Lydia Prescott woke up bright and early.
Not by choice, of course. Saturday was her day for sleeping in, but her subconscious had other plans.
Another nightmare. A sigh escaped her. She kept perfectly still, her expression void of emotion. The constellations on her ceiling stared back at her, a collection of glow-in-the-dark stars she went through the trouble of arranging.
The clock on the wall ticked with its usual rhythm. A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window.
“Guess I’m not falling back asleep...” Leaving the warmth of her bed, Lydia grabbed a plaid cardigan to help fend off against the cool morning air.
After choosing the rest of her outfit from her closet, she padded over to the door and pulled it open. On her way into the hall, she retrieved an elastic band for her hair and got to work braiding. This was all part of her daily routine, preferably at a much later hour.
Lydia shivered as she made her way to the bathroom, but it wasn’t from the cold. The screams in her nightmare sounded in her mind. They hadn't been human. She knew from experience.
Satisfied with her work, Lydia tossed her braid behind her shoulder and entered the bathroom. The linoleum was cold against her feet, earning another shiver from the brunette. This time, her body’s reaction was from the cold.
Sighing again, Lydia flipped on the lights, squinting to help her eyes adjust to the brightness. She quickly dressed herself in light denim jeans and a plain, loosely fitting t-shirt. The cardigan pulled the look together, or at least she thought so.
Reaching for her toothbrush, Lydia froze, startled by her own reflection.
“Wow…” Leaning closer, she turned her face to the side. For the first time in a long while, her skin was perfectly clear.
“Guess the lemon juice trick worked!” Applying a generous amount of toothpaste to her toothbrush, she raised the toothbrush to her mouth and proceeded to drop it.
To her horror, her reflection had changed. Her skin was no longer clear. She looked as if she had suffered horrible burns, and the skin was beginning to flake off like the bark of a tree.
“No, no, no! What’s going on?!” Crying out, Lydia pressed her fingers against her cheeks to keep the skin from escaping, but the same thing was happening to her fingers. In seconds, she could see the bone underneath the skin.
And then she really woke up.
Gasping sharply, Lydia's eyes flew open. She sat upright so fast her journal fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
Heart threatening to beat out of her chest, she reached up to touch her face. The skin was still intact.
“Did I seriously just have a nightmare within a nightmare?” Scowling at the realization, Lydia threw aside her kitten patterned blanket and climbed out of bed. Her subconscious didn’t skimp on the details; she had fallen asleep wearing the same outfit she chose in her dream.
Retrieving the leather-bound journal from the floor, Lydia's features creased with worry. She was more concerned with its condition rather than her nightmare. It took more than her face melting off to scare her -- she had witnessed scarier things than that in her lifetime.
Satisfied with its condition, she closed the journal just as a notification sounded from her phone.
Rubbing leftover sleep from her eye, Lydia retrieved the device from the nightstand. The screen displayed a reminder, one she set three days ago and had forgotten until now.
Hang out with Ava.
Lydia didn't usually enjoy the company of others, but Ava was a rare exception. Lydia had learned to appreciate her lively personality and considered the redhead to be her best friend.
Are we still on for today? The text was sent as a polite reminder, but Lydia knew the answer. Ava always seemed willing to hang out.
Slipping the phone into her nearby bag, Lydia grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom to prepare for the day.
The sound of the TV drifted in from the ranch-style kitchen. It was a small portable set that was positioned near the oven so Mrs. Prescott could cook and catch up on her favorite programs at the same time.
“I’m heading out.” Adjusting her white baseball cap, Lydia stood in the doorway. She was careful not to look at the television screen; she didn’t have to look to know her mother was watching something involving guts and blood. Medical dramas were her favorite.
“Mhmm…have fun, sweetie.” A normal parent might have asked where Lydia was going, but Allison Prescott was far from normal. The blonde was fixated on the television, one hand gripping an onion, the other a knife. Every few seconds, she would make a move to slice the onion, but never completed the action. There was a reason the family stoked up on frozen dinners. Half the woman’s meals never saw completion.
