Tell me again what's real

She woke up at 3:33 a.m. Again. It had been sixty-nine nights in a row. Always the same: Her eyes jolting open. The silence too heavy. The nightmare still clinging to her skin like sweat. In the dream, she was in her room but it was wrong. Suffocatingly dark. No air. No sound. And something in the corner. Breathing. Watching. Waiting. She had tried everything. Sleeping pills. Therapy. Burning sage. She stopped talking about it when people started looking concerned. But tonight was different. Her phone buzzed. Incoming call: Unknown. The screen lit up the room in cold blue. Her hands moved without thinking she answered. On the other end: static. Then a voice. Distorted. Hoarse. Distant. Familiar. “Don’t let it see you move.” She froze. Her chest clenched. "...Hello?" The call ended. Her screen went black. So did the rest of the room. And then… the breathing started. Slow. Heavy. Wet. From the far corner of her room. No footsteps. No shuffling. Just breathing. Getting closer. She fought every instinct screaming inside her to run. She held her breath.Tears streamed down her face silently. She could feel it now. Right next to her bed. Her fingers itched to reach for her blanket. Her phone. Anything. But she remembered the voice. “Don’t let it see you move.” The breathing stopped. Silence. Long. Crushing. Endless. Then A voice. From beside her ear. “She moved.” Something cold wrapped around her ankle. And yanked. She woke up screaming. Back in bed. Drenched in sweat. 3:32 a.m. She stared at the clock. 3:33. Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Hand trembling, she answered. Static. Then the voice again. “Don’t let it see you move.” Her pulse spiked. She looked around the room, heart pounding. Everything was playing out exactly like the dream. Every. Last. Detail. The same voice. The same cold blue glow from her phone screen. The same heavy silence settling over her room like a shroud. She could still feel it. that thing in the dark corner. Watching. Waiting. She swallowed hard. “Hello?” she whispered. But this time, the voice didn’t disappear. It sighed. A long, guttural, exhausted sound. Like it had tried to warn her a thousand times before. “Please... this time... don’t move.” Her pulse hammered in her ears. “You’re not awake,” the voice added, quieter now. “You never really are.” Her hand trembled. She looked at the screen. The call was still connected. The clock read 3:33. The colon between the numbers blinked steady. Measured. Counting down. “ It comes every night. You never make it.” The air shifted. Heavier. Wetter. The sound of breathing slithered through the room again dragging itself toward her.The voice on the phone cracked. “It knows now. You’re too aware. You’re too close. That’s when it takes you.” A creak near the foot of her bed. Closer this time. She didn’t dare turn her head. Her eyes welled with tears. Her lungs screamed for release. Another voice not on the phone rasped beside her ear again: “She always moves.” And then something sharp grazed her leg. Like claws testing flesh.She clamped her eyes shut. Still. Still. Still. The breathing stopped again. But this time... it laughed. A wet, broken sound that cracked and sputtered — and then started mimicking her own breathing. The exact pace. The same shallow rhythm. Like it was syncing itself to her. Like it was becoming her. The voice on the phone whispered: “Don’t open your eyes. Not yet. If you see it... it becomes real.” But it was already so close. And then A high, glassy chime. 3:34. She gasped. Light poured into the room. Her lamp flicked on. Her phone dropped from her hand, screen blank. No breathing. No voice. Nothing. She was alone. She stared at the clock. Her hands. The room. Was it over? She got up. Her legs weak. Reached for the door. And saw it. Her phone.Still on the floor.Still on a call.Still connected. The timer read 6:06:06. And from the speaker — her voice whispered: “You moved... again.” And then the line went dead. A jolt of nausea twisted her stomach.Before she could react. Darkness.The light snapped off. The room collapsed into black. Her breath caught.Then She woke up. Again. Same bed. Same position. But this time… no buzzing. No phone call. Just silence. She checked the time. 3:33 a.m. No call. No warning. Her heart sank. Something was different this time. Wrong in a new way. She turned her head. And saw it. Still in the corner. Not breathing this time. Not crawling. Just standing. Facing her. Motionless. Watching. She froze. Dread crackling through her limbs like static. No voice