In the midst of walking back home from his night shift, River’s feet abruptly halted when his hearing caught a high-pitched scream. Horrified at first, and subsequently captured by curiosity, he traipsed toward the direction the sound came from.

He ended up finding himself in a dingy alleyway.

And he ended up staring at doom itself; profusely sweating while his feet grew heavier on the cold ground as if they were to crack any moment and engulf his existence deep in.

What tested the life in him was a man, who had another individual fiercely pressed against the scarred and crumbling wall behind him, and his monstrous gaze that shot a body-trembling glare at him.

Mayhaps he wasn't just a ‘man’ after all; for his glare was red, like fresh blood, glowing under the crescent moon. Even his skin was so pale to gleam in the blackness of the night. His teeth were barred, sharp and pointed, with canines longer than usual— horribly stained in plasma.

He wasn't a man. He couldn't be just a man.

At that realisation, River knew he had to make a break, for the sake of his living. And so he did.

He ran away, as quickly as his legs possibly could comprehend.

The creature was afresh alone, in peace with his meal. He couldn't be bothered, not at that hour of the night. The fatal fangs of his impatiently dug back into the victim’s neck, who had lost consciousness by then.

The creature drank on his blood in pleasure and insouciance— it wasn't like the police could get him if he's reported for by the witness, for probably the nth time. They never succeeded. They never even caught him as close as to simply know of his appearance. In their knowledge, he was only a mystery— a monster of the dark— not a man, but a man-eater.

On the rest of his dash back to his abode, Rivers' feet patterned hurriedly on the concrete sidewalk. His eyes couldn't blink in terror. The horror he had happened to face kept knocking at his throbbing heart persistently, the influence of Death you call it; for the man he met was Death himself. He had to be. River wanted to scream, but his voice had given up on him.

He lost his ability to think once he finally returned to his small studio apartment. He collapsed onto his bed, which was big enough to suit him, and stared up at the lifeless ceiling. He did not stop, not until the sunrise shot through the curtains, right onto his face. A night had passed, without slumber and lovely dreams. A night had passed, in dread— what if he was next?

Nothing happened, he told himself. It was a mere nightmare, he told himself and forced his lips to curl up and sport a smile, which broke down badly into another scary feeling, when he witnessed the reddening soreness in his eyes and the dark circles under them in his reflection on the bathroom mirror. They outright threw him into reality, and they told him he couldn't escape it.

The flowers outside were in bloom nonetheless. Birds were still chirping and people were happily walking their dogs about. It was a perfect spring day. a perfect morning. At least it was supposed to be; but during the walk to his University, something felt off. He could sense it in his cold shivers, but he kept consoling himself with: “I’m just being paranoid.”

River had an outgoing personality. He had a huge friend group that grabbed him as soon as he entered the campus. “Ya look like ya were fighting demons all night! What's with those eye bags?” A friend of his guffawed, having thrown an arm around River's shoulder.

“Sure, you aren't too wrong.” He replied, exasperated. “Talk later, Lorcan. I have a history class.”

“Right, by the way, we have a new teacher. Guy looks young, but is hella smart. Sophisticated, man! Like a professor should be. Nothing like Mr Steve. He got a good humor too.”

River sighed and pulled away from Lorcan, “We will see,” proceeding to walk into his first class of the day, only to be greeted by the ‘new teacher.’

“Good morning, hurry up and take a seat. We are going to be starting soon.”

The voice was rich with thickness of an accent. Somewhat hoarse, somewhat smooth. Mostly attractive, River put it so. He looked up to glimpse at him and his feet glued to the floor.

Red eyes. A sharp smile.

“A...” A vowel, he managed out, but that was all. He was in shock, in terror, very reminded of the previous midnight. And the man-eater. Delusions! He would love to conjecture but everything seemed too real.

“What?” The professor cocked an eyebrow, “Have a problem?”

River could not reply as he was stared at by the rest of the confused class.

“No, sir. It's just that...” River endeavoured, “Have you ever been told that you look somewhat, scary?” Now, what a public remark to make to your teacher. The class was blown.

The latter grinned at the question, “Yeah.” And was it another illusion, or his eyes glowed staring back at River’s?

“I have.”

Have you ever been told to not roam around in the middle of the night?

River heard something in his head when he was making his way to his seat. No way. Someone was speaking in his head. The teacher.

He turned back to catch him looking, and smiling.

Have you ever wondered why?

It added, pulling the life out of the boy who reluctantly sat himself down. Eyes wide. Nerves tightened. No...

“Today, we talk about the life and death of Julius Caesar,” The professor started.