A NIGHTMARE

The Warning

Is there something going on… that you’re not telling me?”

His voice was low, edged with concern, and it made my chest tighten like a vice.

I shifted back, avoiding his gaze. My fingers twisted nervously in my lap.

“I… need to use the bathroom… excuse me,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Without waiting for a response, I stood, stiff and deliberate. The warmth of Damian’s presence pressed against me, heavy and suffocating. I moved past the table, each step echoing sharply on the wooden floor, heart hammering in my ears.

I slipped into the restroom, letting the door click shut behind me. The cool tiles and faint scent of soap offered a fragile barrier from questions I wasn’t ready to face. I leaned over the sink, staring at my reflection, trying to steady the storm inside.

Turning on the tap, I splashed cold water over my face, letting it run down my hands. Thoughts surged uncontrollably:

My mom… my brothers… they haven’t called…

This park… the old man who warned me…

A hollow ache settled in my chest, a tight knot that made every breath jagged. My mind raced over unanswered questions, every cryptic warning, every strange encounter that had led me here. The drip of water from the faucet echoed louder than it should, each droplet a sharp tap against the tiles, like a warning carved into the silence.

I sank to the cold floor, pressing my hands to my face, trembling, trying to hold back the flood of tears—but my body refused. Each sob rattled through me, hollow and desperate. My knees dug into the tiles as if the floor itself could anchor me against the chaos.

Then… I heard it.

A soft, ragged whisper, quivering like broken glass:

“Help me… please… help me…”

A child’s voice. Small, broken, fragile. It scraped along the edges of my sanity. My breath caught. I froze, heart hammering, eyes darting to every corner.

“Who’s there?” I whispered, voice barely audible over the thundering of my own pulse. My body refused to move, frozen by the sudden, suffocating fear.

“Please… help me…” The voice came again, closer this time, insistent, desperate. It was everywhere and nowhere, curling beneath the floor, pressing against the walls, echoing inside my skull.

I couldn’t move. My legs trembled violently, and my hands clutched at the edge of the sink like it could hold me together.

Then I saw it.

The mirror.

The reflection staring back at me was me—yet not. Pale skin, dark, congealing blood smeared across her face and hands, eyes hollow and wild. Every twitch, every shiver I made, she mirrored perfectly, inching closer. Her lips trembled as she whispered, the same ragged plea:

“Help me… help me… please…”

I could barely breathe. My mind screamed at me to run, but my feet were rooted to the tiles. I blinked, and her eyes—so like mine, yet twisted with something inhuman—locked onto mine.

“I… I don’t… I don’t know how,” I stammered, voice cracking. My words sounded weak even to me, swallowed by the oppressive silence. “What… what do you want?”

The reflection’s head tilted, a grotesque mockery of curiosity. Then, in a voice that shredded what little calm remained, it screamed:

“HELP ME!!”

The sound ricocheted through the walls, rattling the mirror, shaking the tiles beneath me. My chest constricted, a sharp, stabbing pain. Every nerve in my body screamed for me to run, yet my limbs refused to obey. My hands shook so violently I could barely keep them pressed to my face.

Panic erupted in my chest. I screamed—a raw, desperate sound that ricocheted off the walls and slammed into my ears. My heart hammered so violently I thought it would burst from my ribs.

I stumbled back, vision swimming, and the reflection followed, dragging bloodied fingers across the glass, mocking, imitating, alive.

I forced my legs to move, slipping backward across the cold floor, fingers clawing at the door. I flung it open and bolted down the hall. The restaurant warped around me—the walls stretched and flickered, the lights stuttered, the air thickened, and the world tilted like a painting smeared by invisible hands. My legs trembled violently, threatening to give out…

That was when-

“Easy there… what's wrong, babe?” Damian’s voice cut through the chaos, calm, steady, warm.

I nodded shakily, tears streaming down my face, fear etched into every line. My chest heaved as I struggled to breathe.

“I… I don’t wanna eat here anymore—” My words trembled on the edge of panic.

His grip tightened around me, solid and protective. “Did something happen?”

I shook my head violently, cutting him off. “Nothing… I just wanna leave this place… please, Damian.” My voice was urgent, pleading.

He sighed softly, eyes never leaving mine. “Okay.” His hand guided me toward the exit, each step away from the table like moving through a storm. Yet the memory of that mirror clung to me, impossible to shake—the bloodied girl, mimicking, begging.

Outside, the cool night air hit my skin, crisp and real. I inhaled deeply, letting it fill my lungs, loosening the chaos just enough to breathe. Damian’s hand stayed firm around my waist, a quiet anchor against the terror still crawling through me.