“They had better not botch that.” Allison pointed with the knife, her ponytail swishing as she shook her head in disapproval. “They’re attempting to do a nose transplant—“
Gritting her teeth, Lydia held up a hand to silence her. She could never understand how a woman as lovely as her mother could take pleasure in watching something so ugly.
“Don’t,” Lydia warned, braving the kitchen to grab a can of Pepsi in the refrigerator. “Spare me the details. It’s disgusting.”
Grimacing at the fridge packed with odd-smelling leftovers, she weeded through a collection of beer and snatched her soda. The can was satisfyingly cold, just the way she liked it. Shutting the door of the fridge with her hip, she turned and eyed the knife her mother so carelessly wielded. “If you don’t watch it, you’re going to need a finger transplant.”
“Hm?” Mrs. Prescott finally looked away from the television and back to her onion. “Oh. I’ll be careful,” she promised, shooting her daughter a searching look. “Aren't you going to eat something?"
Lydia didn't reply. She was already gone.
Outdoors, Lydia took a deep breath. She loved the smell of summer.
Her satisfied exhale morphed into a shriek when her father’s voice boomed in out of nowhere.
“Hey, Squirt! Heading out?” Mr. Prescott slid out from underneath the family pickup truck, wrench in hand.
“You have GOT to stop doing that!” Lydia wished every encounter with her father didn’t have to begin with a mini heart attack. The man could have been a ghost with the way he seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Sorry.” Mr. Prescott didn’t sound sorry. He sounded amused. “Rock hunting again?”
Noticing that his toolbox was out of arms reach, Lydia pushed it over with her boot. She didn’t correct him with the fact that she collected flowers, not rocks. It was something he always seemed to forget.
"No. I had plans to hang out with Ava today.” Lydia took one last sip of soda before passing the can to her father. “Looks like you need this more than I do.”
Smirking, Mr. Prescott accepted the drink. Beads of sweat were on his brow, indicating that he’d been at work on the family vehicle for a considerable amount of time.
“Very observant of you.” He took a grateful swig of Pepsi, patting the front bumper of the truck with his free hand. The vehicle seemed to groan in protest. “She’s giving me some trouble, but I’ll get her fixed up soon.”
Considering all the truck had been through, Lydia thought it a miracle there was anything left to fix. She didn’t bother to suggest her father invest his time and money into a different vehicle – he seemed to think the heap was part of the family.
“Well, good luck.” Lydia turned to leave, stopping a few feet away. “Mom’s making hash browns, by the way.”
Mr. Prescott shuddered. He thought his wife a talented woman, but her talent didn't include the art of cooking. Lying on the dolly, he slid back underneath the truck. "Thanks for the warning."
In many areas of the community, Lion’s Ridge looked the same. The houses resembled one another, so much that residents were known to have mistaken someone's home for their own. Mr. Prescott was probably the most guilty of that.
Hands shoved into the front pockets of her light gray hoodie, Lydia walked the familiar path to Ava's house. The sidewalk curved up ahead, winding downwards at a slope. It was one of the few areas in the town where the ground was dramatically uneven. Breaking into a run, Lydia removed her hands from her pockets and allowed the slant of the concrete to give her an extra boost of speed.
It was a nice feeling to run toward something, rather than away from something. Brief images of past hunts flashed in her mind.
Get over it, she chided, her inner voice sharp. This wasn’t the time to think about ghosts and monsters. The weather was perfect, and she got to hang out with her best friend. Hunting should have been the last thing on her mind.
Slowing into a walk, Lydia rounded the corner and continued past the nearly identical homes. The morning started rocky, but it wasn't enough to spoil her plans. A little nightmare wasn't going to get her down. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her phone again and sent one more text to Ava.
I'll be at your place in 10 minutes!
Lydia returned the phone to her bag, and a rare smile crossed her face. Today was going to be a good, stress-free day.
