Feathers and Blood

I got back home after a pretty uneventful day at school. The murder still swirled around in my head, triggering thoughts one after another like a machine stuck in overdrive. I barely registered the sound of the door shutting behind me. My legs moved on autopilot as I slipped my shoes off and muttered something to my mom about school being fine.

“Uneventful?” she asked from the kitchen, her voice light but questioning. “That’s a first for this week. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Mom,” I replied quickly, not wanting to get into it. “Just tired. Long day.”

She hesitated, and I could feel her eyes on me as I headed up the stairs. “Alright,” she said softly. “Dinner’s in an hour. Don’t forget.”

“Got it,” I called back, already halfway to my room.

Once inside, I shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. My room was my safe space, but today it felt different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was the looming book on my desk or the quiet rattle of the keychain in my bag—like a persistent reminder of something I wanted to forget.

I stripped off my uniform, pulling on a pair of joggers and an old hoodie. My bag hit the ground with a dull thud, and there it was again—the keychain rattling like it was alive. I glanced down at it, resting innocently on the edge of the bag. It always seemed to slip my mind until moments like these, as though it was suppressing its presence until it wanted to be noticed.

I crouched down, picking up the bag and holding the keychain closer. Santa’s grin seemed sharper today, more defined, like someone had redrawn the lines to make them clearer. I frowned, shaking my head. “You’re just paranoid,” I muttered to myself, dropping it back onto the bag.

My eyes flicked to the book on my desk, its tattered cover barely holding together and a blue bookmark poking out where I’d stopped last. The murders. The word alone sent a shiver down my spine, pulling me back into that spiraling loop of thoughts I’d been trying to escape. Luca and Belle didn’t want to believe the murders were connected to the book. They wanted to dismiss it as a coincidence, a deranged killer in a holiday mood. But I couldn’t. I didn’t.

The book was right there. The answers were right there. Or maybe I was losing my mind. Maybe this whole thing was just me trying to make sense of something senseless.

I ran a hand through my hair, groaning. “What the hell am I even doing?”

I shoved the book aside, forcing my focus on the pile of work I still had to get through. Physics. Economics. Oh, and the IT project with Belle. My eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. 6:00 PM. I’d call Belle at 8:00 to start the project. That gave me enough time to tackle the other work.

By the time 8:00 PM rolled around, I was halfway through Belle’s call, her cheerful hum echoing through my headphones as we wrapped up the last bit of the project. Her mood was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the weight of the day.

“Nice job, Belle,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “We totally aced this.”

Her voice lit up with joy. “You think so? I mean, I feel like we killed it, but hearing you say it makes it official.”

“Officially the best IT partners,” I teased.

She laughed softly. “You’re lucky I like you, Wise, or I’d tell Luca you took all the credit.”

I grinned. “He’d believe it too.”

Her laughter faded slightly, and for a moment, I thought she’d gotten distracted. “Belle?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice came back, softer now, threaded with something fragile. “Wise... do you think that murder is connected to the book? The one I... picked up at the festival?”

I froze, my grip on the edge of my desk tightening. Her question hit harder than I expected. She sounded so unsure, so guilty. “What makes you ask that?” I said cautiously.

“I don’t know. I just—” She hesitated, and I could hear her take a shaky breath. “It feels too... close, you know? Like, what if we did this? What if I did this?”

“Stop,” I said firmly, cutting her off before she could spiral. “You didn’t do anything. None of this is your fault, Belle.”

“But what if—”

“It’s not,” I said again, softer this time. “This is probably just some psycho taking the Christmas spirit way too seriously. Creepy as hell, yeah, but not magic. Not curses.”

She sniffled softly. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” I lied, hating how easily the words came out. “We’ll figure this out, Belle. Together. Okay?”

There was a pause, then a small, shaky laugh. “Okay. Thanks, Wise. I needed that. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Her voice brightened just a little before the call ended with a soft click. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the faint glow of my computer screen. The lie sat heavy in my chest, but I told myself it was for the best. Belle didn’t need to carry this. If anyone did, it was me.

My eyes drifted to the book again, the blue bookmark standing out like a taunt. I sighed, closing my laptop. “Tomorrow,” I muttered, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

The night felt heavier than usual, but I forced myself to push everything aside. Tomorrow would be different. It had to be.

▪▪▪

My eyes shoot open, and I’m underwater. The pressure crushes me, holding me in place as I thrash around, struggling for air. My arms are heavy, my legs barely move, and the panic sets in fast. Shiny bubbles escape my mouth, twisting and rising toward the surface like tiny silver stars. I kick harder, fighting against the weight dragging me down. I need to breathe—I need to get to the surface.

