Hellblades

Manolya’s POV

I jolted awake, my breath stuck in my throat. Dad’s voice carried through the wall, heavy with guilt.“Rüya… Rüya…”

His words trembled, twisting something deep inside me. It was always like this when that dream haunted him, a desperate plea, like he was fighting a battle he’d already lost.

Mom’s name hung in the air, a ghost that hollowed me out every time.

I sat up, pressing my back against the white headboard of my bed. As I sat up, the plush rug brushed soft under my feet, but a chill snaked through me. “Aziz,” I whispered, glancing at my black cat perched on the windowsill. His yellow eyes glowed in the dark, steady and calm.

“He’s at it again, isn’t he?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aziz purred low, a rumbling comfort, tilting his head like he understood, really understood, in a way no one else did. “What am I supposed to do, huh?” I muttered, reaching out to stroke his soft fur. “Dad won’t let me in. He never does...”

Aziz meowed softly, nudging my hand, and I sighed. “You’re the only one who listens, you know that?”

Mom’s absence was a wound that wouldn’t heal, even after all these years. I still remember the neighbors whispering about the rabid stray dog that tore her apart. Uncle Eren swore Dad used to be warm, full of life, before she died.

I couldn’t imagine it.

The man I knew was all sharp edges and distance, charisma wrapped in frost.

My champagne pajamas clung to my damp skin as I tried to roll over, chasing sleep.

That unease clung to me, dark and restless. Aziz hopped onto the bed, curling up at my feet, his warmth a small comfort in the cold night. “You’re so calm,” I mumbled. “Makes me think I’m overreacting.” He purred louder, that smug little beast as I fell back to sleep.

Later, I woke up again to an uneasy feeling in my chest and my phone beeping.

Why was it so loud?

The security system was blaring again.

Did it malfunction, or was someone outside?

The thought made me panic. Even if Dad was home, the idea of a burglar still scared me.

Panic surged, sharp and electric, through my body. I stumbled out of bed, nearly smacking my head on the closet door. “Aziz, stay put,” I commanded, rushing to the window.

He sat there, tail flicking, watching me like I was the crazy one. Outside, the wind howled, with waves crashing beyond the mansion.

Akyaka’s darkness swallowed everything, whitewashed houses looming, palm trees bending under the storm’s fury. Even the Azmak River roared with the swans gone since long, seeking shelter from the howling wind.

I checked my phone with shaky hands. The security cameras showed nothing. “False alarm?” I asked Aziz, with my voice trembling.

He blinked, slow and knowing, and I almost missed the thick black smear on the outer sill. It looked disgusting, like blood, but it wasn’t red. It smelled weird, like sulphur.

No way it could be blood, right? I locked the window tight, my fingers shaking. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” I asked him. Aziz always knew when something was off. He’d warn me.

I have to tell my cousin Pelin about this later. What the hell was this goo smeared outside my window?

He stretched, purring, and I let the panic slip away, crawling back into bed. His weight settled against my chest, grounding me.

I thought about waking Dad but decided against it. He’d only get angry if it turned out to be nothing.

Sleep still dodged me, exhaustion battling that nagging dread.

Then, after an hour lying restless unable to sleep, I heard a loud banging on the double door downstairs.

Pale morning light filtered through the curtains as thunder rolled in the distance.

I shot up, heart in my throat. I checked the security camera instantly. My phone showed Ayla, our housekeeper, at the door. “Oh no, Aziz, this isn’t good,” I whispered. “Why’s she here so early? She’s not due until seven this morning…”

Ayla always used to hold me during bad weather when Dad worked late at the office. Sometimes, when she stayed the night, she would sit by my bedside, gently stroking my hair until I fell asleep, just as I imagined my mother, Rüya, would have done. It always calmed me down. She would also bring me a glass of warm milk with honey if I had trouble sleeping after a nightmare.

Aziz meowed, sharp and alert, as I slipped into my slippers and bolted downstairs.

The storm outside mirrored the unease in my gut, my pulse racing with my shallow breath.

I flung open the double doors, and there was Ayla, her gentle face twisted with fear, eyes red and wet. “Manolya!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You have to help me! Ipek’s missing. She didn’t come home. I’ve been searching all night!”