The world spun less now—but the memory would linger, haunting long after the night’s end.

Outside, the night air hit me, cool and damp, carrying the musty scent of the old amusement park.

The golden lights of the restaurant faded behind us, leaving only the creak of rusting rides swaying in the wind and the occasional hollow whistle of air through broken rides. My hands were still trembling, and every shadow seemed to flicker with the memory of that reflection—pale, bloodied, pleading, impossibly alive.

Damian’s hand stayed firm around my waist, anchoring me. “Are you good?” he asked, voice low, steady, like an anchor in a storm.

I nodded, though my chest still heaved with lingering panic. “I… I think so,” I admitted, voice trembling. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

His warm smile softened the edges of my fear. “You won’t be,” he promised. “I’ve got you.”

We walked through the park, the broken rides casting twisted, monstrous shadows under the moonlight. Every step felt measured, deliberate, the world around us distorted and quiet, as if the amusement park itself held its breath. Every hollow laugh of wind sounded like whispers, echoing from empty stalls and the skeletal frames of the rides.

Damian led me to his dorm, the path lit only by the faint glow of a single flickering lamp. His roommate was out, the room empty except for the soft glow of a desk lamp and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

I hesitated at the doorway, unsure if I wanted to cross it, uncertain if leaving the night behind would be enough. But Damian’s eyes met mine, warm and reassuring, and he gave that gentle smile that made me trust him despite the storm inside me.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You’ll be safe here.”

I nodded, letting him guide me in. My legs felt heavy, weighed down by lingering fear, but I followed him anyway. Once inside, I perched on the edge of his bed, still trembling, my fingers twisting in my lap. Damian crouched beside me, careful not to crowd me, his hand brushing mine with a gentle weight that grounded me.

The dim light cast soft shadows across the room, ordinary and safe—but the memory of the mirror clung to me like a shadow that refused to fade. My chest heaved as I tried to steady my breath.

“You okay now?” he asked, tilting his head, his concern soft but unwavering.

I swallowed, tears glimmering in my eyes. "mm-m yeah i am” I whispered. I give him a reassuring nod.

He moved back toward the doorway, giving me space to settle, his quiet presence a steady anchor against the storm still churning in my mind. I sank into the pillows, drawing my knees close to my chest, as the lamp cast shadows across the room—long, lazy fingers reaching slowly across the floor.

The radiator hummed softly, a dull, steady sound that contrasted sharply with the chaos still rattling inside me. I closed my eyes, trying to will the memory of the mirror—the bloodied girl, hollow-eyed, whispering help me… please…—away, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of my mind.

Damian’s voice, low and calm, cut through the silence. “I’ll be right back. I’ll get you something to eat.”

I nodded faintly, not trusting my voice, watching him step into the small kitchenette. The quiet of the room pressed in, and for a brief moment, it felt almost safe. Almost.

My phone kept buzzing in my hand. I noticed Isha had left ten missed calls. I sighed, my thumb hovering over the screen. Not yet. I was still overstimulated, my mind frayed from everything that had happened tonight.

Glancing toward the kitchenette, I saw Damian carefully setting up a plate for me. The way he moved—thoughtful, quiet, patient—made my chest tighten. There was something in the way he paid attention to the smallest things, like it mattered that I was okay, like I mattered. I found myself watching him longer than I meant to, a faint smile forming as a quiet admiration settled within me, soft and steady despite everything else.

Turning back to my phone, I opened my family albums, letting my fingers scroll slowly this time.

The first image that caught my eye was one from the beach—sunlight spilling across the sand, the ocean stretching endlessly behind us. My mom stood barefoot near the shore, her dress swaying with the wind, while my baby brothers ran ahead of her, their laughter almost audible through the screen. I remembered how the waves had chased them, how they shrieked and ran back, only to rush forward again. I had taken that picture, laughing just seconds before it froze into a memory.

I lingered on it longer than I expected, letting the warmth of that moment settle into me, gentle and familiar.

Then I swiped.

Dad.

The shift was immediate.

He stood in the frame the way he always did—steady, smiling, his presence filling the space without trying. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed, like he was still there, just on the other side of the screen.

My chest tightened.

I missed him. More than I ever knew how to say.

The ache wasn’t sharp—it was quiet, constant, like something that had learned to live inside me. My thumb hovered over the image, tracing the outline of a memory I could never reach again.

I swallowed, blinking slowly, trying to hold onto the feeling without letting it break me.

I didn’t notice Damian standing in front of me until the warmth of his presence pressed close, making the air around me feel suddenly heavier, safer, and impossibly intimate all at once. I jumped slightly, eyes widening, my chest tightening from both relief and lingering adrenaline.

