Call Of The White Wolf

I was standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking an endless pit, where there was nothing beneath, no life, no water, land, or any sign of life, everything was just still darkness when suddenly curling smokes started rising upwards out of the depth, I stumbled backwards but it was coming right at me, I opened my mouth but nothing came out, after what felt like forever of being glued to the spot I finally found the ability to move my legs, I turned around and ran without looking back, I didn't know if the smoke or whatever was controlling it was still after me, I didn't stop or turn to look I just kept running until my legs hurt so bad and wobbly like I was going to fall and pass out then suddenly I heard an ear-piercing scream ahead of me, I came to an abrupt stop and was met with two pairs of glowing silver eyes staring down at me, I screamed and tried to move back until I landed back first on the ground, and then it was gone, for a moment I just lay there before squinting my eyes open, I was back in my bedroom.

That dream again. I don’t know how I got to the edge of the cliff, but it always starts there. I just find myself standing there, staring into that black, empty pit, and then the smoke comes, chasing me. Sometimes it’s those glowing silver eyes, sometimes it’s wolves snarling in the dark, their teeth glinting as they close in. Other times, it’s just the screams, sharp and chilling, or whispers, low and jumbled, like voices arguing in a language I can’t understand. The dreams have haunted me for years, ever since I was a little kid. They used to be rare, maybe once or twice a month, but now, as I’m getting older, they come every single night. Each one feels more real, more intense, like the smoke is actually brushing against my skin or those eyes are burning into me. I keep hoping they’ll stop, that I’ll wake up one morning and they’ll just be gone, but they never are.

My name is Bella, and I’m turning eighteen in a few days. I’m in my final year of high school, which is stressful enough without these nightmares dragging me down. I’ve got two best friends, Ethan and Olivia, and we’re basically a trio, always together. Ethan’s the only guy in our group, tall and lanky with a goofy grin that makes people like him instantly. Olivia, on the other hand, can’t stand him half the time, but she’s always around him anyway, like she’s drawn to him despite herself. It’s kind of funny, watching them bicker like an old married couple. I’m the shortest of the three, standing at 5’4” while they’re both 5’5”, and I’ve got caramel skin, long dark hair, and hazel eyes. My lips are full, maybe too full, because they seem to catch way more attention than I’d like. I don’t get it, but people always comment on them, like they’re some kind of trophy I didn’t ask for.

I live with my parents in a small house in our little town. They know about my dreams—how could they not? When I was younger, I’d wake up screaming, and they’d come running to my room, their faces pale with worry. Mom would sit on my bed, stroking my hair, while Dad stood in the doorway, looking helpless. But after years of the same thing, night after night, they stopped rushing in. I guess they got used to it, or maybe they just figured I’d outgrow it. I haven’t. Now, when I wake up gasping or crying, I’m on my own. It’s not that they don’t care; it’s just become normal, like the sound of the neighbor’s dog barking or the creak of the stairs.

I picked myself up off the floor, my back aching from where I’d hit the ground in my dream. My bedroom was quiet, the familiar mess of clothes and schoolbooks scattered around. I shuffled to the window, my bare feet cold against the hardwood, and pushed the blinds apart. Outside, the town was already awake. It was morning, the sun climbing lazily into the sky, and people were walking around, carrying coffee cups or heading to the market. It was Saturday, which meant no school, thank goodness. I’d woken up late again, my body heavy from the dream and the running that felt so real. My legs still ached, like I’d actually sprinted for miles. I stretched, wincing as my spine popped, then turned away from the window and headed for the bathroom.

The shower helped, the hot water easing the tension in my shoulders. I stood under the spray for a while, letting it wash away the lingering fear from the dream. Afterward, I threw on a pair of jeans and a soft green sweater, my hair still damp as I combed it out. I could hear noises downstairs as I left my room, voices raised in that familiar, playful arguing tone. I shook my head, already knowing who it was, and started down the stairs. Halfway down, the voices got clearer, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Get out of the way, you hefty, grumpy scumbag!” Olivia’s voice was sharp but teasing, like she was enjoying herself.

“Excuse me, lady, but you’re the one blocking my path. Move out of my face, you tarnished potato!” Ethan shot back, his tone matching hers, full of mock indignation.

I reached the bottom of the stairs, and there they were, both trying to squeeze through the front door at the same time, their shoulders bumping as they refused to give an inch. Olivia’s curly brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she was wearing her favorite red jacket. Ethan, in a faded band T-shirt, had his arms crossed, glaring at her like she’d personally offended him. They both froze when they saw me, their faces shifting from annoyed to sheepish in a second. They flashed matching smiles, trying to play it cool, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“Good morning, you two,” I said, waving a hand toward the living room. “Can you please come in and close the door behind you?”