Not by choice, of course. Saturday was her day for sleeping in, but her subconscious had other plans.
Another nightmare. A sigh escaped her. She kept perfectly still, her expression void of emotion. The constellations on her ceiling stared back at her, a collection of glow-in-the-dark stars she went through the trouble of arranging.
The clock on the wall ticked with its usual rhythm. A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window.
“Guess I’m not falling back asleep...” Leaving the warmth of her bed, Lydia grabbed a plaid cardigan to help fend off against the cool morning air.
After choosing the rest of her outfit from her closet, she padded over to the door and pulled it open. On her way into the hall, she retrieved an elastic band for her hair and got to work braiding. This was all part of her daily routine, preferably at a much later hour.
Lydia shivered as she made her way to the bathroom, but it wasn’t from the cold. The screams in her nightmare sounded in her mind. They hadn't been human. She knew from experience.
Satisfied with her work, Lydia tossed her braid behind her shoulder and entered the bathroom. The linoleum was cold against her feet, earning another shiver from the brunette. This time, her body’s reaction was from the cold.
Sighing again, Lydia flipped on the lights, squinting to help her eyes adjust to the brightness. She quickly dressed herself in light denim jeans and a plain, loosely fitting t-shirt. The cardigan pulled the look together, or at least she thought so.
Reaching for her toothbrush, Lydia froze, startled by her own reflection.
“Wow…” Leaning closer, she turned her face to the side. For the first time in a long while, her skin was perfectly clear.
“Guess the lemon juice trick worked!” Applying a generous amount of toothpaste to her toothbrush, she raised the toothbrush to her mouth and proceeded to drop it.
To her horror, her reflection had changed. Her skin was no longer clear. She looked as if she had suffered horrible burns, and the skin was beginning to flake off like the bark of a tree.
“No, no, no! What’s going on?!” Crying out, Lydia pressed her fingers against her cheeks to keep the skin from escaping, but the same thing was happening to her fingers. In seconds, she could see the bone underneath the skin.
And then she really woke up.
Gasping sharply, Lydia's eyes flew open. She sat upright so fast her journal fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
Heart threatening to beat out of her chest, she reached up to touch her face. The skin was still intact.
“Did I seriously just have a nightmare within a nightmare?” Scowling at the realization, Lydia threw aside her kitten patterned blanket and climbed out of bed. Her subconscious didn’t skimp on the details; she had fallen asleep wearing the same outfit she chose in her dream.
Retrieving the leather-bound journal from the floor, Lydia's features creased with worry. She was more concerned with its condition rather than her nightmare. It took more than her face melting off to scare her -- she had witnessed scarier things than that in her lifetime.
Satisfied with its condition, she closed the journal just as a notification sounded from her phone.
Rubbing leftover sleep from her eye, Lydia retrieved the device from the nightstand. The screen displayed a reminder, one she set three days ago and had forgotten until now.
Hang out with Ava.
Lydia didn't usually enjoy the company of others, but Ava was a rare exception. Lydia had learned to appreciate her lively personality and considered the redhead to be her best friend.
Are we still on for today? The text was sent as a polite reminder, but Lydia knew the answer. Ava always seemed willing to hang out.
Slipping the phone into her nearby bag, Lydia grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom to prepare for the day.
The sound of the TV drifted in from the ranch-style kitchen. It was a small portable set that was positioned near the oven so Mrs. Prescott could cook and catch up on her favorite programs at the same time.
“I’m heading out.” Adjusting her white baseball cap, Lydia stood in the doorway. She was careful not to look at the television screen; she didn’t have to look to know her mother was watching something involving guts and blood. Medical dramas were her favorite.
“Mhmm…have fun, sweetie.” A normal parent might have asked where Lydia was going, but Allison Prescott was far from normal. The blonde was fixated on the television, one hand gripping an onion, the other a knife. Every few seconds, she would make a move to slice the onion, but never completed the action. There was a reason the family stoked up on frozen dinners. Half the woman’s meals never saw completion.
