My breath is ragged, each inhale a jagged shard of glass digging into my lungs. The air is suffocating, thick with the smell of wet earth and something... wrong. I can feel this deep, gnawing sensation, like the world is closing in around me. My heart is hammering so loudly that it drowns out everything—every sound and every thought. The forest around me is alive, its shadows creeping, pressing in like the hands of some unseen monster ready to drag me down into the dirt.
I trip again, my foot catching on something hidden beneath the leaves. My body slams against the ground, my chest hitting the dirt with a sickening thud. The pain shoots through me like a lightning bolt, but I can't stop. I can't afford to stop. He'll catch me if I stop.
Get up. Fucking get up, Luca.
I push myself up, my hands shaking so violently that they barely touch the earth. My leg burns with an unrelenting pain, blood dripping down, soaking my torn clothes, and staining the forest floor beneath me. It doesn't matter. The pain doesn't matter. It's all a distraction, a small piece of a much bigger nightmare…
The sound of something snapping underfoot—too heavy, too deliberate—sends my pulse rocketing. My breath catches, and my limbs freeze. He's close. So close…Too close.
I stagger forward, dragging my injured leg behind me. Every step is a battle, every motion a fight against the panic rising in my chest. The trees around me seem to twist and bend, their branches reaching down like claws, ready to snatch me from the earth and tear me apart. The forest isn't just a place anymore. It's alive—a monstrous, suffocating thing that wants me to die here, alone in the dark.
I need to hide. I need to get away.
I find a thick tree and press my back to it, shuddering as I crouch, hitting the earth with a small THUD. My breath is erratic, uneven, and every sound I make feels like it's being amplified in the deafening silence. I hear the faintest rustling in the distance—branches moving, leaves crunching underfoot. A low chuckle cuts through the quiet, like a blade slicing through my skin.
The voice. The voice I can't escape.
"Well, well, Luca," it purrs, so slow and deliberate, like it's savoring every word. "What do you think you're doing out here? Hiding?" An evil, sinister laugh escapes his lips.
I freeze. The blood in my veins turns to ice. He's so close now. He's right there.
My throat tightens. I can't speak. I can't move. I want to scream, but the sound gets stuck in my chest, lodged there like a brick. I clamp my hands over my mouth, choking on my fear, but it's useless. His voice slithers in, crawling through every inch of my skin, burrowing into my brain.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out, but I know he's there. He's always there. Like a shadow, a thing that can never leave. I can feel him—feel his eyes on me. He's watching me.
"Please, no..." The words break from me, jagged, trembling, and terrified, like shards of glass scraping against my throat.
The laughter that follows is low, cruel, like a snake winding around my insides, tightening its grip.
"I can hear your heartbeat from here, Luca," he murmurs, his voice like velvet and poison. "It's fast. It's scary. I wonder how long it'll last before it... stops," he laughs slowly and deeply.
I don't dare look up. If I do, if I see him—if I know the nightmare standing there, with his blood-soaked clothes and that unholy grin—I won't be able to stop myself from screaming.
I have to be quiet. I have to stay hidden. I have to disappear.
And then, when I think I can breathe again, the footsteps get louder and closer. Each one is like a drumbeat, the sound vibrating through my bones, a terrible reminder that I can't run anymore.
The leaves beneath me shift. I flinch, but it's too late. He's so close now, his presence hanging in the air like an oppressive weight, as if the atmosphere is drowning me. I feel his eyes on me, dark, hungry, and yearning for something more. I feel the knife before I see it, the cold metal slicing through the air with a sound that makes my stomach lurch. It's like it's alive—its edge humming with malevolent energy.
"I told you, didn't I?" His voice is almost sweet now, like a lullaby twisted into something dark. "Escape isn't for you, Luca. Not anymore. You belong to me now. You always have."
I want to scream. I want to fight. I want to run, so badly, but my body refuses to cooperate. My muscles lock up. My chest feels like an invisible force is crushing it. The fear is so thick and suffocating that I can't even think.
I hear him move closer. The brush of his fingers against the tree near me. The rustling of his coat as he leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath, cold and fetid, on the back of my neck.
"You thought you could escape," he murmurs, his voice a low, predatory growl now, angry even. "But there's no escape from me, Luca. There never was. I'm honestly surprised you got this far."
I can't breathe. I can't think. His hands grip my shoulders, pulling me back against the tree, his fingers digging into my skin like talons. I yelp, knowing that I can't move. I can't scream. I'm trapped in this moment, this suffocating, endless moment, with nothing but his cold breath and the gleaming knife in his hand.
The world around me spins, dizzying, closing in like the jaws of some giant, ancient beast ready to devour me whole. The forest isn't just a place anymore. It's a tomb. And I'm buried alive.
