I don't know how many times I've seen those nightmares. For the past few days, the same visions have been piercing through my mind like harpoons forged from the finest steel. I feel my brain ripple and then go still, like the surface of disturbed water. And with each ripple, my entire body is seized by a strange electric current, as if I were being subjected to the same grotesque torment over and over again—millions of times. I feel caged inside my own mind, trapped in a loop of my own design, reliving the same torture again and again.
That same face—its features are burned into my memory. It fades and returns, constantly, like a ghost stuck on repeat. I see the same man: long-haired, slightly tall, a silhouette standing against my sanity. And in the corners of my consciousness, the same sentence echoes: "Wake up." And again, his voice trails in its wake: "When the day comes, we'll meet again…"
"Celal… You okay, dude?"
Muzaffer's voice. He's standing just a few steps away, staring. He sees it too—the sweat soaking into the sheets, pouring from every pore in my body. I struggle to catch my breath, taking short, sharp gasps. My eyes flutter open and closed with the haze of sleep.
"Well…"
"Well what, Say something properly,man."
"I'm fine. Just… had a nightmare," I muttered, sitting up in bed. My lower back ached—must've been exposed to the night air—but I ignored it. I stumbled toward the bathroom across from the living room, its tiles relatively new but cheap, and likely even less budget spent on the workmanship. I splashed cold water on my face.
We'd managed to find a place to stay in one of the more reasonable areas of Saigon. It wasn't great, but the real reason we chose it was because of how close it was to the consulate. Otherwise, we could've picked some faux-mansion in the middle of nowhere. This was more Muzaffer's insistence than mine.
"Nah,you don't look fine."
"Then why ask, genius?" I said sarcastically, wiping my face.
"Just making conversation," he shrugged. "Besides, breakfast's ready. That's what I really came to say."
After washing up, I sat at the small wooden table just in front of the open kitchen. Muzaffer had thrown together some kind of breakfast—eggs, tomatoes, whatever else he could grab. Except olives, of course. He thought they were overpriced last time.
"But all jokes aside…" he leaned back in his chair. "You haven't been right the last few days. Especially after we found you in that cave outside Saigon."
"Not this again…" I rolled my eyes.
"Yes, this again," he replied, with a half-shrug.
"I thought we were done with that," I said, stuffing something into my mouth.
"We never even talked about it, let alone closed the book," he said, sitting up straighter. "You didn't say a damn word afterward."
"Because there was nothing to say," I replied, chewing. Then I downed a half-cold glass of tea to wash it all down.
"You don't usually bury things this deep. Something happened to you."
"And you don't usually push this hard, my friend," I shot back, half-joking. "What's the deal?"
"Because you've been like a corpse these past few days," he said, taking a bite. "What the hell happened to you in that cave?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I muttered. "Hell, I wouldn't believe myself."
"What?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Forget it," I said, sipping more of the terrible tea.
"No, I'm not forgetting it."
"Frankly, I don't care," I said, setting down my fork and knife. My eyes landed on the half-finished Caribbean-rolled cigarette on the table. I grabbed it and headed for the door.
"Where the hell are you going this early?"
"Nowhere. Just… need to clear my head." I stepped out.
These nightmares—nonstop for days. Normally, something I saw wouldn't shake me like this. My threshold for trauma is pretty damn high. I don't just unravel. But this wasn't exactly trauma. It was more like… something gnawing at me from the inside. I tried not to dwell on it. Tried to bury myself in paperwork. Tried to keep my mind busy. Still, something refused to let go.
Something about that place was wrong. The fact it was once a pagan altar should've been enough—but it wasn't. There was more. Something far bigger, something I couldn't explain.
I kept walking, aimlessly, trying to distract myself. Probably wandered the same street three or four times. I'm sure I passed the same pharmacy and bookstore at least that many times. I'd been walking for half an hour with no destination. I figured I'd just drop into a café.
But my eyes landed on the bus stop nearby. Buses heading to the outskirts of Saigon passed through there. No—I wasn't going. I had only a few seconds to think. But again, the same sentence repeated in my head: "When the day comes, we'll meet again." I had no clue who he was. What he wanted.
One of the buses had already pulled in. And no—I wasn't doing this. No matter how much adrenaline surged through me, how much something screamed at me to go… No. I'd had enough of that place. I wasn't going back. I wouldn't.
But then I saw him again. That same silhouette. Standing there, as if mocking me. As if daring me to get on that bus. Like he wanted me to return to that ancient ruin or whatever the hell it was. Like he was trying to force me into something.