“They had better not botch that.” Allison pointed with the knife, her ponytail swishing as she shook her head in disapproval. “They’re attempting to do a nose transplant—“
Gritting her teeth, Lydia held up a hand to silence her. She could never understand how a woman as lovely as her mother could take pleasure in watching something so ugly.
“Don’t,” Lydia warned, braving the kitchen to grab a can of Pepsi in the refrigerator. “Spare me the details. It’s disgusting.”
Grimacing at the fridge packed with odd-smelling leftovers, she weeded through a collection of beer and snatched her soda. The can was satisfyingly cold, just the way she liked it. Shutting the door of the fridge with her hip, she turned and eyed the knife her mother so carelessly wielded. “If you don’t watch it, you’re going to need a finger transplant.”
“Hm?” Mrs. Prescott finally looked away from the television and back to her onion. “Oh. I’ll be careful,” she promised, shooting her daughter a searching look. “Aren't you going to eat something?"
Lydia didn't reply. She was already gone.
Outdoors, Lydia took a deep breath. She loved the smell of summer.
Her satisfied exhale morphed into a shriek when her father’s voice boomed in out of nowhere.
“Hey, Squirt! Heading out?” Mr. Prescott slid out from underneath the family pickup truck, wrench in hand.
“You have GOT to stop doing that!” Lydia wished every encounter with her father didn’t have to begin with a mini heart attack. The man could have been a ghost with the way he seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Sorry.” Mr. Prescott didn’t sound sorry. He sounded amused. “Rock hunting again?”
Noticing that his toolbox was out of arms reach, Lydia pushed it over with her boot. She didn’t correct him with the fact that she collected flowers, not rocks. It was something he always seemed to forget.
"No. I had plans to hang out with Ava today.” Lydia took one last sip of soda before passing the can to her father. “Looks like you need this more than I do.”
Smirking, Mr. Prescott accepted the drink. Beads of sweat were on his brow, indicating that he’d been at work on the family vehicle for a considerable amount of time.
“Very observant of you.” He took a grateful swig of Pepsi, patting the front bumper of the truck with his free hand. The vehicle seemed to groan in protest. “She’s giving me some trouble, but I’ll get her fixed up soon.”
Considering all the truck had been through, Lydia thought it a miracle there was anything left to fix. She didn’t bother to suggest her father invest his time and money into a different vehicle – he seemed to think the heap was part of the family.
“Well, good luck.” Lydia turned to leave, stopping a few feet away. “Mom’s making hash browns, by the way.”
Mr. Prescott shuddered. He thought his wife a talented woman, but her talent didn't include the art of cooking. Lying on the dolly, he slid back underneath the truck. "Thanks for the warning."
In many areas of the community, Lion’s Ridge looked the same. The houses resembled one another, so much that residents were known to have mistaken someone's home for their own. Mr. Prescott was probably the most guilty of that.
Hands shoved into the front pockets of her light gray hoodie, Lydia walked the familiar path to Ava's house. The sidewalk curved up ahead, winding downwards at a slope. It was one of the few areas in the town where the ground was dramatically uneven. Breaking into a run, Lydia removed her hands from her pockets and allowed the slant of the concrete to give her an extra boost of speed.
It was a nice feeling to run toward something, rather than away from something. Brief images of past hunts flashed in her mind.
Get over it, she chided, her inner voice sharp. This wasn’t the time to think about ghosts and monsters. The weather was perfect, and she got to hang out with her best friend. Hunting should have been the last thing on her mind.
Slowing into a walk, Lydia rounded the corner and continued past the nearly identical homes. The morning started rocky, but it wasn't enough to spoil her plans. A little nightmare wasn't going to get her down. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her phone again and sent one more text to Ava.
I'll be at your place in 10 minutes!
Lydia returned the phone to her bag, and a rare smile crossed her face. Today was going to be a good, stress-free day.