I feel the cold metal of the knife before I see it, the blade pressing against my neck like a thousand needles, cold and unforgiving. His hand is like iron around my throat, tightening, cutting off my breath. My heart is a frantic drumbeat in my chest, my head spinning, the world blurring as if I'm sinking into the dark depths of an ocean.
No, no, no, I can't breathe...
The weight of it all—the darkness, the suffocating fear, the closeness of him—it's unbearable. I'm trapped. There's no escape. There's only him, looming over me, a predator, and I am his prey.
Suddenly, the pressure—everything—slips away. The knife. His grip. The forest. The suffocating air.
The world goes dark, and then—blinding light.
I gasp.
The sudden harshness of the light hits me like a slap to the face. I sit up, my breath ragged, a cold sweat coating my skin. My eyes blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim light of the small room around me. The air is thick and stale, like it's been trapped here for hours, maybe even days. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, the feeling of panic still crawling under my skin. My leg still hurts, a dull throb that reminds me of the jagged pain from that cruel dream, but there's no blood, in fact there's nothing at all. No knife. No monster chasing me through the forest. I breathe out in relief, taking in the surroundings of my old dingy apartment.
What seems to be the smell of half-eaten pizza boxes, stale coffee cups, and something faintly sour fills the air, mixing with the musty scent of mildew seeping through the cracked window from the neighbor's apartment next door. It's all so... familiar. So oppressive. I can't even remember how long I've been here. Three years? Four? Maybe five? Time blurs when you're living in a place like this—small, cramped, and barely hanging together, like my own existence. It's cozy, in a way, for a poor college student like me, but it's the kind of cozy that makes you feel stuck. Trapped even.
I sat up in bed, the sheets twisting around my body. My shorts and baggy t-shirt are drenched in sweat, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. I groggily reach for the collar of my shirt, sniffing it in disgust. The stench hits me, my stomach lurching as I gag, immediately ripping the fabric off and tossing it aside. I'm desperate to rid myself of the feeling of being dirty, of carrying the nightmare on my skin like a second layer.
I drag my feet toward the cracked bathroom door, a faint squeak echoing as I push it open. The air in here smells like mildew and something faintly metallic, but I barely notice anymore. I turn on the shower, the sound of the water pounding against the bathtub floor filling the silence in a way that feels almost too loud, too harsh. It's almost like the shower's trying to drown out the noise in my head—the memory of the nightmare that's still clinging to me like some kind of shadow. My body aches from the tension I've been holding on to, the weight of the dream still pressing down on my chest. The warm water pours over me in heavy, relentless streams, washing away the sweat, the fear, the exhaustion—but the memory? That doesn't go away so easily.
I scrub at my skin, harder than I should, as if trying to erase the feelings that linger. It's strange, the way the nightmare still hangs in the air around me, like I've never really left it. I try to focus on the feel of the water on my skin, on the comfort of the warmth, but it's like the nightmare has somehow seeped into my very cells. The fear from the dream twists in my gut, that sense of being hunted, that feeling of cold, predatory eyes on me, waiting for me to slip up, yet all so arousing.
But here, under the hot water, I can almost convince myself it was all just a bad dream. The adrenaline that had spiked in my veins, the fear that had turned my muscles to stone—it's all fading. At least for now.
The scent of the soap fills my nose, a simple, calming sandalwood scent, and for a moment, I let myself breathe. It's over. It's over. I repeat the words in my head, over and over, but the tightness in my chest doesn't quite let up.
I wash away the remnants of the nightmare as best as I can, trying to scrub out the residual panic, the disorientation, the claustrophobia of it all. But deep down, I know. It's still there.
I rinse my body quickly, the warm water trickling down my skin, but the unease—the thing lurking in my chest—doesn't go away. It never goes away. And no matter how much I scrub, no matter how hard I try to scrub it out, the feeling lingers.
The water runs cold as I turn the shower off, the last few droplets cascading down my skin before it all comes to a stop. For a moment, I stand there, the steam still rising around me, my eyes closed as I take in a deep breath. The warm water lingers on my skin, but the fear from the nightmare, the exhaustion, the ache in my muscles—they don't go away completely. I feel them in the pit of my stomach, like a dull throb that refuses to fade.
I step out of the shower, my feet hitting the cold tile floor with a sharp contrast that makes me shiver. I grab a towel off the rack, the fabric rough against my skin, and dry myself off quickly. The chill of the apartment seeps back into my bones as I wrap the towel around my waist and shuffle toward the small mirror above the sink.
My reflection looks... empty—tired green eyes, a pale face, and dark brown messy hair. The dream is still too vivid in my mind. I can almost feel the pressure of that man's hand around my throat, the cold glint of the knife in his hand. My stomach twists with a lingering dread that won't shake loose.
