He woke up in the middle of the night to drink some water, when he saw the shadow of someone standing in the middle of his living room. The room was cloaked in darkness, making it hard to see clearly.
The only light came from the moon, slipping silently through the window, casting a pale glow across the space.
He stared at the figure, confused, then slowly reached his hand toward the wall and turned on the light—
Standing there was someone in a red cloak, back turned to him.
"You… How did you get in?" he asked, still dazed.
But then—he noticed something.
This wasn't his apartment.
"This… isn't my place," he said in bewilderment.
He was in a quiet, dimly lit room. The furniture was simple, ornate. Paintings of people sketched by hand lined the walls. Long red curtains kissed the floor. A massive rug stretched beneath his feet, leading to a fireplace at the far end. Before it stood the same cloaked figure he had chased.
Above the fireplace hung a large portrait: a blonde woman in a flowing white dress, sitting on a chair with a baby in her arms. A soft smile touched her serene face. Behind her stood a faceless man in a formal suit.
The silence was thick.
Crackling flames danced in the hearth, casting a golden hue across the room.
He stepped forward slowly, cautiously, toward the stranger.
He reached out a hand to remove the hood—
And revealed… a woman. Blonde hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes were the same breathtaking blue as in the painting.
She looked at him and whispered softly:
"My son."
Her gaze drifted to a cradle in the corner of the room, pointing her finger. A baby's cry echoed softly.
He followed her finger and approached the cradle. He reached down, slowly pulling the blanket back to reveal the child's face—
A grotesque creature.
Demonic. Deformed.
He staggered back in horror.
But before he could react, the woman appeared behind him in a flash, striking him with a powerful blow to the abdomen. The impact sent him flying through the air. His body split into fading echoes as he was flung out of the room, into the dark void.
He rose from the bed, gasping for air. The room was just as he had left it... except for the girl standing by the window.
She had deep blue eyes and black hair that shimmered faintly where the moonlight fell across her face. She stood still, staring at him.
"You're not real," he said, voice low.
"I am," she whispered.
And then—
He was back again.
In his room.
He shot up in bed, gasping.
His face was drenched in sweat. His chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm, heart pounding.
He turned to the nightstand—an ordinary clock ticked calmly. Just a dream.
He placed a hand over one eye and exhaled.
He followed the path from his dream, deep into the forest. There, nestled in the silence, stood a small cabin—warmly furnished, with a single portrait of a blonde woman hanging on the wall.
On the bed lay a rotting corpse, draped in a white sheet. The stench of time was heavy in the air. He slid down against the wall, sitting in quiet stillness as his eyes traced the room's every detail.
Outside, behind the cabin, a man was digging a grave with a crude tool. He buried the woman in silence, then disappeared into the woods.
Back inside, a shadow flickered against the wall—one that did not belong to him.