I stared, and stared until my eyes started to water. It was a horrific sight. There were bodies everywhere. It wasn't a sight an eighteen year old needed nor wanted to see, though I wasn't afraid; I had been here before. Well, not literally here at this place, but I had had this dream before. I could tell it was a dream; there are these dreamy vibes that make you shiver when you're in a dream. I felt them then.

I slowly walked up to a body and knelt down. I swept some bloody strands of dark brown hair away from the dead person's opened eyes... And gasped. Without a word, I stood up and backed away. My throat constricted, but I started to scream, "IBRAHIIIIIIIIIIIIM!!!!!!"

*

My mother shook me awake, soothing me, telling me it was alright, over and over again. I sat up, a mixture of salty sweat and tears running down my face. I felt an asthma attack approaching and groped for my puffer on my bedside table. My mother handed it to me, saying, "It's alright, just a bad dream. It's alright..."

I breathed in and out deeply for a few moments until I could talk and said, "It... It was that bad, bad nightmare again. The one... The one with the bodies."

"Just a dream," she repeated.

"Except this time it was worse. There were more bodies. Many more, and they were much more violently mutilated," I realized.

"Seems too detailed to be a dream." A deep voice called out from the corridor outside my room. My father entered the room soon after, holding a coffee and looking very much awake.

"Oh, God, did I wake you up, dad? I'm so sorry." Usually he was a deep sleeper and today was a Saturday.

"No, no. I set my alarm two minutes before you screamed," he told me as if my screams were an everyday thing. They probably were getting that frequent now.

"Three o'clock in the morning, hon?" My mother questioned. Then she noticed his full gear, with snow boots added on. "Where are you off to?" She added, blocking the doorway in a slanted position, shoulder leaning on the frame.

My father grinned.

"Thomas Robert Hathaway! Answer my question or I will drink your coffee!" My mother demanded.

"Have to go hunting, Lucinda Eleanor Fraser-Hathaway." My father finally admitted.

"Hunting! Wha... Who said you are going hunting at three a. m.?" she exclaimed.

"What're you hunting, dad?" I butted in. It wasn't unusual he had to leave early in the morning; he was a patrol police officer for our local area, but hunting?

"Wolves in the Silvan County Woods, apparently. Some complaints in the neighbourhood such as loud howling at night, stolen chickens and poultry, two injured guard dogs, a missing three year old girl, broken fences, etcetera," he recited as he ticked them off on his fingers.

"A missing todler? Were these in the papers? I haven't noticed." My mother said suspiciously.

"Didn't want it on, and that's all I can tell you, since the rest is private and confidential..." He paused and glanced at his watch. "Hmm. I'm late already. Well then," he adjusted his hunting gun strap, "I shall see you later, girls."

And with that, he trudged off to hunt these 'wolves'.

I'm sorry. I probably didn't explain or elaborate on any of that, but hope it's okay. Answers will come in then next few chapters.

See ya!