare feet was the only sound that broke the symphony of the storm. The cold had seeped in during the night, and she wrapped her arms around herself, drawing her robe tighter as a shiver traced her spine.
She could feel the weight of the weather pressing against the house, wrapping everything in a sleepy, heavy hush. It was the kind of rain that made the world feel distant and unreachable. The kind of morning that blurred the edges of reality and made dreams feel closer than waking life.
Her eyes remained fixed on the window as if, by sheer will, she could part the rain and see something-someone-waiting out there. The thought of Dylan flickered in her mind like the soft glow of a candle, warming her from within. She imagined him walking through the storm toward her, drenched and smiling, his hair wet, his eyes searching for hers.
And then, through the thick veil of rain, a voice called softly from behind.
Her mother, with a tissue pressed against her nose, stepped into the room. She looked pale and worn.
"Oh dear, I'm not feeling well," she said, her voice stuffy and weak.
Rachael turned quickly. "Mother, you caught the flu."
Her mother nodded tiredly. "Ah, yes. The weather keeps changing, and it's affecting everyone. It's no surprise I came down with it too."
"You should rest, Mom. I'll make breakfast and bring it to your room."
"Thank you, sweetheart. That's very kind of you. And don't forget to close the curtains-the rain might come inside."
"I was just looking outside, but I'll close them now."
Her mother gave a weak smile, closing the door halfway behind her as she shuffled back to her room. Rachael took one last look through the foggy glass-visibility was nearly gone-and then closed the curtains.
She showered, dressed in black trousers and a matching black shirt layered with a leather jacket. The cold outside crept into her bones.. as Rachael stood before the mirror, gently combing her hair, her fingers slowed, and her gaze softened. The strands of her hair slipped between her fingers like the memory slipping into her mind-his touch, the rain, his lips on hers. A tender smile curved her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning slightly forward as if the mirror might show her his face instead of her own.
She could still feel the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, the steady rise and fall of his chest where she had rested, safe and still. His arms wrapped around her had felt like home-like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them and the sound of the rain.
Her eyes opened slowly, dreamlike, and she reached for the pendant on the desk. She held it in her palm "Almost glowing," Dylan had said. "Like you." She brought the chain to her neck and clasped it, her fingers trembling slightly as if tying herself to that moment.
She let out a soft sigh and stared at her reflection again, but her mind was far away. She hadn't dreamt of the abandoned house in days, nor had she seen that strange blue-eyed deer. Maybe Catherine was right-it was all just in her head, born from late-night novels and restless curiosity.
But Dylan-he was real. His voice, his laugh, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. That was no fantasy.
A flush of longing warmed her cheeks. She couldn't wait for the rain to stop. She needed to see him. The world felt dull and incomplete without him.
Her hand brushed the mirror gently, as if it might reach through and find his. "I just want to be with you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rain tapping against the glass.
Downstairs, she made omelets and toasted bread for breakfast. As she fixed two cups of tea, she prepared a tray and carried it up to her mother's room. After setting it down gently, she came back down and sat alone at the dining table.
But her thoughts were not on the food.
She was thinking of Dylan.
She couldn't wait for the rain to stop, couldn't wait to see him again. Her heart felt like it was beating only to count down the minutes until they met.
By evening, the downpour had finally slowed. Rachael and her mother stood in the kitchen preparing tea. She was fidgety, excited, anxious. The moment her tea cooled, she drank it quickly, grabbed her white bucket hat, and hurried outside. The clouds still loomed above, the sky painted in dark grey hues, light dim and eerie. People were just beginning to come out of their houses.
She rushed to the park, heart thumping, eyes searching. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe he didn't come today because of the rain... or maybe he's waiting for me at the cabin, she thought.
She sat on a swing, hoping, waiting, her breath fogging in the cold air. Minutes passed. An hour. Still no sign of him.
Determined and hopeful, she stood, clutching her coat tighter.
He might be at the cabin.