And I lost.
I'd lied to myself.
I got on the bus.
It happened in less than a few seconds. I cursed myself all the way to the back seat, where I leaned my head against the damp window.
The ride must've lasted about half an hour. It was odd, really, how my brothers had found me that day. They hadn't exactly stumbled upon me by luck—but they'd still managed to find me miles beyond the city. I had to admit: Muzaffer's tracking skills were impressive. And he knew me too well.
I cussed myself out some more. Probably said things I'd never even dare repeat. Honestly, a good beating would've done me more good than what I was doing now. Maybe someone could beat the guilt out of me.
I got off the bus. A small path leading into the forest greeted me. I remembered it vaguely. I'd left the consulate early that first day, gotten into some kind of mess, and ended up here. I couldn't recall much else.
After ten minutes of walking the trail, I reached a fork. One path was clear; the other was old, barely visible, choked with weeds. You wouldn't notice it unless you'd been here before. If this was my first time, I'd have missed it completely.
I pushed through the ferns. Took about fifteen minutes more. I finally reached the edge of the clearing, the cave in front of me. I swallowed hard, instinctively. It wasn't fear exactly—just… unease. I took a few steps forward.
Then I heard something.
A rustle.
No—it couldn't be.
Could it?
Was that… his silhouette again?
No.
And I turned my head, holding my breath like it was my last moment alive.
"Sup?"
A faint smirk played across his face.
"Muzaffer—you…"
"Yeah, what? Not happy to see me?" he said, patting my shoulder. "Figured you'd miss me."
"Screw your sense of humor…" I was actually relieved it was him. As annoying as his sarcasm was, knowing a real person was there meant something. I exhaled, deeply. "Almost gave me a damn heart attack…"
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked him, though I already knew the answer.
"Knew you'd pull some dumb stunt," he said. "So I followed you. Your head's been screwed on sideways lately. Didn't want you getting into more shit."
"You've been a mess these past days. Not just bad—unnaturally bad. Screaming in your sleep, chain-smoking at 3 a.m.… Something's off. It wasn't hard to guess something happened." The smile faded from his face. "It all happened so fast. And now here we are. And you know how this goes, man. Things like this? They happen when someone messes with stuff they shouldn't."
"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"You know—the cliché stuff. Ever watched a horror movie?"
"Don't even start…"
"Forget the example," he said, stepping closer. "Do you really want to go in there? You were drenched in sweat just standing at the entrance. You don't want to do this. You know it's gonna hurt you."
"Let's just walk away," he added. "Say it never happened. Go home. Be done with it."
"You actually think something's in there?" I turned to him.
"Honestly, no. I think your mind's playing tricks on you. But even if that's all it is, I still don't want you going in. Something's wrong there."
He was right. Completely right. And somehow, Muzaffer had sensed it too. He was trying to keep me out.
"Look," he said in a grounding tone. "We can go home and forget this ever happened. No one has to know. We move on."
If only it were that easy.
Actually—it was that easy. I could've gone back, buried it all under the rug, buried myself in paperwork, let a few years pass and then head home without a second thought. But something refused to let me.
I didn't even know what I was going to do. I'd come this far—but what now? Go deeper into the cave?
Still… I made up my mind.
"Muzaffer—we're going in."
He looked at me with a pained, half-pitying expression, like I'd lost my mind. He stared, wordless. All his pleading, wasted.
"Let's just go in," I said, pointing ahead. "If it's nothing—then it's nothing."
"Celal, this is a bad idea…"
"Maybe. But at least we can end it here," I said, exhaling. I knew he wouldn't agree, but I had to try.
"You really just can't help yourself, can you Celal? You're determined to screw this up. There's something in there."
"You gonna drag me away by force?"
"Like hell I'm leaving you alone."
"What's the plan? Gonna beat me up?"
"Do I have a choice?" he said, cracking his knuckles.
And then—I heard it.
A scream.
Faint but unmistakable.
I turned toward the sound, deeper into the cave. Muzaffer froze too. And before I could think, my legs moved.
"Celal!" he shouted, stumbling after me. "Screw you…"
Whatever curses he muttered under his breath—I could only imagine.As if I owed the price for a mournful lament, I sprinted after those shadows. With every step, the shadows grew clearer, more defined—like dark specters daring me to face them. I chased them deep into the cavern's heart, into its darkest depths. And what I finally beheld was...