Chapter 1: Watermelon Dreams and Midnight Terror

We sat in a messy circle on the futon, pajama legs tangled, eyes bleary. Natalie rubbed her face and mumbled, "I wanted to cut open a watermelon, but it was all green inside."

We all burst out laughing.

Tanya snorted. "Only you would dream about unripe fruit."

Aubrey giggled, "Next time, dream about pizza—at least we could eat that."

The memory of that night glows in my mind: four girls sprawled across the futon, half-awake, laughter bouncing off the cinderblock walls. The air smelled faintly of microwave popcorn and cheap detergent, and the futon creaked every time someone shifted. The AC rattled above us, and from down the hall came the faint twang of country music. For one perfect second, life felt simple—a Midwest college night, nothing more.

But everything changed the next night. I jolted awake, heart pounding, to see Natalie standing at my bedside. In one hand: our big kitchen knife. Her other hand hovered over my forehead, icy fingers pressing into my skin. She mumbled, "This time, the melon is ripe."

Her fingers were icy, and for a split second, I smelled something sweet—like watermelon, or maybe just fear. My body locked up with terror. I blinked, hoping it was a nightmare, but Natalie’s hand stayed cold and real. Her words barely whispered, but in the dark they echoed, crawling over my skin and raising goosebumps.

1

Every muscle in my body spasmed and I screamed, "Jesus, Natalie!"

My scream ripped everyone awake. Aubrey’s little lamp flicked on overhead, harsh light revealing Natalie right there—eyes open but blank, one hand on my head, kitchen knife raised. Tanya shot up from the lower bunk. "What the—Natalie, are you kidding me?"

Tanya vaulted off the lower bunk and locked Natalie’s arms behind her, like she was going for a wrestling pin. I snapped out of my shock, grabbed the water bottle from my nightstand, and splashed Natalie full in the face.

Natalie jerked, her vacant eyes suddenly sharp. She stared at the knife in her hand like it was a snake. Her lips quivered. "Did I... did I hurt anyone?"

"What happened?" she whispered, voice shaking. My own hands trembled so badly, I nearly spilled the water all over my lap. Tanya’s voice cracked as she tried to reassure everyone, but her Georgia twang was clipped short, all business.

"I should be asking you! Do you know what you were just doing?" I managed, my face as pale as the sheets.

Natalie’s voice was tiny. "I... I just had a dream. I dreamed I was in a watermelon field, picking watermelons. This time, I finally found a ripe one and wanted to cut it open..."

All of us went sheet-white.

Time froze. The AC hummed and Tanya’s breath came ragged. My legs shook so hard the bed rattled. Aubrey clung to the bedpost, knuckles white. Natalie looked suddenly so young, like a kid who just got called out in class.

Natalie had always had sleepwalking episodes. At the semester’s start, her mom shot us a long, apologetic email about the sleepwalking thing—like she was sending us a user manual for her daughter. We joked at first, but after a couple nights with Natalie just staring out the window, it faded into the background. Something to mention between late-night ramen runs and Netflix binges.

We’d tease her about it, especially her weird dreams. She always said she dreamed about going back to her grandpa’s watermelon patch in the Midwest. She’d talk about endless rows of green vines and the rusty windmill spinning out back, her grandpa’s old radio crackling in the background. She wanted to pick a big, sweet watermelon, but none of them were ever ripe. We’d always crack up at her stories.

Tanya even threatened to bring her a Walmart watermelon just to fix her dreams. It all felt so wholesome—until tonight.

Now, no one laughed. Natalie’s cold touch on my head replayed in my mind, and suddenly it clicked—the ripe watermelon in her dream was my head. I stared at the knife on the floor, Tanya’s fruit knife—big and sharp. If I hadn’t woken up in time, maybe Natalie really would have split my skull like a melon. Sweat prickled down my back. I jumped up, heart pounding.

"Let’s go find the RA! I want to change rooms!"

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. That knife, gleaming on the cheap linoleum, haunted me. My pulse hammered as I threw on a hoodie and jammed my feet into slides, not caring if I looked wild sprinting down the hall at two a.m. Tanya and Aubrey were right behind me—no one even questioned it.

I couldn’t stop picturing that knife, and I knew—I wasn’t spending another night in that room.