"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy"
~William Shakespeare (Hamlet)

                                                                            __________________

 I woke up gasping and panting, my skin prickling against the cold morning air. I sat on my bed, trying to control my erratic heartbeat. It was just a nightmare, Ava, I assured myself. I've always had nightmares and I could easily brush them off. Yet, this particular one had left me shaking and disturbed. It had just felt so...real.

Lukas... the name floated in my mind. Bits and pieces of the dream were already fading from my mind but that name seemed to remain. I wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with me. How could I dream up something so appalling? I shook my head and caught a peek of myself in the mirror on my vanity. I almost winced at the reflection staring back at me. My brown skin appeared colourless, making my black eyes stand out hauntedly. At least I didn't have bags. 

Taming my messy black hair with a comb and pulling it into a ponytail with a scrunchie, I grabbed a towel, a change of underwear and some clothes and walked to my bathroom for a nice, hot shower to relieve my stiff muscles and remove the last remnants of sleep.

After dressing myself in layers of clothing and looking somewhat decent, I quietly padded downstairs, the inviting smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen. I saw Mom expertly flipping a pancake and placing it on a plate. Esther Young was a tall lady with dark wavy hair and green eyes, polar opposite of me. Of course, she was as white as they come. I, on the other hand, had a mix of Indian and American. Apparently, according to Mom, I took after my father who was Indian and who I'd never seen or met.

"Good morning, honey," Mom greeted without turning back. She had always been able to do that, sense people without ever looking. It was a bit uncanny, if you ask me.

"Good morning," I said and grabbed a spoon to attack the pancakes. As I wolfed down my breakfast, I felt Mom's gaze on me. I turned to look at her.

"What's wrong? You look a little pale. Was it another nightmare?" she asked, concerned etched on her brows. I sighed and nodded.

Her lips slanted downwards. "Oh honey, they are increasing, aren't they? I wish I could---"

"Mom," I said, cutting her off. "It's fine. I can deal with it. Don't worry so much."

She nodded, albeit reluctantly. "So, you're turning sixteen in a few weeks," she started, a little hesitantly. "You're going to be a big girl now. So, I was, um, thinking that maybe we could go out a little, spend the weekend together and um, talk? I've been meaning to but we're both always so busy..."

"Yeah sure," I replied, a little confused at her hesitant tone. My gaze wandered over to the clock resting on the mantelpiece. "Shit!" I cursed and jumped from the stool in which I was sitting and grabbed my backpack. "I gotta go now or else I'll be late to school. Bye Mom!"

I waved her a quick goodbye. She looked like she wanted to say something else but then she just shouted back, "Bye! Be safe!"

Shouldering my backpack, I hurried out the front door and was greeted with a rush of cold air. Shivering, I drew my jacket closer as I set towards my school, wondering what was going on with Mom. I rubbed my hand in an attempt to warm them, all in vain though.

Sighing, I let my eyes wander around the familiar neighborhood. Leafless, bare trees lined the sidewalk. Shaggy houses looked gloomy and worn down, especially because of the cloudy grey sky as a backdrop. A small park with its swings buried in snow was completely abandoned today. Well, by the time it was noon, it would probably be filled with children trying to create snowmen. It was unusually quiet today, except for the occasional sound of a shovel scraping against the asphalt as Mr Harris cleared the pile of snow from his yard, his back bent and his breath coming out in white puffs.

"Hey, Mr Harris," I said as I walked past him. He waved back at me, smiling as always but his tone was serious when he called out, "Be safe out there!"

I turned back to look at him, a little confused and shouted, "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

I resumed walking as he yelled back a response that faded into the whistling wind. Absorbed in my thoughts, I kept on walking until I reached the busier part of the town. Shops, restaurants and cafes were opening up and getting ready for the day. I quickly crossed the road which was more or less empty except for one or two cars passing by occasionally, splashing puddles of melting snow. 

