Stories To Tell In The Dark

The Dream That Never Ends

Mia had always been a heavy sleeper, drifting off each night with the weight of the day’s worries and exhaustion pulling her into oblivion. But one night, something felt different. She closed her eyes as usual, the soft hum of the world around her fading into quiet, but when she opened them again, she wasn’t in her bed.

The air was thick, heavy, and hot. She was in a dim, suffocating room, surrounded by unfamiliar walls made of rough stone. The floor beneath her was uneven, slick with moisture, and she could hear the distant drip of water echoing in the silence. A dull, orange glow illuminated the space, coming from a far corner.

In that corner was a large, iron pot—bubbling with something thick and dark. She instinctively stepped back, her heart thundering in her chest. The smell that reached her nose was foul, like something rotten. It made her stomach churn, but it wasn’t the smell that terrified her. It was the sound of the bubbling water—slow, steady, like something waiting to boil.

“Mia…” A voice whispered from behind her.

She spun around, her breath catching in her throat. But there was no one. Just darkness, thick and deep.

The whisper came again, closer this time.

“Mia…”

It was the sound of her own name, but distorted, hollow. She turned toward the sound, but saw nothing. Panic began to set in, the edges of her vision blurring as a cold sweat formed on her skin. Her legs wobbled as she stumbled forward, trying to find an exit, a door, anything.

But there was nothing. No escape.

The only thing she could do was move toward the pot, drawn by the ominous glow. As she approached, the boiling liquid inside seemed to hiss and splatter, the air thick with the sound of it bubbling. The heat from it was unbearable, pressing down on her like a weight.

“Mia…” The voice again, now more frantic. “You can’t leave… not yet…”

Before she could react, a figure materialized out of the shadows—tall and thin, its features indistinct, its eyes glowing a sickly green. Mia tried to scream, but no sound escaped her mouth. The figure reached out, its fingers curling like claws, and a wave of pure terror washed over her.

At that moment, Mia realized something horrible: she wasn’t just trapped in a room. She was trapped in a dream—a nightmare.

A nightmare that wouldn’t end.

She turned to run, but her legs refused to obey her, each step feeling heavier than the last. The figure was getting closer, its presence suffocating. Desperately, Mia stumbled back toward the pot, her heart racing, but the closer she got, the more the boiling water seemed to reach for her, as if it were alive, ready to pull her in.

“Mia…” the voice rasped, now behind her, as if it was the very air she breathed. “It’s too late. There is no waking up.”

She tried to turn, to escape, but her body was slow, sluggish. The world around her began to spin, the room warping and twisting in a sickening swirl. She reached for the edge of the pot, desperate to steady herself, but the warmth from the boiling water burned her hand, and she recoiled.

That was when it happened.

The floor beneath her gave way, and Mia fell.

The darkness consumed her as she tumbled into the pot, the scalding liquid enveloping her in an instant. The pain was unbearable, as though her skin was being melted from her bones. She tried to scream, but the boiling water forced its way into her mouth, choking her, burning her lungs.

Her vision blurred, her body seizing in agony as she sank deeper into the pot. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the faint outline of the figure, watching her, grinning with a satisfaction that turned her blood to ice.

--------------------------------------------------------------

---Years Later---

A group of explorers, lost in the dense forest, stumbled upon an old, forgotten shack buried deep in the woods. It was half overgrown with vines, its walls crumbling with age. Inside, they found an old, rusted pot sitting in the center of the room, its contents long evaporated.

At first, they thought it was just another abandoned relic. But as they dug around the area, something horrifying caught their attention—a strange, half-melted shape at the bottom of the pot.

With trembling hands, they reached in, pulling out what appeared to be a human form. It was contorted, its skin discolored and warped by the heat. The figure was unrecognizable—its features barely more than a twisted, melted mass. But as they examined it, they noticed something odd. A faint pulse.

The explorers recoiled in shock, horrified by the discovery. The body was not entirely dead.

They looked closer, and in the eyes of the burnt figure, they saw something that made their hearts stop:

It was alive.

Suddenly, a low, gurgling sound emanated from the figure’s throat, and its eyes snapped open—staring directly at them with a vacant, unblinking gaze.

The scream that tore from its mouth was raw, desperate, and filled with the anguish of a mind trapped in an eternity of torment.

It was Mia.

But as she screamed, her eyes went wide in terror, and her lips whispered one final, chilling phrase:

“I can’t wake up.”

Mia jolted awake with a scream, gasping for air, her chest heaving. Sweat poured from her body as she scrambled in her bed, looking around the room in a frenzy. The walls were familiar, the smell of fresh sheets and the faint hum of traffic outside her window—everything was normal.

But something wasn’t right.

Her skin tingled, as though it had been burned. Her throat ached, and she could still feel the water choking her lungs.

She tried to push the memories of the dream away, but they lingered, clawing at her mind. She looked at her hands—smooth, unmarked. But then, through her fingers, she saw something.

A burn mark. A blister on her skin, as though something hot had touched her—something that should have been impossible.

Her eyes locked on the clock beside her bed, the seconds ticking by in a maddening rhythm. It was 3:33 AM.

The same time she had fallen into the pot. The same time she had died.

She swallowed, the realization sinking in like a stone in her gut.

Her heart stopped when she heard it again—soft, distant, like a whisper in the dark.

“Mia…”

And in that moment, she knew.

She was still trapped.

It had never been a dream.