to guide her. No warning this time. Just her. And it. She tried not to blink. Not to flinch. Not to exist. But her thoughts wouldn’t stop screaming: “Why isn’t it moving? Why isn’t it gone?” Then her mind answered back a thought that didn’t feel like hers: Because you didn’t wake up this time. She looked again. It was closer now. Still not moving. Still facing her. Her eyes blurred with tears. She reached for her phone. Nothing. Dead screen. No signal. No exit. Then, slowly… the creature tilted its head not jerky like before. Smooth. Human. Curious. Like it was studying her. Or waiting for something. Her reflection in the mirror across the room caught her attention. She squinted.Her reflection wasn’t sitting. It was standing. In the corner. Staring back at her. Matching the creature’s pose. Smiling. And then just once her reflection whispered: “You didn’t stay still.” And the lights flickered.And the corner was empty. She sucked in a breath, paralyzed. Then a voice rang out. Bright. Cheerful. Out of place. Like an old recording: “We’re going to Disneyland!” It echoed from the hallway. Her voice. Young. Joyful. She stared at the door, unblinking. Another voice followed. Her mother’s. Soft, distant, crackling like an old VHS: “Smile for the camera, sweetheart…” She rose from the bed slowly, legs trembling.The air buzzed thick with electricity and wrongness. She stepped toward the door, heart pounding. As her hand touched the knob A chorus of voices erupted on the other side, all hers. “We’re going to Disneyland.” “We’re going to Disneyland.” “We’re going to Disneyland.” Over and over. Louder. Faster. Until it wasn’t excitement anymore. It was a chant. A warning. A trap. A glitch. She ripped the door open. The hallway was pitch black. But standing in the middle, back turned, was a small girl. Wearing mouse ears. She turned around slowly, grinning. Eyes completely black. And in a voice like broken tape, she said: “I brought something back.” From the darkness behind her…Something began to crawl forward. She stood in the hallway, breath shaking, heart pounding in her ears. The child-like creature was gone. No voices now. No chant. Just silence. And something else. She wasn’t alone. The air grew dense again, not just thick, but heavy, like it was pushing against her skin. The kind of pressure you feel before something breaks. She took one shaky step backward toward her room. That’s when she heard it. A new sound. Not breathing this time. Clicking. Like bone against bone. Sharp. Wet. Rhythmically off. Click—click—drag. Click—click—drag. It was coming from the end of the hallway. Out of the dark. Slow, methodical, hungry. She tried to close her door, but the knob wouldn’t turn. Wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t obey. She stepped back. The lights above her flickered once. Then again. And then everything went still. Click—click—drag. Closer now. Her limbs locked. It wasn’t just fear. Something was forcing her not to move. The creature wanted her still. It needed it. But her body itched to run. Her muscles twitched. Her eyes stung with tears, but she didn’t blink. Click—click—drag. She didn’t dare look up. But she could feel it now. Right there. Just a few feet away. Watching. Studying. A low growl peeled from its throat. Not an animal’s growl. A warning. "Stay still." And then… the smell. Rot. Metal. Ash. Like something that had been alive a very long time ago and hated her for still breathing.Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t move.She couldn’t.The screen lit up the floor near her feet.A text message.Just one word: RUN. But she knew she knew if she moved now, even to blink, it would rip her apart. Not just her body. Her mind. She clenched her jaw and whispered through her teeth: “Not this time.” Silence. Then SCREEEEEECH. The creature ripped through the air behind her, no longer dragging itself. Moving now in jagged, violent bursts. It knew she was resisting. It was angry. The hallway cracked around her, the walls bleeding shadows, the air folding in on itself. She tried to breathe steadily. One second. Two. Three. No movement. No sound. And then everything went black. When she opened her eyes, she was in her bed again. Soaked. Trembling. Staring at the ceiling. 3:33 a.m. But there was no buzzing.No phone. No call. Just quiet. She sat up slowly, listening. Nothing. For the first time in months. Silence. And then From the foot of the bed, from the corner of the room, in a voice that was almost hers, something whispered: “You didn’t run. But that wasn't enough.” And it lunged