“Oh, that’s terrible!” the voice from the TV echoed through the room, filling the quiet absence of people. Outside, the heavy rain and howling wind made the evening feel cold and dark.

I sat in my cosy room with a warm cup of tea, enjoying the soft glow of the television, which cast light across the room. Just then, a heavy knock sounded at the door. I opened it and laid my eyes on my old neighbour’s daughter, Zara. She stood there with her amber, siren-like eyes filled with tears. She looked panic-stricken, her usual olive skin drained of all colour and her once-lively eyes appeared lifeless.

Without a second thought, I took her inside and sat her on the couch. Her drenched hair and clothes quickly soaked into the fabric. Noticing this, I headed to my room to fetch a jacket and towel, my mind racing with questions about what could have happened and why she was out in the rain at this hour.

When I returned, I handed her the jacket after she’d dried herself off. I sat on the sofa across from her, choosing distance for reasons I couldn’t quite name, as sitting close felt strangely unsettling. I raised my eyebrows, meeting her gaze with a steady look that invited her to speak.

But aside from a barely audible, “I’m lost,” not a single word escaped her lips.

Sensing the vulnerability in her words, I didn’t pressure Zara to say more. As my initial uneasiness faded, replaced by empathy, I brought her some tea and headed to my room to call my parents. I tried reaching them, but each time, my calls went unanswered. Confused and uneasy, I sat on my bed, trying to gather my thoughts.

Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder shook the house, and in an instant, the lights went out, plunging everything into darkness as deep as a starless sky. In that moment, a few tears of fear slipped down my cheeks.

The hooting of owls and the rolling thunder made the hairs on my neck stand on end. Lost in fear, I was startled by an eerie howl that pierced the silence — a haunting, painful sound that sent chills through me. It jolted me back to the fact that Zara was still in the other room. I rushed out faster than a startled animal, relieved to find her still sitting where I’d left her. In the dim glow from the moon, half-obscured by clouds, I could just make out her face, still expressionless and empty, her eyes fixed on the wall behind me.

Rooted to my spot, I tried to assess the room’s strange atmosphere. The lights flickered back on briefly, then fully returned, yet Zara hadn’t moved a muscle, her face as lifeless as before, eyes unwavering.

Summoning courage, I crossed the room toward her and gently shook her shoulder, hoping to bring her back to herself. Then, without a word of warning, she stood up. She raised her hand and waved goodbye, taking soft, silent steps to the door. She opened it with an unpleasant creak and slipped out, leaving me with mouth agape and emotions swirling as dissonant as the door’s groan.

Shaken and lost in a torrent of thoughts, I sank onto the couch, struggling to process what had just happened. Then, like a bolt from the blue, it hit me — how had I forgotten? My body trembled, and my mind reeled with one chilling realisation: my neighbour’s daughter, Zara, had been missing for the past seven years.

Just then, I was jolted awake. My brother who was standing beside the couch where I lay, urging me to get up as it was already very late. I rubbed my eyes, and memories flooded back — Zara, the stormy night ….

‘Thank God, it was just a dream!’ I thought.

“Hey, how many times have I told you not to sit on the couch with wet clothes? And look at the mess you made in the hallway! Why did you walk with your muddy slippers all the way across?” mum’s voice was filled with annoyance.

I sat up, the remnants of my dream still swirling in my mind, the image of Zara’s sorrowful smile fresh and vivid. My heart raced as I caught a glimpse of the hallway, now streaked with muddy footprints leading to the door.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Zara’s story was far from over.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 30th, 2024