Ever since I was little, I’ve had strange dreams that felt too real to be just dreams. It all began with a simple dream: I walked into a quiet store to buy a cookie, rode a bus home, and then someone with pale hair stared right at me and whispered terrible things. That dream replayed five times in a row—every night, the same scene, the same feeling of dread.
Then a different dream came. I found myself hiding in a small box-like room. A dark figure was chasing me with a loud weapon, running close enough to feel the cold air just inches away. I had that one six nights in a row, gasping in fear before I woke.
Next, I dreamt I was in a school hallway. A wolfish creature, upright and in clothes, cornered the students. My heart pounded as it sniffed and growled, and I squeezed behind a tall cabinet to hide. That nightmare came seven times in a row, each time ending just before the creature could reach me.
Then came another dream: I stood before pictures on a wall—sketches of monsters I had seen in a dusty old book. They all stared and laughed at me with hollow eyes and crooked teeth. I woke up sweating, eight nights straight.
After those dreams, I began hearing a whisper inside my head: “It’s coming.” A soft, chilling voice I couldn’t ignore. I told my mother, but she didn’t listen. It felt like a hidden curse that lived in my mind.
When I turned eight, the dreams finally stopped. The nightmares faded, and the whispering voice went quiet. I still don’t know what they were, or why only I could sense them. Even now, I wonder—did something reach out from a dream to touch me?