Kaila Gant
Kaila Gant developed a passion for writing at the age of twelve. She began to write her first novel at thirteen. She is continuing to write novels for her series Silent Nights. She lives in Western North Carolina with her family. She is fifteen now.
Silent nights, such beauty and yet… such terror comes with them. You don’t want to be afraid on those nights. They can smell your fear and they crave your blood. They have your fate in the palm of their hands. Your screams turn to whispers when they are near. They lurk in darkness, waiting for you. Then they make their kill, and from then on, your life will never be the same. Silent nights, such beauty and yet… such terror…
I sit down on our porch stairs, and start to pet Jethro. He starts to drool a river. I’m glad our road is a quiet place. Not many people live on our cove. There are tons of trees and the mountains are bold and thick. I love it. It is so beautiful.
My church is a ten-minute walk up a dirt road. Vanessa’s house is a five-minute walk. The nights around here are so peaceful, so quiet. The way I like it.
I hear a rumble of thunder. I look up; the sky is a sorrowful gray, and I wonder if this is how my school year is going to be: full of sorrow and confusion. I have no idea what to think anymore.
One thing is for sure, Riley has changed. He is not the same guy that I have been friends with all these years. There is something different about him; I wonder what happened to him while he was in Florida? I leave myself with this question, because I feel droplets of rain on the palm of my hand. Don’t get me wrong, I like getting wet. I just don’t feel like it, at least not today.
I walk inside, to find Kristina sprawled out on the couch, watching television.
“Hello.” She smiles, while stretching.
“Hi. How was school?”
“Oh, same-old, same-old. Yours?”
I smile. “Well, I’ll be honest, I don’t like it,” I reply.
She nods and goes back to watching television, and I head to my room.
I stretch out on my bed to hopefully to get some sleep. Finally, I doze off into a profound sleep.
A brisk gust of wind awakens me. I am no longer in my bedroom, it is now night, and somehow, I am outside. The moon shows a golden color. I stand up, and look down at where I was lying, and notice plenty of graves, familiar graves. My church’s property and its graves. I look to my left, and sure enough, there my church stands.
Then, I hear a piercing shriek which sounds so recognizable. My stomach churns and a shiver crawls down my spine.
I rush out of the graveyard, down towards the back of the church where I heard the scream.
Blood has been shed. I can smell it.
The night doesn’t make me feel much better. It is too quiet, so eerie.
The air turns stiff. Time seems to stop. Something makes me go towards the woods behind the church, where a dogwood stands. Blood is smeared on the ground. I want to turn back and go home, but it feels like something is pulling me. The wind starts howling again. It sounds like it is singing me a doleful song. I can hear faint voices, even though I can’t understand what they are saying.
I come closer and closer to the dogwood tree. I can tell something is propped up against it. It looks to be a person. A person that I love, but who?
A sharp pain hits my neck. I run my hand across my neck, and I look at my hand. It is covered in blood.
Something taps my shoulder, and I spin around.
A pair of red eyes stare into mine. The eyes belong to a male. He grins a devilish grin; his moonlight-white fangs show blood in the corner of his mouth. His eyes widen as he points to the body and licks his lips.
“You will die a bloody death. Best wishes to you, my dear,” he whispers in my ear.
He touches my face with his icy hands, and I slowly shut my eyes.
I wake up in my room.
I rise to my feet and jog out of my room, to the living room, where Mom and Dad are sitting.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asks.
“I….”
Don’t tell them, I tell myself. “Nothing,” I quickly say.
“How was school?” Dad asks, not really caring.
“I don’t like it,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Because my friends are being weird and I’m having strange nightmares,” I think to myself again.
“Just boring.” Yeah, anything but boring.
I turn to my look out the window. “Night already?”
“Yes, you’ve been sleeping for quite a while now, so I wrapped your dinner up for you. It’s in the refrigerator,” Mom smiles.
“Good, I’m starved,” I smile back.
After dinner, I take a shower. The whole time, all I can think about is my dream. How could a dream be so real, so vivid, and only be a dream? And what if this dream really is a vision and it’s only trying to warn me about something, something I really need to know, like a life or death situation? I mean, my life has been a little bit hectic lately.
I think all night about my questions. I can’t fall asleep, not that I want to; I don’t want to have another crazy dream. I couldn’t handle another one.