Finally, I break through, gasping and coughing as the cold air hits my face. My chest heaves, lungs burning as I suck in breaths like I’ve been underwater for hours. I whip my head around, trying to get my bearings. Where am I? Endless water stretches out around me, a vast gray expanse beneath an empty sky. It feels surreal, like something out of a painting. No land, no horizon—just me, floating.

Where am I? The thought feels loud, bouncing around me in echoes that sound nothing like my own voice. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it only makes things worse. Each thought I have repeats itself, bouncing back at me like I’m inside some hollow shell.

Then I hear it—a beat. Low and faint, like someone’s tapping on a drum far away. I glance around, trying to find the source, but it’s impossible to tell where it’s coming from. It gets louder with each second, vibrating through the water like it’s alive. My ears throb in time with it, and I feel it in my chest, in my veins.

I swim toward what looks like a shoreline ahead, my strokes frantic. The sound grows louder, pounding in my skull, but I push through. Just as my hand touches the sand, something yanks me back down—hard. I choke out a scream that’s swallowed instantly as I’m dragged back under. The water surges around me, heavy and alive, pulling me deeper into its depths.

I spin around, desperate to see what’s happening, and then I see it—a massive drum pad glowing faintly beneath me. The rhythm pounds from it, syncing with the ocean’s movement. The closer I get, the louder it becomes, until it’s all I can hear, all I can feel. My hand stretches out instinctively, my fingers reaching toward it.

The drum pulses, and just as I’m about to touch it, a voice booms through the water.

“Wise.”

I sit bolt upright, gasping like I’ve been suffocating for real. My chest heaves as I gulp down air, and for a moment, I can’t tell if I’m still dreaming. Everything feels damp—no, not just damp. My bed is soaked. My shirt clings to my skin, and when I run my hand through my hair, water drips onto the already-soaked sheets. It’s as if I actually fell back into my room from the ocean.

“What the fuck was that?” I mutter, my voice cracking. My mind races. The dream, the ocean, the drum pad—none of it made sense, and yet, it felt so real. And that voice… it wasn’t just some random sound. It was familiar, but I can’t place it.

I glance at the clock beside my bed. 6:00 a.m. Great. Too early to be awake, but there’s no way I’m going back to sleep after that. I swing my legs off the bed and run a hand down my face, trying to steady my breathing. Whatever that was, I don’t want to think about it right now.

After cleaning up and getting dressed, I decide to kill some time going through schoolwork. It’s better than sitting around, replaying that dream in my head. By 7:30, I grab my bag, hop on my bike, and head out. The cold air stings my face, the streets quiet except for the crunch of snow beneath my tires.

When I turn the corner onto Belle’s street, my brows furrow. A familiar black BMW is parked on the sidewalk, the glossy paint catching the weak morning light. My stomach tightens. Dez. What the hell is he doing here this early?

I stop a little ways off, hiding behind a parked truck as I scan the area. He’s nowhere in sight, but the car is unmistakably his. I glance at my phone and shoot Belle a quick message. You ready? Her reply comes almost instantly: Be out in a minute.

I wait, keeping an eye on the front door. A few minutes pass, and then Dez steps out of the car. My jaw tightens as he walks up to Belle’s door, reaching for the handle. Before he can knock, the door swings open, and Belle stumbles out, crashing straight into him. Her glasses tumble to the ground, and her hair unwinds, falling loose over her shoulders.

I inch closer, my hands gripping the handlebars of my bike. My pulse quickens. If Dez tries something, I’m going to—

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, frozen, his mouth slightly open as he stares at her.

“Dez?” Belle says, brushing her hair out of her face. She reaches for her glasses but pauses when she notices his expression. “Are you… okay?”

Dez doesn’t respond. His usual cocky smirk is gone, replaced by something I can’t quite read. Confusion? Awe? Whatever it is, it’s unsettling.

I take the opportunity to ride up, stopping just as Belle slips her glasses back on and gathers her things. “You good?” I ask her, ignoring Dez completely.

Belle looks up, startled, but nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

I don’t wait for Dez to snap out of whatever trance he’s in. I take Belle’s hand and guide her toward the street, giving Dez a mock salute as we pass. His eyes follow us, quiet and still, before he finally nods and turns back to his car.

“What’s up with him?” I mutter under my breath, but Belle doesn’t seem to hear. She’s too busy brushing off the snow from her bag.

