Alina's Wicked Ways
In the small town of Willowbrook, everyone knew to avoid Alina Blackwood. She lived in the old mansion on Raven Hill, where the sun always seemed a bit dimmer and the wind a bit colder.
Alina was not just unfriendly – she was truly unkind. She would yell at children who accidentally stepped on her property. She refused to donate to the town's charity events. Once, she even took a lost puppy that wandered into her yard to the pound instead of trying to find its owner.
"I don't care what people think of me," Alina would say with a cold smile whenever someone confronted her about her behavior. "Their opinions mean nothing."
That afternoon, Alina had fired her elderly gardener, Mr. Jenkins, simply because he was working slower than usual due to his arthritis.
"Twenty years I've tended these grounds," Mr. Jenkins said, his voice shaking, "and this is how you repay loyalty?"
"Loyalty doesn't trim hedges or pull weeds," Alina replied without emotion. "I need someone efficient, not someone who needs a nap every hour."
As Mr. Jenkins gathered his tools, his granddaughter who sometimes helped him came running up.
"Please, Ms. Blackwood," the girl pleaded, tears in her eyes. "My grandfather needs this job. It's all he has."
"That's not my problem," Alina said, turning away. "You have until sunset to clear out your things."
As Alina walked back into her mansion, she didn't notice how the sky darkened suddenly, or how the wind whispered strange warnings through the trees. She didn't realize that some actions set things in motion that cannot be undone.
That night, as Alina prepared for bed, she caught her reflection in the mirror and, for just a moment, thought she saw something else looking back at her – something with hollow eyes and a knowing smile. She blinked, and it was gone.
"Just tired," she muttered to herself, climbing into her large, empty bed. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."
But the sleep that awaited Alina would be anything but good.
The Nightmare Begins
Alina fell asleep quickly that night, but something felt different. The darkness behind her eyelids seemed thicker somehow, more complete.
When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in her bedroom anymore. She stood in the middle of Willowbrook's main street, but everything was wrong. The buildings leaned at impossible angles. The sky swirled with unnatural purple and black clouds. And she was completely alone.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing strangely. "Is anyone here?"
No one answered, but she felt eyes watching her from everywhere – from windows, from shadows, from the cracks between cobblestones.
Alina began walking, her footsteps unnaturally loud in the silence. She noticed something odd about her reflection in a shop window – it moved a split second too slowly, as if struggling to keep up with her.
"This is just a dream," she told herself firmly. "A strange dream, but nothing more."
As if in response, a cold wind blew through the empty town, carrying whispers that sounded almost like words: "Not just a dream... not just a dream..."
Suddenly, Alina saw someone ahead – Mr. Jenkins, her gardener! Relief flooded through her.
"Mr. Jenkins!" she called out. "I'm so glad to see you. Something strange is happening, and I—"
But when the figure turned, Alina gasped and stepped back. It looked like Mr. Jenkins, but his eyes were completely black, and his skin had a grayish tint.
"You fired me today," he said, his voice hollow and echoing. "After twenty years. You didn't even care that I have nowhere else to go."
"It was just business," Alina said defensively, backing away. "Nothing personal."
The not-quite-Mr. Jenkins smiled, revealing teeth that were too sharp. "Everything is personal here, Alina. Everything you've ever done. Everyone you've ever hurt."
More figures appeared behind him – people Alina recognized. The child whose ball she had confiscated when it rolled onto her lawn. The charity organizer she had humiliated at a town meeting. The young woman whose business loan she had denied at the bank where Alina worked as a manager.
All of them had the same black eyes, the same wrong smiles.
"What do you want?" Alina asked, her voice shaking for the first time in years.
"We want to show you something," they said in unison, pointing down the street to where a clock tower now stood that hadn't been there before.
The clock's hands spun wildly, then stopped at midnight.
And that's when Alina heard the bell begin to toll.
Facing Her Past
With each toll of the bell, the world around Alina changed. The street melted away, and she found herself in a circular room with walls made entirely of mirrors. But these weren't ordinary mirrors – each one showed a different scene from her life.