But I can't focus on that right now.
I grab a pair of worn jeans and a faded hoodie from the pile of laundry sitting in the corner of the room. The fabric is soft but stained with time—another relic of my broken college life. I slip them on quickly, the clothes hanging loosely around me, but I feel the weight of them as they drape over my body. It's the kind of comfort that feels almost too heavy, like it's holding me down in a place I can't quite escape from.
I walk over to my desk, the clutter of textbooks, papers, and empty coffee cups greeting me like old friends. The chair creaks as I sit down, the familiar scent of stale coffee rising from my mug, still half-full from the night before. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. The pressure of my English finals looms over me, thick and suffocating, like the nightmare that still clings to my mind.
Opening my laptop, I pull up my notes on modernist literature, but the words swim on the screen, my mind too cloudy to focus. I try to push through it, forcing myself to read, to study, but each sentence blurs into the next. I can't shake the feeling that I'm still not alone.
I glance around the room, my eyes darting from the piles of papers on the floor to the dim light flickering above me. The hum of the fluorescent lights is oddly loud now, too loud, like it's echoing in my skull. I swallow, pushing the thought away, but something is off. Way off.
I focus back on my notes, trying to block out the unease creeping through me. I force myself to read another sentence, but the sensation won't let up. It's like I'm being... watched. Not in the way that anyone could be watching me from the outside, but like something—someone—is right there, just out of view.
I glance to my left, my heart rate picking up, but there's nothing. Just my old, half-drawn curtains hanging limp by the window, the soft light from the street lamps outside casting a sickly glow on the walls. Nothing unusual.
Still, the sensation doesn't leave.
I straighten up in my chair, trying to shake it off, but it lingers—this cold, suffocating awareness, like an invisible presence. My breath catches as I reach for my mug, but my fingers brush against the edge of the desk, sending a small shiver up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, my skin tightening uncomfortably as I glance over my shoulder again. The room is exactly the same as before.
I rub my temples, willing myself to focus. Get it together, Luca. You're just imagining things. I try to convince myself, but the pit in my stomach doesn't go away. My heart is thudding now, the sensation of being watched growing stronger.
I glance at the desk in front of me, the computer screen now just a blur of letters. My thoughts drift to the nightmare—the face of the man, the darkness in his eyes. The smile that made my skin crawl. I can still feel the echo of his presence, as if he's standing there, just behind me. The shadow in the corner of my vision flickers, making me turn my head again.
Once again, there's nothing.
But I still feel it. That prickling sensation, the suffocating pressure in the air. It's like he's right there, hovering just out of reach. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, shaking my head to clear the fog that's settled over me.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to ignore the thudding of my heart, the ache in my chest. The clock on the wall ticks relentlessly, the rhythmic sound punctuating the silence in the room.
But I can't escape the feeling that something's wrong. That I'm not truly alone in this room, no matter how many times I glance around.
Moments later, the air inside my apartment becomes heavier than before, suffocating even, as I sit hunched at my desk. I grumble, my mind becoming foggy, and the endless studying for finals draining the last of my energy. I try to focus on what is going on in front of me, but it becomes harder with each passing second. Everything feels... off.
Thud
The sound makes me jump, sending a jolt of panic through me. My heart freezes. Another thud comes again, this time even louder to the point it shakes the door. It's as if someone is trying to break in. My body shakes as I get up, gripping the back of my chair.
Please. Please don't be anything weird.
I swallow hard, trying to calm myself, but my body betrays every thought of calmness I have left, leaving me in a cold sweat. I pray that it's nothing...maybe a neighbor receiving a delivery, or some drunk college kid stumbling down the hall right? That's possible right? I'm not going crazy...
I swallow again, pondering to myself, but what if it's one of my friends? I inch towards the door, another thud, more forceful than the last. The door rattled against the frame.
"I'll just check if it's someone I know," I say, my voice shaking, as I try to build up the courage to answer the door. "What if it really is one of my friends?" My voice fills with panic as my legs become stiff as I reach the door. My fingers tremble as I grip the door knob, the chill of metal sending a shockwave of panic through my body. I tell myself once again, that it's probably nothing, but something in my gut tells me otherwise...maybe even more dangerous than I can imagine.
I twist the handle, the door creaking slowly, just a crack. I peek out, my eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway, but there's nothing, nothing but shadows and flickering lights. I take a deep breath for relief, but it soon changes to shock and fear.
A figure looming in the darkness, tall and broad-shouldered, almost like a silhouette made from the shadows... the darkness. My breath catches in my throat, the world around me blurring as my eyes lock only onto him.
