I woke up, gasping for air. Something was off—everything was off. My bed felt different, softer somehow, and the air in the room was thick, almost suffocating. The familiar hum of the city was gone, replaced by an unsettling silence.
I reached for my phone, but it wasn’t on the nightstand. In its place was an old, tarnished pocket watch, its hands frozen at 3:15. Confused, I stumbled out of bed, feeling an unfamiliar chill against my skin. The room looked like mine—same walls, same furniture—but there was something… wrong. The colors were muted, like a faded photograph, and the light that filtered through the window was a dull, sickly gray.
I went to the window and looked out, but what I saw wasn’t my neighborhood. Instead of streets and cars, there was an endless field of black, twisted trees, their branches clawing at the sky. The ground was covered in a thick mist that seemed to move on its own, writhing and swirling like it was alive.
I stumbled back, heart pounding. Was I still dreaming? I pinched myself hard, but the pain was sharp and real. I wasn’t dreaming.
Suddenly, I heard a soft creaking noise coming from the hallway. My breath hitched. Slowly, I opened the door. The hallway stretched on forever, far longer than it should have. Shadows danced along the walls, but there was no light source to cast them. My pulse quickened as I took a step forward, my footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the eerie silence.
A cold breeze brushed past me, and I could’ve sworn I heard whispers—faint, disjointed words that sent chills down my spine. I turned, but no one was there. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, like they were trying to tell me something, something important. But the words were garbled, impossible to understand.
The pocket watch in my hand suddenly clicked. I looked down. The hands were moving backward, slowly at first, then faster. The ticking grew louder and louder, echoing in my ears until it was deafening. I dropped the watch, and the ticking stopped, plunging the hallway into a terrifying silence.
Just then, I saw it. At the far end of the hallway, a figure stood, shrouded in shadow. It didn’t move, but I could feel its gaze on me—cold, predatory. My heart pounded in my chest, but my feet were rooted to the spot.
Then, the figure moved. Slowly, methodically, it began walking toward me. Its movements were jerky, unnatural, like it didn’t belong in this world. The closer it got, the more distorted its features became—a face that was both human and not, eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light.
Panic surged through me, and I turned to run, but the hallway was changing. The walls began to close in, twisting and warping like a funhouse gone horribly wrong. Doors appeared where there hadn’t been any before, but they were all locked, no matter how hard I pulled.
I could hear it behind me now, its footsteps slow but deliberate. There was no escape.
Suddenly, a door at the end of the hallway flew open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. Without thinking, I sprinted toward it, desperate to escape the nightmare. As I crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind me, and everything went black.
I woke up again—this time in my own bed, drenched in sweat. The familiar hum of the city was back, and sunlight streamed through the window. I let out a shaky breath. It was just a dream.
But then I saw it—the old pocket watch, still sitting on my nightstand, its hands frozen at 3:15.