The Riverside Road — Part Three

I awoke in bed, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. Darkness still blanketed my room. No birdsong, no sunlight—just silence. Sleep was out of the question after that nightmare. I lit my lamp and reached for a book, trying to distract my mind.

As morning crept in through the shutters, I dressed in silence. The dream still clung to me like a shadow. If Justin could follow me into my dreams, how could I ever escape him?

I became increasingly upset as I pondered my next move regarding Justin. Overnight, my future had become dark and obscure in my vision. I cannot see any means of ridding myself of Justin’s curse, and the mere thought of being tormented by Justin shook me from head to toe.

My mood throughout Wednesday was subdued. In school, I acted as if in a dream and frequently lapsed into bouts of despair. I moved through classes with unseeing eyes, blank and uncaring. Friends asked what was wrong. I brushed them off. What could they do? What could anyone do?

By dismissal, I staggered out of Kateland High like a newly released prisoner, only to walk into another kind of torment.

I looked forward to escaping from the persistent nagging of my ignorant classmates, and yet, I was afraid of being on my own, exposed to Justin’s unforgivable revenge. I longed for someone who could comfort me and protect me from Justin’s wrath, but there was none.

Just then, sunk as I was in my own revery, I saw it: a small crowd ahead. I wandered over, eyes drawn to a flyer on the wall.

MISSING: JUSTIN CLEAVER. I froze. It was like the nightmare had followed me into daylight. Again? Why won’t he leave me alone?

I clutched my head. My breath quickened. Was this another of his tricks? I clutched my head between my hands; I pulled at my hair; I groaned in agony.

All around me, people had turned towards me in amazement at my erratic behavior. They backed away, leaving me to my own fate. Their silence cut deeper than words. How could they be so heartless as to gaze upon the struggles of a fellow being and not help?

I started to pace back and forth. I closed my eyes, praying it all would vanish, and opened them again only to see Justin's name in blood-red print glaring back at me. I cried out loud, “Why are you doing this to me!”

Finally, I could not bear it any longer. Blindly, I turned away from the gathering crowd, running down the riverside road where it had all begun, legs pounding, heart racing. The fog had rolled in thick, wrapping the path in white. I should’ve slowed down. I didn’t.

Suddenly, I heard the voice—the me voice as in my dream. “Hudson Li, you cannot escape my grasp. This is only the first taste of my sweet vengeance!” It boomed across the heavens.

Terror shot through me. The mere thought of seeing that terrible creature once again sent shivers down my back.

Fear pushed me forward, but however hard I ran, Justin's voice still followed me, repeating one damning phrase over and over: “It’s all your fault … it’s all your fault.”

Back home, I slammed the door behind me and dove into a cupboard, curling up like a cornered animal. But Justin’s laughter followed me in—shrill, twisted, and inescapable.

It grew louder. Piercing. My head pounded, temples throbbing like they might burst. I bit my tongue. I clawed at my scalp. I needed it to stop. I needed him to stop.

I bashed my head against the wall—again, again, again—until everything blurred. Through the haze of pain, one thought surfaced: Is this how it ends? Me, destroying myself in a cupboard?

Then everything went black.

To Be Continued.

Note: This fictional piece was originally published on Journaly and is republished here with slight changes.