I was humming a song under my breath absently when suddenly my eyes fell on the crowd of people gathered in front of an alleyway, whispering and muttering. I would've probably shrugged it off but then the wailing of the police sirens pierced through the quiet of the morning, making me curious. I watched quietly as two police cars parked at the edge of the intersection. Five officers jumped out of their vehicles and rushed towards the crowd, shouting at them to make space.

I scrunched my eyebrows, wondering what was going on. It was a small town and rarely anything ever happened here that required police attention. But when it did, gossips and rumors spread like wildfire. The people would latch on to it and talk about it for years after. The only thing that I remember which might be considered mildly interesting in this uneventful town was a case of arson about five years ago. I'm pretty sure the police still hadn't found out who was behind it. Oh, and the other case that made the first position on 'the talk of the town' section of our local magazine was when the mayor's wife was caught shoplifting. Scandalous, right?

I reached the swarm of people and tried to walk past them, knowing it wasn't long before school started but curiosity got the best of me when I caught sight of an area being cordoned off by yellow tape. I noticed a guy crouched beside the officers, taking snapshots, like in those detective movies.

Snapshots of what? I wondered as I stood up on my tip-toes, trying to get a better look at what was happening.

"What's going on?" I asked a tall lady standing next to me.

"Oh, there has been a murder apparently," she said, turning her large dour eyes at me.

"A murder?" I gasped.

"Yes. It happened yesterday night, I think. A guy named Lukas Herrington. So tragic..."

I barely heard the rest of her sentence. My eyes widened as I stared at her for a second, wondering if she was kidding. But her face showed no sign of amusement. This must be joke, I thought, feeling a wash of alarm pass through me. The next thing I knew, I was wriggling through the crowd, my small frame being an advantage. When I finally got a clear view, I gasped in horror. 

A middle-aged man with a mop of dirty blonde hair, who was distressingly recognizable, lay in the ground lifelessly. His face was unnaturally pale, almost blue. His coat and shirt were tattered, exposing his bare chest. But what truly knocked the breath out of me were the strange swirling symbols etched in his chest in concentric circles. I was no linguistic expert and had no idea what they might have meant. But I felt something stir in my stomach as I studied them, making me feel sick. They felt...evil. The skin around the symbols was swelling and it looked like the markings might come alive out of the person's pale skin. But, surprisingly, other than that, there were no other visible wounds or injuries and not a single drop of blood either.

The police seemed to be mirroring my thoughts. I was near enough that I could eavesdrop on two officers who were talking quietly amongst themselves.

"This doesn't make any sense, Dave," the first cop said. "These markings...I don't know what they mean but are they really enough to cause his death? Because there don't seem to be any other wounds."

"I don't know, Mark. We have to examine his body carefully. I was wondering if the murderer belonged to some sort of cult or something. That might explain the symbols," the second cop, who have been Dave said, looking thoughtful.

 Mark scoffed. "Please. Cult? Why would there be any cults in this sleepy, small town?"

"I was just thinking about the possibilities," Dave said defensively. "Anyways, have you noticed how there is no blood? I mean, surely, while etching those symbols, some drops of blood must have fallen? Or.... maybe these symbols have nothing to do with the murderer. Maybe this guy drew them himself before."

"No, that can't be. These look fresh. Can't you see the swelling and all? And about the blood, I don't know man..."

"This bloody snow, it probably took away our chances of finding some evidence..."

I tuned out the rest of his words, feeling ill at ease. I didn't know what to make of it. So now I wasn't just having nightmares but prophetic visions as well? It didn't make sense at all. But what frightened me the most was I didn't remember who killed him or even how it happened. I tried to recall. I tried so hard but it felt like grabbing on thin air. 

I was about to turn around, having convinced myself it was just a really bad coincidence and head for my school, when the corner of my eye caught sight of something far behind in the alley, covered in the shadows of the tall buildings. 

It almost looked like a tall silhouette of a man in a coat and a gigantic hat, quietly observing from a distance. Something stirred in my memory suddenly, almost like a flash of image but it was gone before I could hold on to it. I blinked and looked again but he was gone. I stood there for a while, wondering if my imagination was playing with my sight. Finally sighing, I turned and walked away, feeling like some things were about to go very wrong.