The Twelfth Dawn

I woke up with a jolt, my head snapping off the pillow so fast the room spun. For a couple of seconds, I was nowhere—lost in a haze, my brain scrambling to catch up. Then my room came into focus: the messy desk, the sword leaning against the wall, the faint glow of dawn creeping through the curtains. I stumbled to my feet, my legs shaky, and this gut-punch feeling hit me—something was wrong. I couldn’t name it, but it was like the air itself was screaming it.

I grabbed my phone from the desk, and when the screen lit up, my heart dropped straight to hell. Two things burned into my eyes. First, the notifications: 50+ missed calls and messages, a digital avalanche from Belle and Luca. Second, and worse—way fucking worse—was the date. December 12th. The twelfth. I blinked, hard, five times, like I could will it away. No dice. It was still the 12th. I’d slept through a whole damn day and then some. Over 24 hours, gone. How the fuck does that happen?

My fingers fumbled to unlock the phone, scrolling through the messages. They started yesterday—Belle and Luca trying to meet at the treehouse, their texts getting more frantic when I didn’t show. By 2 p.m., they were at my house, banging on the door, calling, texting. Why didn’t Mom wake me? The thought clawed at me as I typed a shaky message to the group chat: “Guys, I don’t know how to explain this, but I’ve been asleep the whole time.”

Not five seconds later, my phone rang, vibrating so hard it nearly slipped from my hand. Belle’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, and her voice hit me like a tidal wave—hysterical, sobbing, barely coherent. “Wise, oh my God, I thought you were gone, I thought the dolls had gotten you!”

She cried for a solid two minutes, her words choking on tears. I repeated myself, voice hoarse, “Belle, I’m okay. I was just… asleep.” It sounded dumber every time I said it.

She sniffled, calming down, but I could hear the confusion in her voice, mirroring my own. We added Luca to the call, and he let out a sharp laugh. “Yo, Sleeping Beauty, you really clocked out for a whole day?”

“This is serious, Luca,” Belle snapped, her tone like a whip. Even through the phone, I could feel her glare.

Luca backed off. “Alright, alright. You gotta admit, though, it’s kinda funny. How do you even sleep that long?”

I almost laughed too, despite the dread gnawing at my gut. Then it hit me, like a brick to the face. “The twelfth murder!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

“Chill, man, we handled it,” Luca said, all smug.

“You did?” I asked, my brain struggling to keep up.

“Yeah, just ‘cause you’re knocked out doesn’t mean we can’t hold it down,” he said. “We stopped it.”

Belle cut in, her voice quieter. “We saw the dolls, too.”

“You saw them?” I leaned forward, gripping the phone tighter. “What happened?”

“They were… different,” Belle said, hesitating. “Not like the other days. They didn’t have those blank, stoic faces. They were smiling. This creepy, eerie smile, like they knew something we didn’t.”

“What do you mean, smiling?” I pressed, my stomach twisting.

“I don’t know, Wise,” Belle said, her voice fraying. “It just happened so fast.”

“What Belle’s trying to say,” Luca jumped in, “is that once we saw those smiles, we blinked, and boom—we were outside the house. And on the door, carved into the wood, was your name.” His voice dropped low, almost a whisper, by the end.

My heart sank, a cold weight settling in my chest. My name. On the door. The dolls were coming for me. I went quiet, my mind racing, until another thought slammed into me. “Wait,” I said, my voice shaking. “When you guys were calling yesterday, banging on the door… did my mom answer?”

The line went dead silent. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“Maybe she was out,” Luca offered, but his voice lacked conviction.

“She would’ve been worried if I slept that long,” I said, barely above a whisper. “She would’ve checked on me.”

“Wise,” Belle said, her tone heavy with something I didn’t want to hear. It was enough. Too much.

“I need to go,” I said, not sure if I even hung up. I didn’t care. I bolted out of my room, feet pounding down the stairs. The living room was lit by the glow of the TV, left on like someone had just been there. My hopes flickered—maybe Mom was okay, maybe she只

System: she was just here. The TV was still on, blaring some morning talk show, but it was the news ticker at the bottom that stopped me cold. “Plane Crash Near Local Airport: No Survivors.” My dad’s flight. I stood there, frozen, the words blurring as my knees buckled.

