It was a full moon, so my friends and I decided to play hide and seek.

  I chose my favorite hiding spot—on top of the tallest tree in our neighborhood. The trunk was thick enough to lie on, and the leaves could hide you easily. Best part? You had a full view of the surroundings.

  I watched as my friends began searching, one by one, passing right beneath me.

  Since they had already checked my area, I decided to stay up there a bit longer, lying still.

  Time passed. I must've dozed off.

  When I opened my eyes again, the street felt empty—eerily quiet.

  "Is the game over?" I wondered.

  I climbed down to check on a friend I’d seen hiding nearby. But he was gone.

  "So… I guess that's it."

  I lived just across the street, but to get there, I had to cross a dark, open space lined with tall, thick bushes. It was a good hiding spot too, but I never liked it—the grass made me itch.

  Across the road, a single lamppost stood—the only source of light.

  I saw someone standing directly under it. Creepy. But I was used to this kind of eerie stuff growing up.

  Then...

  Swish. Swish. Swish.

  I sensed something moving in the bushes.

  Maybe one of my friends?

  I moved closer, thinking I’d surprise them.

  Then—SWISH!

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  A figure shot out of the bushes. Fast. Unrecognizable.

  It noticed me. There was some distance between us, but then it ran straight at me.

  When I finally got a good look at it, my eyes widened.

  It wasn’t a person anymore. It looked like a zombie—straight out of a movie.

  “WTF!”

  I turned and bolted, shouting at the man under the lamppost.

  “Hey! Hey! Hey!”

  I ran toward him, desperate—but even with all the noise, he didn’t react. Like he didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

  I glanced behind me.

  The thing was close. Too close.

  I pushed myself harder.

  Then—crack!

  I tripped over a rock and slipped.

  Jaw clenched, I braced for impact.

  Then—SLAP!

  “Zeke! You having a nightmare?!”

  Sweat drenched me. My heart pounded. But I felt relieved.

  Just a dream.

  “Yeah... Sorry, Dad. Just a nightmare,” I muttered, rubbing my cheek.

  Dad just looked at me silently.

  Then, as if nothing happened, we both went back to sleep.

  But then—I shot up in bed again. Heart racing. Soaked in sweat.

  The same dream. Again.

  I was only five. I didn’t know what to do. I shook my dad awake.

  He groaned and said in an annoyed voice, “Next time they show up, call me.”

  With that, he rolled over. I nestled close and tried to sleep.

  But the nightmare returned. For the third time.

  “What the hell?! The same one!”

  This time, I remembered what Dad said.

  So I screamed—

  “DAD!”

  A voice responded from the shadows.

  “So... you finally decided to call me, huh?”

  ---

  Years Later

  I was outside a coliseum, smoking.

  I don’t know why I’m remembering all this now.

  I’m in my first year of high school. It’s been years since those nightmares.

  I had just lost in a martial arts competition. Winner goes to nationals.

  I wasn’t really defeated—I gave up.

  My nose was bleeding. The whole thing was broadcast on national TV.

  Coach checked on me and whispered, pretending to inspect my injury:

  “They’re grooming this guy to be a black belt. You’re just a white belt—but look at you, already a silver medalist.”

  White belt was the lowest rank. Black, the highest.

  This was my first month in the sport—and I’d made it this far?

  “Okay, Coach. Let him have the gold.”

  I wasn’t proud. That’s why I was outside, needing air.

  Then—CLANG!

  “Ouch!”

  I clenched my fist, ready to retaliate, until I heard the voice.

  “You’re still too young to smoke.”

  “Bro! Haha, sorry. Just needed some air.”

  Another smack to the head.

  “Damn, you’re cruel!”

  He handed me a burger. Then lit his own cigarette.

  Puff. Smoke curled into the air.

  “If you’d used a side kick instead of a turning low, the fight could’ve gone differently. Turning low’s stronger, but it has a blind spot—you gotta time it.”

  “I know. I planned to use the side kick. But Coach said to go with the turning low…” I said between bites.

  “Stupid.”

  That was Zion. My older brother. Fifteen years older.

  He was a man of few words. A genius in martial arts—and everything else. Teachers always compared me to him. Sometimes I got jealous. But he was always a good brother. He became our family’s rock after Dad passed.

  Ring ring.

  “Yeah?” Zion answered the call, irritation in his voice.

  He took a long drag and crushed the cigarette in the sand.

  “So they’ve begun again…”

  He looked at me, ruffled my hair.

  “WTF, bro…”

  He just smiled, then stared off at the horizon.

  “I’ll be there,” he said before ending the call.

  “Guess we won’t see each other for a while,” I joked, biting into the burger again.

  “Better for me,” I added with a grin.

  “Take care, bro.”

  “You too.”

  We bumped fists. He walked off toward his car. At the door, he turned back, gave me a nod.

  I saluted him with a smile.

  And just like that—we went our separate ways.