Chapter Four

The Red Eyes

The sigh that leaves my chest feels heavier than expected. I wanted to love it here, I wanted to be happy for gran… but this??

This strange, creeping dread. This… panic attack in the service station.

That had never happened to me before, they’ve always just been dreams..

Relieved doesn't even begin to describe what I felt when we finally pull into our new driveway. “Come on,” gran says gently, breaking the silence. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll make up the bed. We can worry about everything else tomorrow.”

I followed her up the cobble stone path, dragging my bag behind me. The cold wind pressed against my back like it was hurrying me inside. 

The house was older than I expected, wooden beams and slate shingles darkened with age. It had charm for sure—if charm included creaking floorboards and a porch light that flickered like it was trying to send me something in morse code. But there was a warmth to it too, a life that had been lived here.

Gran pushed the front door open, letting out the scent of pine, old books, and something I couldn’t quite place—like woodsmoke and earth. Familiar, and yet not.

She led me down the narrow hallway to a small room on the right, my new bedroom. 

When I stepped inside, I froze.

The room was simple- a plain dresser, bare mattress, a small desk pushed against the wall–but what made my blood run cold were the paintings. There were at least five of them, hung neatly along the far wall. Each one was different, but every canvas showed the same thing:

A black figure, red eyes, fire, chaos. 

The same eyes from my nightmare. 

One painting showed a demon croucher over a ruined village, flames licking at its limbs. Another had it rising from a split in the earth, its mouth open in a silent scream. In all of them, those red eyes glowed like embers, following me across the room. But it was the last painting–the one nearest my bed–that made my stomach twist.

The same black form, the same infernal backdrop… but now, the eyes were different. Tilted slightly, sharper, narrower, watching with purpose. Like it knew me. 

I turned so fast I nearly collided with Gran in the door way. “What are these?” I asked, my voice cracking.

Her eyes widened. “Oh dear… I– I forgot about these. Your mom had painted them when she was a teenager… I truly forgot they are here.” She whispered, stepping forward quickly. “I’ll take them down right away.”

She didn’t waste a second, already reaching for the nearest frame. I stood frozen, heart thudding in my ears, my body tense with an emotion I didn't understand. Anger? Fear? both?

My mom painted them? 

How?

Why?

“Gone. They're gone, sweetheart.” she said softly, leaning the last painting against the wall. “I’ll throw them out right away. I’m so sorry, saxa. I would never—” she paused when she saw the look in my eyes, something passed between us—an unspoken current of confusion and worry. 

“It’s okay, gran” I whispered, “it’s just that nightmare again. It’s following me around like a shadow. I think I just need to sleep for a little while. If mom painted those, don't throw them out, I'll be okay. Honestly. ”

I kissed her cheek and watched her carry the paintings out of the room, crossing to the window and pulling the curtain aside. 

Besides the few houses on our street it was just trees, nothing but trees. We officially live in the middle of nowhere. awesome. 

Still, I’d always loved the woods. There was something calming about the way trees moved in the wond—slow, certain, ancient. Maybe that would be enough to ground me. And I bet once all of our things arrived—my books, my real clothes, my comforter–this would all start to feel normal. 

“Express shipped from Connecticut,” Gran had said. Whatever that meant. 

I flopped onto the mattress, it felt like I was laying on a rock. I’d kill for the lumpy, worn-in warmth of my bed back home. 

Despite being bone-tired, my thoughts refused to quiet. My brain was a carousel of memories—red eyes, flickering lights, the carvings on the mountainside, the woman in the store. 

Nothing about today made sense.

The moonlight spilled faintly through the window, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The wind outside picked up, howling through the trees, it sounded almost like voices—soft, breathy, distant. My skin prickled. 

I wrapped the thin blanket tighter around myself, trying to pretend the chill was only from the drafty window and not from the feeling that something was… off. 

It felt like something was watching.

A creak from the hallway made me flinch, it was just the house settling I told myself. Old beams and floor boards, nothing unusual. But the unease burrowed deep and refused to let go. 

Eventually, my thoughts began to dull, like waves pulling away from shore. My body surrendered to exhaustion even as my mind remained tangled. Just before sleep took me, I thought I heard it again. 

That whisper in the wind. Like my name, stretched and broken: Ssssaaaaxxxxaaaaa.