Steve woke up with a sharp breath. His body shook as if he had been falling for a long time and suddenly hit the ground. His chest was wet with sweat, and his hands gripped the bed sheet so tight that his knuckles turned white. For a moment, he lay there in silence, his heart racing in his ears like drums.
The room was dim, the curtains pulled halfway, letting in the pale light of morning. His desk, stacked with books and papers, looked normal. His clothes on the chair, the messy sneakers near the door, the half-empty glass of water on the side table—it was all just as he had left it.
Steve let out a shaky laugh."It was… it was only a dream," he whispered to himself, pressing his palm against his chest.
The dream had been so real, though. The missing friends. The haunted night. The shadows whispering. The beggar's words about the curse returning. He could still hear that raspy voice echoing in his head, and it made his skin crawl.
Trying to shake it off, he got up and washed his face. The cold water helped, but as he looked into the mirror, he froze. His reflection looked back, but for a brief second, he thought the reflection's lips moved before his own. Just a flicker—like it was about to speak.
Steve stumbled back, blinking fast. The reflection was normal now. Just him. Just tired eyes and pale skin."Get a grip," he muttered.
Downstairs, his father was already at the table, sipping coffee. The news was on the television, voices filling the kitchen. Steve sat down, still shaken.
"You look like hell," his father said without looking away from the screen.
"Bad dream," Steve answered.
His father finally turned. "Dream? You sure?"
Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"
His father didn't answer right away. He only pointed to the TV. The reporter was speaking in a tense voice. Steve turned his head, and his stomach dropped.
The news headline read:"Four teenagers still missing after midnight outing."
Steve's throat went dry. The reporter spoke about the missing boys and girls, last seen near the woods outside town. Police had no evidence, no tracks, no sign of struggle. It was like they had just vanished into thin air.
Steve's fork slipped from his hand and hit the plate with a loud clink."No… no way," he whispered.
His father nodded slowly. "Paranormal," he said in a low voice. "I told you yesterday. Some things can't be explained by reason."
Steve shook his head. "But… I saw this. I dreamed all of this before it even happened."
His father's face tightened. "Not a dream, son. A warning."
The words chilled Steve more than the cold morning air. He wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, but his chest felt heavy. Something was wrong. Something bigger than he could understand.
When he reached college, he tried to act normal. His friend Tom was waiting by the gate, his usual grin plastered on his face."Dude, you look like you've been dragged through a graveyard," Tom said.
"Maybe I have," Steve muttered, trying to push past him.
Tom caught his shoulder. "Hey, wait. You saw the news, right? Those kids… gone. It's exactly like that old beggar said. The curse. It's back."
"Don't start with that again," Steve snapped. "It's nothing paranormal. Just… just some kids lost in the woods."
But even as he said it, his voice cracked. Tom raised an eyebrow."You don't even believe yourself, Steve."
Steve walked faster, ignoring him. Inside the classroom, their teacher tried to begin the lecture, but Steve couldn't focus. His eyes kept drifting to the window. For some reason, the trees outside looked darker, their branches curling like skeletal fingers against the sky.
Then, in the middle of the lesson, Steve heard it. A whisper. Soft. Cold. Calling his name.
"Steve…"
His head jerked around, eyes wide. No one else seemed to hear it. The teacher kept talking, Tom doodled on his notebook, other students were half-asleep. But the whisper came again.
"Steve…"
He pressed his palms to his ears, his stomach twisting.
And then he saw him.
The old beggar. Standing outside the window, staring straight at him. His face was pale, his beard unkempt, his eyes burning like dying coals. He raised a crooked finger and pointed at Steve.
Steve's breath hitched. He blinked once, and the beggar was gone.
"Steve? You okay?" the teacher's voice cut through his terror.
"Y-Yeah… I need some air," Steve stammered, rushing out of the room. His heart pounded as he leaned against the wall in the hallway.
He wasn't losing his mind. He couldn't be. This was all connected—the dream, the missing students, the whispers, the beggar. Something was pulling him into it, and he didn't know how to stop it.
That night, Steve couldn't sleep. Every sound in the house felt louder—the creak of the floor, the ticking of the clock, the rustle of the wind. His room felt smaller, as if the walls were inching closer.
At 2:00 a.m., he heard it again. The whisper. This time clearer.
"The curse has returned. He will end everything."
Steve sat up, his hands trembling. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the source. And then he saw something that froze his blood.
In the corner of his room, near the desk, the shadows moved. Not like the flicker of light, not like imagination. They writhed. Shifted. Formed a shape.
A figure stood there—tall, cloaked in darkness, faceless but alive. Its presence pressed against his chest, stealing his breath.
Steve tried to scream, but no sound came out.
The figure leaned closer, and though it had no mouth, he heard it whisper inside his skull."The dream was only the beginning."
Then the figure dissolved, melting back into the corner like smoke.
Steve sat frozen for hours, his whole body shaking. The truth settled in his heart like ice: this wasn't just a dream. This was real. And it was only getting worse.