She stood at the edge of the forest, where the trees rose tall and twisted, their bare branches tangled like claws against the dark sky. The path ahead was narrow and damp, disappearing into the thick, shadowy woods. Everything looked eerie-the wind whispering through the leaves, the creaking branches swaying like they were alive. Rachael took a shaky breath, her heart thudding. She clenched her fists and whispered to herself, "You can do this, Rachael."
She stepped into the woods. The moment her boots touched the damp earth beneath the trees, the air shifted-colder, heavier, like she had crossed into another world. The wind howled low between the branches, whispering words she couldn't quite hear, couldn't quite ignore. Every creak of the trees, every rustle in the underbrush made her flinch. Her breath came faster. Even the forest floor felt alive beneath her feet, as if watching her.
The deeper she went, the more the light faded. Shadows closed in, thick and suffocating, blurring the line between tree and creature. The trees leaned toward her, skeletal limbs twisted in unnatural ways, clawing at the air above her head. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, louder than her footsteps. She wanted to turn back. She should've. But something kept pulling her forward.
Then, halfway through the forest, something flashed across the path-too fast to follow, too quiet for the weight it carried. Rachael froze, her breath stuck in her throat. Her eyes darted around.
And then she saw it.
The deer.
It stood just a few steps ahead, still as stone. Its body seemed too perfect, almost too still, as if it had been carved from shadow. But it was its eyes-those eyes-that paralyzed her. They glowed with an unnatural brilliance, two shards of radiant blue light piercing through the darkness. They weren't eyes of an animal. They were ancient, knowing... watching.
Her legs gave out beneath her.
She stumbled back, tripping over roots and slick mud. She hit the ground with a thud, the cold sinking into her bones. But she didn't stay down. Panic overtook her. She scrambled up, hands covered in wet leaves and grime, and turned to flee.
The forest exploded around her.
Branches whipped across her face. Twigs clawed at her arms. Thorns ripped through her jacket like paper, slicing her skin. She didn't feel the pain. Only the terror.
She ran.
Her breath was a ragged rasp in her throat. Her lungs screamed for air, her legs burned, but still she ran. She fell again-face-first into the mud, the earth swallowing her hands-but she pushed up and kept going. The blue glow still burned behind her eyes, as if the deer had etched itself into her mind.
The trees gave way suddenly. She burst from the forest like she was breaking out of a nightmare and stumbled into the empty, grey streets of her town. The sky above still threatened rain, but she barely noticed. She sprinted home, shoes slapping the wet pavement, tears blurring her vision.
She reached the house, pounding on the door with bloodied hands, sobbing. "Open! Please!" But no one answered.
Her fingers shook as she dug into her pocket. The key slipped once, twice. Her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest. Finally, the lock gave way. She threw the door open, slammed it shut behind her, and bolted up the stairs.
She locked her bedroom door and collapsed against it, sliding to the floor. Her soaked clothes clung to her, and her entire body trembled. She could still feel those glowing eyes on her-like they had followed her. Like they had seen something inside her.
Her breaths came in jagged sobs.
"It's real," she whispered, voice cracking. "It's all real... That deer... those eyes..."
She wrapped her arms around her knees, curling in on herself. The glow haunted the backs of her eyelids even when she shut them tight. She rocked herself, trying to escape the feeling, but it clung to her like the forest's shadow.
The haunted world she thought she'd left behind had returned.
And this time, it had found her.
Dylan sat by the riverbank, where the rain had thinned to a quiet drizzle. Everything around him dripped with water-leaves heavy with droplets, stones slick and dark, the earth soaked through. The night was hushed, wrapped in a damp, eerie silence, broken only by the whispering wind and the soft, rhythmic sound of water rippling against the shore.
In his hand, he held a single flower-its petals pale against the gloom. He twirled it slowly between his fingers, his eyes fixed on it with a strange intensity. A ghost of a smile played on his lips-too calm, too knowing.
Then, without a word, he crushed the flower in his palm.
The petals crumpled with a wet whisper.
He leaned back, letting the rain kiss his face, and looked up at the night sky. His smile deepened-mysterious, almost haunting. The dim light reflected in his eyes, making them gleam with something unreadable, something not quite human. The river kept whispering beside him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Something was shifting. Something was coming.
And Dylan-Dylan was already waiting for it.