In one, she was a child, pushing another girl off a swing so she could have a turn. In another, she was a teenager, spreading rumors about a classmate who had refused to let her copy homework. In yet another, she was refusing to visit her mother in the hospital because she had "more important things to do."
"Stop it," Alina whispered, turning away only to face another mirror, another memory. "I don't want to see this."
"But these are your choices, Alina," said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "These are the moments that made you who you are."
The mirrors began to ripple, and from each one stepped the person she had hurt in that memory. They formed a circle around her, their expressions not angry but deeply sad.
"Why did you push me that day?" asked the girl from the playground, now a woman but with the same hurt in her eyes. "I would have given you a turn if you'd just asked."
"Why did you lie about me?" asked the former classmate. "I lost all my friends because of those rumors."
"Why didn't you come see me before I died?" asked her mother, her face pale and thin. "I waited for you every day."
Alina felt something she hadn't experienced in years – shame. It burned in her chest and throat.
"I... I don't know," she admitted. "I wanted what I wanted. I didn't think about anyone else."
"That's the problem," said her mother gently. "You never thought about anyone else."
The floor beneath Alina began to crack like ice on a pond. She could see darkness swirling below.
"What's happening?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
"Your life is being weighed," said the voice from before. "All lives are, in the end."
The cracks spread further, and Alina realized with horror that she was about to fall through. She looked desperately at the figures surrounding her.
"Help me!" she pleaded. "Please!"
"Did you help us when we asked?" they responded in unison.
The floor gave way, and Alina fell screaming into the darkness below.
The Final Judgment
Alina fell for what seemed like forever through the cold darkness. Just when she thought the falling would never end, she landed on a stone platform floating in what looked like outer space. Stars and swirling galaxies surrounded her in every direction.
In the center of the platform stood a tall figure in a dark cloak. Its face was hidden in shadow, but Alina could feel its gaze upon her.
"Alina Blackwood," the figure said, its voice neither male nor female but somehow both. "Your time has come."
"My time for what?" Alina asked, though deep down, she already knew.
The figure held up a large scale. "For judgment."
With a wave of its hand, the figure summoned a small light that floated onto one side of the scale. "Your acts of kindness." Another wave brought forth dozens of dark stones that clattered onto the other side, causing that end to drop dramatically. "Your acts of cruelty."
Alina stared at the unbalanced scale in disbelief. "There must be more good than that," she protested. "I... I donated to the animal shelter once."
"Because it was tax deductible," the figure corrected. "Not out of compassion."
"I helped my neighbor when she was sick!"
"Because you wanted to use her beach house the following weekend."
Alina fell silent, realizing the truth. Every seemingly good deed she had done had been for selfish reasons.
Around the platform, images appeared – floating windows into moments of her life. But these weren't just any moments. These were the crossroads, the times when she could have chosen kindness but had chosen cruelty instead.
"You had so many chances, Alina," the figure said, almost sadly. "So many opportunities to change your path."
"I didn't know," Alina whispered. "I didn't realize..."
"You knew," the figure replied firmly. "You simply didn't care."
The scale began to glow, the side heavy with her cruel deeds burning a deep red.
"Is this... am I..." Alina couldn't bring herself to finish the question.
"Yes," the figure confirmed. "Your physical body is dying at this very moment. A heart attack, brought on by years of stress and anger."
Fear unlike anything Alina had ever known gripped her. "Please," she begged. "Give me another chance. I can change. I can be better."
The figure seemed to consider this. "The time for change was during your life, Alina. But perhaps there is one way..."
Hope flickered in Alina's heart. "Anything. I'll do anything."
"You must experience the pain you've caused others. All of it. And if you can truly understand and repent, perhaps then..."
Alina nodded eagerly. "Yes, I'll do it. I want to understand."
The figure raised its hand, and the platform beneath Alina disappeared.
She was falling again, but this time toward a blinding light.
The Pain of Others
Alina found herself living someone else's life – but not just watching it. She was feeling everything they felt.
First, she was Mr. Jenkins, her gardener. She felt the ache in his joints as he worked in her garden, the worry about how he would support himself and his granddaughter now that he had lost his job. She felt the shame of being dismissed like garbage after twenty years of loyal service.
