It was just after midnight when I drifted off to sleep. In my dream, I was walking through an old churchyard. It was dark, and I wanted to leave, but something wouldn’t let me go. No matter which way I turned, the path stretched longer and longer. Then I saw something strange—two people standing over an open grave, pulling something out of the ground.
My chest tightened. I wanted to run, but when they noticed me, they stared with empty, lifeless eyes.
I woke up, gasping for air. My heart pounded. I tried to shake off the dream—but then I saw him. A man stood at the foot of my bed. He was dressed in an old black coat, dust and dirt covering his shoulders. His face was pale, his gray hair slicked back neatly. His eyes locked onto mine.
But I wasn’t afraid. I don’t know why. I turned over, feeling his presence behind me, and somehow, I fell back asleep. I could still sense him watching, waiting, but he did nothing.
In the morning, I woke up and looked around. He was gone. I got out of bed, walked past the spot where he had stood, and a shiver ran down my spine. The air felt ice-cold.
All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The man in the black coat, with dust on his shoulders. Was it a dream? No—I know what I saw. But why was he there? I didn’t know him.
Tonight, I have to sleep in the same room again. And I keep thinking—if I dream of that churchyard again, will he be waiting for me? And if I see him once more… will I wake up? Or will I stay asleep forever?