They say the sound came first.
A faint ringing, like a small bell swinging in the wind, but from inside your own body. Not in the ears—in the blood. It began in one town. Then two. Then five.
Doctors blamed it on tinnitus, stress, delusion. But it didn't stop.
People scratched their skin raw, digging for the phantom chime. Some opened their veins, screaming that something was moving inside—something trying to wake up. The survivors were silent. Wide-eyed. Completely still. You could stand in front of them and wave your hands and they wouldn't move.
But if you got close enough, you'd hear it.
Ding… ding…
The authorities sealed the city. Burned homes. Flattened the hospitals. But the sound returned elsewhere.
Now, they call it "Vein Bell Syndrome." A curse passed by touch, or even eye contact. Once it begins, you're never alone again.
Your veins stretch at night. You can feel them… reaching.
Sometimes in the mirror, you'll see something watching you from under your skin, just behind the eyes. A pale face, featureless, except for a crack across the forehead and a rusty bell stitched into its throat.
You'll try not to sleep, but it doesn't matter.
It sleeps inside you.
And it's dreaming.