As we ride toward school, I shake my head, trying to brush off the bad feeling that’s clawing at the back of my mind. Whatever Dez’s deal is, I’ll figure it out later. Right now, I just want to focus on getting through another day.

Belle and I made it to school without much more incident. The chatter of students filled the air as we locked our bikes, the morning sun bouncing weakly off the snow-dusted pavement. Inside, we headed straight to our lockers, and that’s when we spotted Luca leaning against his.

He was already there, which threw me off. Luca was never early. Ever. If anything, he was usually jogging in as the bell rang, flashing that cocky grin and a half-baked excuse about traffic or a late breakfast. But today? Today, he just stood there, arms crossed, his face unreadable.

“Look who decided to be early for once,” I said, trying to lighten the mood as Belle and I walked up to him. “You trying to make me look bad or something?”

Luca didn’t respond. He barely even glanced at me, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. Belle raised a brow at him. “Luca? You okay?”

I leaned against my locker and started telling him about the morning. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “Guess who I ran into outside Belle’s house?”

“Dez,” Belle added, her voice dripping with exasperation. She crossed her arms. “The guy is so annoying. He just stood there, staring at me like I’d grown a second head or something.”

I laughed, trying to make it sound less awkward. “Yeah, and when I showed up, he didn’t even say anything. Just got in his car and left. Weird, right?”

But Luca still didn’t react. He didn’t smile, laugh, or even roll his eyes like he usually would. His face was stoic, almost grim, and for the first time that morning, I felt a cold knot of unease settle in my stomach.

“Luca?” I said, straightening up. “What’s going on?”

Belle stopped fiddling with her books, looking at him now with the same concern I felt. “You’re acting... off,” she said softly. “Did something happen?”

Luca sighed, his shoulders slumping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “Something happened.”

I froze. “What?”

“There was another murder,” Luca said, the words dropping like a hammer. “A couple. They were found this morning.”

Belle’s breath hitched. “Oh my God…”

Luca took a deep breath and continued, his tone slow and deliberate. “They were in their bed, their bodies... intertwined with sharp tinsel, shaped like doves. The blood that bled out of them... it formed these two shapes, like birds in midflight.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of students chatting and laughing down the hall, completely unaware of what we’d just heard. My mind reeled, the image of the scene Luca described flashing vividly in my head.

“Who were they?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“A newlywed couple,” Luca said. “Just got back from their honeymoon. You know them—Jessica and Kyle. They were, like... the perfect couple. Everyone loved them.”

I did know them. They were that annoyingly sweet pair who always smiled at each other like they shared some inside joke no one else could understand. They radiated happiness. Love. And now... this?

Belle stumbled back, crashing into her locker with a loud clang. Her books slipped from her hands as deep, shuddering sobs racked her body. “No, no, no…” she cried, her voice breaking. “This can’t be real. This can’t be happening…”

I wanted to comfort her, to say something, but my own knees felt weak. My head spun, and I gripped the edge of my locker for support. The weight of it all pressed down on me like a physical force. The murders weren’t random. They weren’t coincidence. The book, the ritual... the 12 Trials of Christmas—they were real. And they had truly begun.

I knew it. Deep down, I’d known from the start. But hearing it now, seeing Belle sobbing and Luca standing there with that grim expression—it was like a punch to the gut. Things were going to get worse. Much, much worse.

Luca stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Belle as her cries grew louder. “It’s okay,” he said softly, though his voice cracked. “I know it’s not really okay, but... we’ll get through this. We have to.”

The school bell rang, its sharp tone slicing through the moment. Luca gently helped Belle collect her things, and I forced myself to take a deep breath, locking the image of the murder scene away in some corner of my mind. One step at a time, I told myself. One step at a time.

We each went our separate ways, heading to our first classes. My legs felt like lead as I trudged down the hall, my head still spinning. But as I watched Belle and Luca walking off together, something caught my eye.

Their keychains.

Both of them—Belle’s Mrs. Claus and Luca’s elf—were visibly bigger than they’d been yesterday. The details on them were sharper, more defined, almost grotesque. My stomach twisted, and I quickly checked my own. It had grown too, the Santa Claus figure now larger and heavier in my hand. As I stared at it, I noticed something else—a single, white feather lying next to it.

I picked it up, running my fingers over the soft edges. It was pristine, delicate, almost angelic. Like the feather of a dove.

My breath hitched, and my hand closed tightly around the keychain. I shoved it back into my pocket, but the weight of it was impossible to ignore.