He's massive. A towering presence in the hallway. His body sharp and sculpted, muscles rippling under his blood-drenched shirt. Blood...so much blood, covers him like it's a second skin. His hair is black and matted, slicked back, and his eyes gleam with an intensity that makes the air ice-cold. My eyes linger towards him, his blue eyes voracious in the darkness.
Oh God, those deep icy blue eyes.
My body becomes hot, my face a dark crimson. I peer deeper at the man, focusing on the knife he holds. The knife is long, gleaming in the dim light, its edge sharp and wickedly glinting covered in blood. But it's not just the weapon that paralyzes me...no, it's the aura of the darkness that surrounds him...the ever so still darkness. Something feels twisted, something is wrong. Something that I knew I shouldn't have seen.
My mouth opens to say something, but goes agape, wondering if I should ask him what the hell he wants, but my voice fails me. The words die on my tongue, following through a hard swallow.
The man doesn't move, not at first...it's as if he became a still life painting. He just stands there, his presence so imposing that I feel as if I'm suffocating under the weight of it. And then, as if to punctuate the silence, he takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his boots making a soft clack on the floor.
The man turns towards my door, walking further towards me. In his other hand, a dead body drenched in blood with missing limbs and assemblages. I feel the bile rising to my throat, as I take in the sight of the dead body and how he so carelessly drags it around. I take another glimpse, recognizing it to be one of my old college friends, Cooper Van. I gasp, clutching my throat as more bile rises.
"Well, well, well," he says, his voice low and smooth, yet predatory, a smile slowly forming on his face. My body freezes, and I swallow the bile that worked its way up my throat. I watch him as he reaches my door, my body trembling.
The man looks down at me and smirks, his sexy body, a fucking treat for the eyes, peering before me, so close I could touch it. My eyes make contact with him, his icy blue eyes, aloof, yet full of malicious intent.
"Luca, is it?" He says, calmly, his voice calm for the scene that has been laid before me. The way he says my name sends a chill up my spine, yet a hot, electric sensation in between my legs. "You didn't think I'd forget you, did you?" he says chillingly. He drops the dead body by his side and places his hand on my chin in an instant, pulling me closer to him.
I gasp, my body instinctively wanting to step back. As I struggle to take a step back, he takes another step forward, his body blocking out the light and any escape route to the hallway.
"How do you know who I am?" I stammer, my eyes avoiding eye contact. My body is trembling more than before. I look back at him, seeing his grin widening, more predatory, revealing his sharp piercing teeth, his ever so perfect teeth.
My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last. My breath hitches and more tingling feelings hit my body, flooding my face with embarrassment. I try to manage the thoughts that are filling my head to control the betrayal of my body.
Luca, what the fuck is wrong with you. You can't get hard from this.
"Who the hell are you?" I croak out, my voice cracking with fear, aiming to hide the embarrassment that was rising in between my legs.
"Oh," he says, darkly, smirking as he looks me up and down, noticing the lump in my pants. He chuckles darkly, his eyes never leaving mine. He steps closer and pushes me into the house, closing the door behind me. "Does it matter who I am?" He pauses, stepping closer now, closing the distance between us with slow, measured movements. The blade of the knife gleaming brighter in his hand, catching the light in dangerous flashes. "You'll learn to remember me soon enough."
I stumble reaching for the door, but it's too late. His hand shoots out faster than lightning, tightening his grip around my hands, pushing me towards the wall, sending me backwards, knocking the breath out of me. His knife sits in his hand as his other hand pins me against the wall, twirling it between his fingers, as he presses his body close to me. I shiver, his leg rubbing against my arousal.
"Please stop," I say, my voice trembling as heat rushes to my body. The man doesn't listen, and continues to grind his leg against me, smirking with each reaction I give. "Let me go," I gasp, my head lurching back, making eye contact with him.
"I don't think you're going to go anywhere tonight, Luca," he says, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm just getting started." His voice is dark and sinister, full of malicious intent as he grinds. My body trembles and noises I never thought I knew escaped my lips.
Luca, what the fuck is wrong with you. You can't let this man keep doing things no matter if he is a killer or not. What if he takes your virginity?
I yelp, and put all my strength into pushing him away. "Please stop!" I say my voice rising. The man laughs, but doesn't stop, instead he speeds up making me cry out and lean against him.
"Luca, you're such a perv. I can't believe you're getting off with me just grinding against you, I'm not even inside you yet," he says with a dark laugh. He pins me harder against the wall. I don't know how to move, how to breathe. My mind races, but there's no escape. My body is heating up further than before.
The man tilts his head slightly, studying me like some kind of animal eyeing its prey. His lips curl into a twisted smile. He leans in, his hot breath hitting my ear, making me quiver and yelp.
He laughs softly, "I told you," he murmurs. "I'd find you." At that moment, I realized that my dream may have come to life.