“Oh, Dear God,” I whispered, my voice barely a sound.

“Wise? What happened?” Belle’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker, sharp with worry. I must not have hung up.

“My dad,” I choked out. “He… he died in a plane crash.”

Silence on the line, heavy and thick. Then I heard it—a low, rhythmic thumping, like a heartbeat in the walls. Drums. The same damn beat from the nightmares that had plagued me during the curse. My soul shook, a cold sweat breaking out as I followed the sound, ignoring Belle and Luca’s voices buzzing from the phone. Each step down the hallway to my parents’ room felt heavier, like wading through tar. My body burned, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I was hyperventilating, the air too thin, the world closing in.

I reached their door. My hand trembled as I pushed it open.

The moments after I pushed open that door blurred into nothing. Just flashes. Blood—so much blood, pooling on the floor, streaking the walls like some sick painting. My mom’s room, her bed, her things—all wrong, all ruined. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring, my brain refusing to make sense of it. Time slipped away, a smeared reel of film I couldn’t pause.

Cops showed up at some point. Their voices buzzed, sharp and impatient, asking questions I couldn’t grab hold of. “What happened, kid? What’d you see?” I think I mumbled something about walking downstairs, opening the door, finding her… like that. The words felt like ash in my mouth, dry and useless. They kept pushing, their faces tight with annoyance, but I was gone, floating somewhere else. Shock, I guess. That’s what people call it when your head checks out and leaves your body to fend for itself.

I remember sitting on the curb outside, an ambulance blanket scratching my shoulders. Belle came running, her face streaked with tears. She threw her arms around me, her sobs soaking my hoodie. She cried harder than I did—hell, I wasn’t crying at all. My eyes were dry, my chest hollow, like someone had carved out everything that made me me. Luca was there too, hovering, his usual smirk gone. I don’t know what he said or did. Everything was fog, edges blurred, voices muffled like I was underwater.

The cops tried again, their questions sharper now, but I just repeated the same nothing-words. Downstairs. Door. Found her. They scribbled notes, muttering about “uncooperative,” but I didn’t care. My mom was gone. My dad was gone—burned up in that plane crash, the news ticker still looping in my head. Why didn’t I feel anything? Why was I just… sitting here, empty?

Child Protective Services showed up next, a woman with a clipboard and a too-soft voice. “Any relatives, Wise? Anyone we can call?” I shook my head. “My dad was on that flight,” I said, my voice flat. “The one that crashed. No one else.” The whole station seemed to pause, like my words sucked the air out. Their pity stung worse than the questions.

When they finally let me go, Belle and her parents were waiting outside. Even Bella was there, her usual smug grin replaced by something soft, almost human. Belle hugged me again, her arms tight, like she was afraid I’d vanish. “I told my parents,” she whispered. “They said you can stay with us. As long as you need.” I think I tried to smile, or maybe my face just twitched. I don’t know. We piled into their car, and as we passed my house, the yellow police tape fluttered in the wind, wrapping it like a gift from hell. My eye twitched, a sharp jolt of something I couldn’t name.

I don’t remember packing a bag, but somehow I had one—my toothbrush, some clothes, my nightwear stuffed inside. Someone must’ve grabbed it while I was staring into space. Dinner at the Forresters’ was quiet, the clink of forks louder than any words. Belle’s mom kept glancing at me, her eyes soft with worry. Bella didn’t try anything, didn’t even look at me. I finished my plate, washed it in the sink like a robot, and shuffled to the guest room they’d set up.

It wasn’t until I sat on the bed, the springs creaking under me, that it hit. Like a dam breaking, the fog shattered, and everything came rushing in. My mom. My dad. Both gone. Murdered. The plane crash was bad enough, but what I saw in that room… fuck. It clawed its way back, vivid now, no longer blurred. Blood, thick and dark, pooling under her body. Her eyes, open, staring at nothing. And on the wall, carved in jagged letters: WISE. The drumming from my dreams echoed in my skull, low and relentless, like it was mocking me. The dolls did this. They took her. They took everything.

I buried my face in my hands, my breath hitching, but no tears came. Just a scream, trapped in my chest, too big to let out. What I saw in that room—it’ll haunt me until I’m dust.