When the room went dark, she heard her name. Then came the silence, deep and listening. This wasn't the time that had happened though. She used to it. Jennifer Millers was not your average human. No, she was far from it. She had known that ever since she was little — from the way the air shifted when she entered a room, to the way people fell quiet when she passed, pretending not to stare. Those who knew her well avoided her entirely, as if her very presence carried an infection. Their avoidance wasn’t subtle, and though they never spoke the reason aloud, Jennifer knew. Deep down, she knew something was wrong with her. As a child, she had begged her parents to tell her why the world seemed to reject her. They only smiled tightly, told her to “pray about it”, and forced her into every church activity they could find. The more she prayed, the worse it got. Her mother said that was why she kept her close.“Campus lodges are for other girls,” she would say. “You stay where I can see you.”Jennifer would nod. There was no point arguing. Her mother’s love always came wrapped in fear. Every morning before leaving for St Catherine’s University, she’d take the bus with a silver crucifix pressed into her palm. It was always warm, from her mother’s hand.“Keep it with you,” her mother said. “As a reminder to stay grounded.” Jennifer would smile faintly. University was supposed to mean freedom, but for her it felt like surveillance in daylight. Those hushed whispers still followed her everywhere—stories that grew like mould. Someone said the lights flickered when she got angry. Another swore a boy fainted beside her during a test, and felt something crawl across the room. That night, Jennifer dreamt of her classroom filled with black smoke. Faces moved inside it—some she knew, one of them hers. Her uncle had once called it a gift. “Don’t run from what runs in your blood,” he’d told her before he died. “It will only chase harder.” “Every first daughter’s spirit and soul is already dedicated and tied to the darkness even before she is born… So you being the first daughter of your mom, is no exception.” He had told her that before he was found hanging upside down from a tree in his backyard. Her parents called him possessed. She was thirteen the last time she saw him. He’d given her a small book with no title, its pages full of strange, twisting symbols. Her mother had burned it, praying over the ashes until her voice went hoarse. But whenever Jennifer closed her eyes, she could still see the symbols very clearly. She remembered that the day she caught her reflection in the bus window and saw it smile after she did. The glass seemed to darken for a second. She told herself it was exhaustion. She told herself a lot of things these days. By mid-semester, she had grown quieter. Her mother noticed first.“You hardly eat,” she said over dinner. “You’re pale again. Maybe I should speak to Father Dominic—”“I’m not sick,” Jennifer cut in. The spoon clattered against the plate.“You don’t raise your voice at me child,” her mother said sharply. Jennifer looked up, and for a moment, her pupils stretched—black swallowing brown. Mrs Millers gasped and blinked, and the moment was gone. She muttered a prayer and left the table. That night Jennifer stayed awake, watching the strip of light under her door. She could hear her mother pacing, whispering broken prayers: Lord, not again. Not my child. When sleep finally came, she dreamt of the church—the candles, the choir, the echoing hymns—and of herself standing at the altar, whispering words no one else could hear. The next morning a message buzzed on her phone. Ada: &gt; We need to talk. You were the last person seen with Chris before he went missing. Her chest tightened. Chris—the boy who had fainted. Had they found out? After Chris had fainted, he had begun to claim that she – was a witch.And swore to get to the root of the matter. At first, Jennifer hadn't bothered about him, but when he started tailing her and spying at her every move, she began to feel irritated. So, a few days later, she had decided to take a walk on the rocky plains that was just behind the school. She stood there in the wind staring at the river, as it moved in different directions.And she felt his presence — Chris. She turned around to find him just behind her. “What are you doing?” She asked him.“I should be the one asking you that,” he spat back at her. “Are you here waiting to speak with your demons? Huh you witch!” He continued with anger and a little fear in his eyes. Somehow Chris was finding a way to get under her nerves and before she knew it, she already reached out, grabbed him by the collar and threw him in the river, and walked away without looking back. She had just wanted to scare him a bit. Oh my… don't tell me he doesn't know how to swim. Had she just killed someone? She thought to herself, while grabbing her jacket with trembling hands and going out to meet Ada. They met by the fountain near the faculty building. Rain threatened overhead. Ada looked pale, uneasy.“They say you cursed him,” she said quietly. Jennifer forced a laugh. “Do you believe that?” Ada hesitated. “I don’t know what to believe. But maybe… stay away from me for a while.” The wind rose then, sharp and cold. Ada’s notebook flew from her hands into a puddle. When she bent to pick it up, Jennifer was already walking away, her hair whipping around her face, her expression unreadable. That evening the house was too quiet. Her mother was at a prayer vigil. Jennifer lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, a low humming growing in her ears. It felt like electricity under her skin. She stood and faced the mirror. “Who are you?” she whispered. Her reflection blinked a second too late. The hum thickened into words, faint but distinct: It’s time. Her hands trembled. She remembered her uncle’s voice: Don’t fight the darkness. It’s who you are. “No,” she whispered. “It isn’t.” But the mirror rippled, and the whisper turned into laughter—her own, but not quite. Something inside her unfurled: relief, hunger, power. For the first time, she didn’t feel afraid. She felt seen. The church bell rang at nine. She didn’t remember deciding to go there; her feet just knew the way. She held the silver crucifix in one hand, its chain tangled in her fingers. The streets were nearly empty. A stray dog barked, then whimpered and ran. The air around her shimmered faintly, like heat rising from a fire. The church loomed darker than the sky, its doors slightly ajar. Inside, the air smelled of dust and wax. A single candle burned on the altar—small, persistent. She walked toward it. The humming in her head had grown into a chorus, voices layered over one another, calling her name, coaxing. Her heartbeat fell into their rhythm. The crucifix slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a soft metallic sigh. She remembered every moment she’d been told to be smaller—to pray harder, to smile, to be normal. The years of pretending, of hiding. She was tired. The candlelight trembled, stretched into something longer, darker. Shadows spilled across the floor, curling upward like smoke. She didn’t move back. She smiled. “Yes,” she said, voice trembling with something between joy and surrender. “It’s working.” Her laughter filled the church—wild, echoing, human and not. The light dimmed, then vanished. The shadow around her took her shape and moved as she moved, until it wasn’t clear which one was Jennifer. Outside, the bell rang once more. Soft and final— as she stepped outside the building. The air around her seemed to ripple as she moved. The deed had already been done. She had succumbed to that unquenchable yearning. And at the darkest corner of the street, stood her supposedly dead uncle, and when their eyes met she was filled with disbelief and awe.But he just stood there with a knowing smirk on the lips. At dawn, Mrs Millers returned from the vigil to find her daughter’s bed empty, her phone on the table, and a faint smell of candle smoke in the air. She sank to her knees and whispered, “Not again… please, not my child.” Across town, the priest opened the church doors. Nothing looked strange except for the candle—still burning, though no wax remained. Jennifer Millers was no longer fighting the darkness.She had become its voice.

Tethered 

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How the heck did this story win? 😭 I'm quite shocked. Thank you to all that voted.

My first time trying to write a story, so this might not be so good, but I'll get better with time.

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Tethered

Sammie

Anya Hiro Samuels

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Tethered

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