The pain was so real, so intense, that Alina wanted to scream. But before she could, she was someone else.
Now she was the little girl whose ball she had confiscated. She felt the child's confusion and hurt, the tears that came when Alina had popped the ball with garden shears right in front of her, saying, "Now it won't come into my yard again."
Next, she was the charity organizer she had humiliated. She felt the woman's embarrassment as Alina had loudly questioned her integrity in front of the entire town council, the sleepless nights worrying that no one would donate to help the children's hospital because of Alina's accusations.
On and on it went. Alina experienced every slight, every cruel word, every heartless action from the receiving end. She felt the tears of the young business owner whose dreams she had crushed, the despair of the family whose house she had foreclosed on despite their pleas for just a little more time.
Most painful of all, she experienced her mother's loneliness in that hospital room, waiting day after day for a daughter who never came, taking her last breath with only a nurse holding her hand.
When it finally stopped, Alina found herself back on the stone platform, sobbing uncontrollably. The hooded figure stood watching her.
"Now do you understand?" it asked.
"Yes," Alina choked out between sobs. "I had no idea... I never thought about how they felt. I was so wrapped up in myself, in what I wanted."
For the first time in her adult life, Alina felt true remorse. Not just regret for the consequences she faced, but genuine sorrow for the pain she had caused others.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, though she knew the words were inadequate. "I'm so, so sorry."
The figure nodded slowly. "Remorse is the beginning of wisdom, Alina. But is it enough?"
The scale still hung in the air between them, still heavily unbalanced.
"What can I do?" Alina asked desperately. "How can I make this right?"
"That," said the figure, "is what you must discover for yourself."
With those words, the platform beneath Alina began to dissolve once more.
"Wait!" she cried. "Where am I going now?"
"Back," the figure said simply. "For one last chance."
The Final Awakening
Alina's eyes flew open. She was back in her bedroom, in her own bed. Morning light streamed through the curtains she had forgotten to close the night before.
For a moment, she lay perfectly still, her heart pounding. Had it all been just a nightmare?
But she could still feel the echoes of all those emotions – the pain, the disappointment, the heartbreak she had caused. They felt too real to have been merely a dream.
Slowly, Alina sat up. Something was different. She felt different. The constant anger and irritation that had been her companions for so long were gone, replaced by a clarity she had never experienced before.
She looked at her hands, turning them over as if seeing them for the first time. These hands had the power to help or to hurt. All this time, she had chosen to hurt.
"I can change that," she whispered to herself. "I can still change that."
Alina got out of bed quickly, filled with a sudden urgency. She had to make things right, starting now. She would go to Mr. Jenkins and give him his job back, with a raise. She would find that little girl and buy her a new ball – no, a dozen balls. She would call the charity organizer and make a substantial donation.
She hurried to her desk and began writing a list of all the people she needed to apologize to, all the wrongs she needed to right. The list grew longer and longer.
As she wrote, Alina felt a strange sensation in her chest – a tightness, a pressure. She ignored it, too focused on her plans.
"I'll sell the vacation house," she murmured as she wrote. "That money could help the children's hospital. And I'll volunteer there too, every weekend."
The pressure in her chest increased. Alina paused, taking a deep breath, but it didn't help. The pen fell from her suddenly numb fingers.
"No," she gasped, understanding washing over her. "Not yet. Please, not yet. I need time to fix things."
But even as the room began to darken around her, Alina realized the truth. The dream hadn't been a warning – it had been a preview. Her time had already run out.
As she slumped forward onto her desk, one final thought crossed Alina's mind: at least now she understood. At least now, at the very end, she had learned what truly mattered.
When they found Alina Blackwood later that day, they discovered something puzzling – a list of names with generous amounts of money written beside each one, and at the top of the page, in shaky handwriting, the words: "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
Her will, updated just weeks earlier, left everything she owned to the town's charitable foundation.
The townspeople of Willowbrook would never know about Alina's dream, or her last-minute change of heart. They would never know that in her final moments, she had finally understood the importance of kindness.
But perhaps, somewhere beyond the veil between worlds, a scale had shifted ever so slightly toward balance.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that was enough.