《Dreams of Dread》


 The Unseen

    The forest was quiet, save for the rustling leaves beneath our feet. The light had begun to fade, casting long shadows between the trees, but I didn¡¯t mind. You were by my side, guiding me along the familiar path. In this dreamlike haze, we were heading to your father¡¯s tool shed¡ªa place that felt oddly important, though it didn¡¯t exist in real life.


    When we reached the shed, the air grew still, heavy. We stepped inside to organize the tools, though neither of us questioned why. There was a strange calm about it as if we were trying to distract ourselves from something lurking just beyond the trees.


    Suddenly, the calm shattered.


    A man emerged from the forest, his face twisted with anger. He shouted, his words sharp, filled with venom. I froze as he lunged at us, fists swinging, a flurry of violence. But then, just as quickly, you fought back. Together, we managed to knock him to the ground. I should have felt relief¡ªbut I didn¡¯t.


    The man lay there, breathing shallowly, and for some reason, we didn¡¯t run. We didn¡¯t leave or call for help. Instead, we went back to the tools. The situation''s logic slipped away, as if we were characters in a bad movie, following some invisible script. I knew we should do something more, but I couldn¡¯t move, couldn¡¯t think clearly.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Then, out of nowhere, he rose.


    I was walking past him when I felt it¡ªa hand, cold and sudden, clamping onto my arm. I turned, and there he was, his eyes wild, a knife glinting in his other hand. His grip tightened, and he pressed the blade to my throat. I couldn¡¯t breathe. Couldn¡¯t scream. My mind screamed to act, to run, but my body remained frozen in place.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± he hissed. ¡°Do what I say.¡±


    You were there, standing just a few feet away, your face pale with fear. My heart pounded in my chest, drowning out all other sounds. He made demands, though I couldn¡¯t hear them clearly¡ªeverything blurred at that moment. The world felt distant like I was watching it from outside my own body.


    Then, I saw it. The axe, lying just beside you.


    In one swift motion, you grabbed it. The next thing I knew, it flew through the air, striking him with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, motionless, as the blunt side of the axe hit his head. You didn¡¯t stop. Again and again, the axe came down, and I stood there, paralyzed, watching you.


    When it was over, the silence returned.


    We left the shed without looking back, telling ourselves it was over. That no one would find us. That no one even knew we had come here. But the pit in my stomach told me otherwise. As we hurried away, the logic of the dream unraveled, and the questions crept in.


    Why hadn¡¯t we called the police? Why hadn¡¯t we run when we had the chance? And why, after everything, did it feel like the nightmare wasn¡¯t over?

 The Window

    The dream was vivid, more real than the last. I found myself back in my childhood home. Everything was just as I remembered¡ªthe worn-out couch, the creaky floorboards, the dim glow from the lamp in the corner. It was night, and the house was quiet, empty. I knew I was alone, but there was something else¡ªsomething that filled the silence with an almost tangible weight.


    I felt it before I saw it. A presence. The distinct, undeniable sensation of being watched. My eyes were drawn to the living room window, the one that faced the garden. I walked closer, my heart beginning to pound. The curtains were slightly parted, letting in just enough moonlight to see the garden beyond. At first, I saw nothing¡ªjust the dark shapes of trees swaying in the breeze.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Then I saw it. A shadow, unmoving, standing just beyond the glass. My breath caught in my throat. It didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t shift at all, and yet I knew it was staring at me. I couldn¡¯t make out any details¡ªjust a dark silhouette against the night. I wanted to look away, but I couldn¡¯t. My feet were rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on that shadow.


    I don¡¯t know how long I stood there, staring. Seconds? Minutes? Time felt slippery, meaningless. Finally, I forced myself to move, to pull the curtains closed. My hands trembled as I did so, and as the fabric fell across the window, I felt a chill run down my spine. It was then that I felt it¡ªa cold breath against the back of my neck. I spun around, but there was nothing there. Just the empty room, and the deafening silence.

 The Locked Door

    This dream was different. I was in a house I didn¡¯t recognize, a sprawling, unfamiliar place with long hallways and countless doors. It felt like a maze, and I was lost within it. I called out for you, my voice echoing off the walls, but there was no answer. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, as I moved from room to room, opening door after door, each one revealing nothing but emptiness.


    Then I came to a door that was locked. The handle was cold, unyielding beneath my hand. I pressed my ear to the wood, hoping to hear something¡ªanything¡ªthat would tell me where you were. At first, there was nothing. Just silence. Then, faintly, I heard it¡ªwhispers. They were soft, urgent, impossible to make out, but they were there. My heart began to race as the whispers grew louder, more frantic. They sounded desperate, pleading for help.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I rattled the handle, tried to force the door open, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. The whispers grew louder still, a cacophony of voices, until they were all I could hear. I threw my weight against the door, and suddenly, it swung open. I stumbled into the room, but it was empty. Dark. The whispers stopped, cut off as if they had never been there at all. The silence that followed was even more unnerving, and I felt a deep, sinking dread settle in my stomach.

 The Mirror

    I found myself in a bathroom. The light above the mirror flickered, casting the small room in a dim, uneven glow. The mirror was foggy, the glass covered in a thin layer of condensation. I wiped it clean with my hand, and my reflection stared back at me. For a moment, everything seemed normal. Then I noticed it¡ªsomething was wrong.


    My reflection wasn¡¯t quite right. It moved, but there was a delay, a split-second lag between my actions and its response. I lifted my hand, and it followed, but too slowly. My heart began to pound, a creeping sense of unease washing over me. I leaned closer, my eyes narrowing. That¡¯s when it happened. My reflection smiled.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    It was a cold, twisted smile, and I felt no inclination to do the same. Panic gripped me as I watched my reflection move on its own, its lips beginning to move, mouthing words I couldn¡¯t hear. I shook my head, stepped back, but it continued, its movements growing more animated, more desperate. It pounded on the glass, its eyes wide with fear¡ªor was it anger?


    The mirror cracked. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the surface, and I could still see my reflection beneath them, distorted, broken, but still moving. I turned away, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps, and the dream ended there, leaving me with the feeling that something had followed me back into the waking world.