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The day had begun with the dull hum of routine. I was in my room, idly passing the time, when the familiar groan of the front gate broke the quiet – the distinct sound that always announced someone's arrival home. My first thought was my grandmother. Descending the stairs, I found her standing by the entrance, laden with a few shopping bags, a sight as predictable as the sunrise. My mother emerged from the kitchen, her voice a calm instruction for me to help with the groceries. Everything, truly, was utterly unremarkable. Yet, upon my return from the kitchen, an unfamiliar tension had settled over the house. My mother was speaking to my grandmother – not precisely yelling, but her tone was sharp, edged with an anger I rarely heard. I couldn't fathom the cause; Grandma had literally just walked through the door. What conflict could possibly have ignited so quickly? It was in that moment of quiet bewilderment that my gaze drifted outside. Our front yard, usually a neat arrangement of driveway, garden, and a small paved walkway, was no longer recognizable. The entire entrance was now inexplicably covered with dozens of brown statues. Griffins, serpents, twisted, almost demonic beasts – a grotesque menagerie of mythical creatures, meticulously arranged. For a fleeting second, I wondered if it was some bizarre yard sale, but not a single one of these monstrosities belonged to us. I instinctively ran to the gate, half-expecting to find it carelessly left open. Instead, it was locked tight, every latch secured. I simply stood there, my mind reeling, trying desperately to comprehend how, in the span of mere minutes, this eerie collection had materialized so perfectly outside our home. My head was spinning with a disorienting dizziness. Seeking a moment's reprieve, I headed to the ground-floor bathroom to splash water on my face. As I stepped back into the hallway, a compulsion drew my eyes to the yard once more. And that's when I saw her. A woman. Standing perfectly still beside one of the griffin statues. Her hair, stark white and streaked with gray, gave her the unsettling aura of an ancient fortune teller. She wasn't moving, just staring intently at the statue, her lips murmuring something I couldn't possibly distinguish. I blinked, and in that instant, she was gone. Dismissing it as a trick of my tired mind, I turned back to the sink, resuming my task of washing my face. But then, in my peripheral vision, I caught a fleeting movement – a shadow passing the hallway entrance. A woman in a long dress, heading toward my mother’s room. It must be Mom, I reasoned, just Mom. I dismissed the unease. I leaned over the sink again, rinsed my face, then glanced toward the hall. Another shadow stirred, a flicker at the edge of my sight. “It’s just Mom,” I tried to convince myself, my voice a hollow whisper. “Stop overthinking.” I made a mental note to deal with the statues soon, before the dog could get at them. I washed my face one last time, looked up at the ceiling, trying to clear the growing fog in my head, and then lowered my gaze— She was standing right there. The same woman from the yard. To my left. Mere inches away. Her eyes, cold and piercing, bored into mine, freezing every nerve. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My body went completely stiff, as if encased in ice, an invisible force holding me captive. I tried to scream, but no sound, no gasp, escaped my throat. Then she spoke, her voice a low, eerily calm current against the silence. “I’m your mother, son. There’s no reason to be afraid. Don’t say a word. Bring the griffin statue inside… I’ll take care of the rest.” The moment her gaze shifted, my voice returned in a rush of pure terror. I screamed with everything I had – “MOM!” My mother burst into the bathroom, her eyes wide with alarm. I tried to explain what had just happened, still shaking violently, but before the words could fully form – the witch was standing directly behind her. My mom turned, her eyes widening in horror as she saw her, and let out a deep, guttural scream that tore through the quiet of the house, reverberating off the walls. I yelled at my grandmother to run, to follow my mom, but before I could move a muscle, the witch’s eyes met mine once more. Everything inside me froze again. She whispered, "Bring the statue inside." And my body obeyed. Against every fiber of my will, I walked outside, picked up the griffin, and began carrying it back toward the house. Each step felt heavy, unnatural, as if my feet moved independently of my conscious mind. As I crossed the doorway, trembling and soaked in a cold sweat, the statue suddenly broke apart – not a crack, but a complete disintegration, crumbling to dust and fragments in my hands. And then I heard her. The witch. Running toward me from the street. Each step sounded not like footsteps, but like thunderous impacts on the pavement. Her scream tore through the air – high, shrill, inhuman, a sound of pure, unadulterated primal terror. It felt like my mother and grandmother had tried to fight her… and failed, utterly. I felt her behind me before I even turned. A single, icy, bony finger touched my back, the contact prickling my skin. Her whisper brushed against my ear, a chilling breeze: “Turn around.” I wanted to cry, to run, to scream, but my body moved on its own. Slowly, agonizingly, I began to turn, compelled to face the nightmare— And then… I woke up. Based on a true story, yesterday´s nightmare STAKE ID: godines12

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