The night was thick with shadows, the kind that clung to the walls, swallowing every corner of the room. Karen tossed and turned in her bed, unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the bedside table—3:33 AM. That’s when the dreams always began.
It had started weeks ago, a recurring nightmare that felt more real each time. In it, Karen would wake up, but everything was wrong. Her room looked the same, the moonlight filtering through the curtains in its usual way, but there was a figure in the corner. She couldn’t make out its face, but its presence weighed on her, like a dark force pressing into her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Each night, she would get out of bed, thinking she was awake, only to realize she was trapped. Trapped in the dream.
Tonight was no different—except that it was. Karen jolted upright in bed, her heart pounding. She blinked rapidly, trying to shake the fog of sleep. The figure was there again, standing in the corner. But this time, it was closer. She could hear its breathing, low and raspy, like wind passing through hollow bones.
“I need to wake up,” Karen whispered to herself, pinching her arm until it hurt. But nothing changed. The room remained still, the figure unmoved.
Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps filled the room, growing louder, coming closer. Karen’s pulse quickened as the figure began to advance, slowly at first, then faster. It loomed over her, its breath hot against her face, smelling of decay.
“I’m dreaming,” she told herself again, desperately. “I need to wake up.”
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t. The figure leaned down, its face still a blur of darkness. Karen felt its cold fingers brush against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
Then it spoke, its voice a hoarse whisper that echoed inside her skull.
“You’re not dreaming.”
Karen screamed, a sound that felt like it tore through her very soul, but no one heard. The room began to close in around her, the walls creaking as though they were alive, shrinking, suffocating her.
She clawed at the bed, trying to escape, but it was useless. The figure grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the shadows, and the last thing Karen saw was her reflection in the mirror across the room—still lying in bed, eyes wide open, frozen in terror.
And she realized, with a jolt of horror, that she would never wake up.