“Did I startle you, little bird?” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was a steady, reassuring undertone that made the corners of my fear soften. He set the plate carefully onto the small dining table beside the bed, the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain ringing louder than it should in the quiet room.

“Oh… no,” I murmured, letting a faint smile curve my lips. My fingers lingered on the edge of the bed, tracing the worn fabric as if to ground myself in reality, still reeling from the night’s horrors.

He extended a hand slowly, deliberately, and I hesitated for a heartbeat before letting him guide me toward the table. His touch was gentle, firm—enough to steady my wobbling legs without being overbearing. The soft lamplight cast golden shadows across his face, highlighting the warmth in his eyes, the calm certainty in his smile.

We sat across from each other, plates between us, the small meal steaming faintly, smelling comforting, earthy, familiar. I noticed how he had arranged everything carefully, how he had thought about even the smallest details, and a small flutter of gratitude warmed me from the inside.

For a while, we ate in quiet companionship, the room filled with nothing but the soft scrape of forks against plates, the occasional exhale, and the muted hum of the radiator. The warmth of the room, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of the food, and the presence of him sitting just across from me made the night feel a little less unbearable. I let myself relax, just enough to enjoy this tiny reprieve.

After a bite, his phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the fragile cocoon of quiet. He glanced at it, eyebrows knitting briefly. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he said, standing, and for a moment I noticed the way the lamplight caught in his hair, how even the slight tension in his jaw didn’t take away from the calm reassurance he gave off.

I nodded, offering a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay,” I whispered, my voice barely carrying over the quiet.

He stepped toward the door, holding the phone to his ear, and the soft click as the door closed behind him left the room startlingly empty. My eyes lingered on the plate, steam curling gently into the air, and the quiet pressed against me in waves.

I heard a strange, abstract ringtone piercing the quiet of the room. My eyes darted around, scanning every corner, every shadow. Heart pounding, I dropped the cutlery I had been holding and tried to trace where the sound was coming from. It led me—like a twisted, mocking guide—toward the bathroom.

I stopped at the doorway, hand hovering over the handle. What am I, stupid? I muttered under my breath, shaking my head at myself.

Then, without warning, something that felt like an external force shoved me inside. My body tumbled forward, and fear exploded in my chest. I froze, unable to move, eyes wide and trembling.

I shut my eyes tight, bracing myself for whatever was waiting on the other side—but then it laughed.

The laughter was loud, mocking, surrounding me, crawling under my skin. I pressed my hands to my ears, desperate to block it out, but it didn’t stop. Then I felt a little push upward, unrelenting and insistent.

“You can’t hide away from me,” it hissed, cruel and omnipresent.

The door creaked open behind me.

“Damian…?” I whispered, my voice small, eyes still tightly shut, chest heaving.

“We’re you expecting someone else?” he said jokingly, his familiar calm threading through the tension.

“Are you okay?” he added immediately, concern threading through the joke

I slowly opened my eyes and blinked against the dim light. Damian stood there in his sweatpants, casual and reassuring. How long have I been in here? I thought, my heart still racing.

“I… uh… wanted to use the bathroom,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

He stepped closer, concern etched on his face. “I was looking for you, and I thought you left.”

I shook my head, still trembling. “No… I just…”

Heat surged through me, and my words caught in my throat, shaking as they spilled out.

“…I want you… Damian,” I whispered, raw and fragile, my hands trembling as they clutched at my own arms.

Damian froze, eyes widening, and he took a small step back, uncertainty flickering across his face.

“What… exactly are you asking for?” he murmured, voice low, careful, but edged with disbelief.

“Sleep with me, Damian,” I said, confirming my words, my chest heaving. “I… I can’t think straight… I need this…”

He shook his head, jaw tight, eyes darkening with shock and disbelief. “I’m not going to sleep with you… because you can’t think straight.”

His voice softened after a pause, the edge of sharpness fading into calm, steady concern. “Hey… let’s talk about this. Please… let’s just talk.”

The thought hit me like a rush of fire—what am I doing… asking Damian to deflower me… because of some voices… because I can’t think straight… My breath caught, panic prickling my skin, my fingers trembling as they pressed against my own arms.

“You… want to be reckless and throw all your innocence into the fire?” His words were low, rough, trembling with emotion, but his eyes stayed locked on me, fierce and protective. “Do you even know what you’re asking for, little bird?”

The room fell silent, thick and heavy, the kind of silence that presses against your chest and makes every breath feel loud. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, each pulse echoing the chaotic thoughts I couldn’t quiet. I could feel Damian’s gaze on me, sharp and steady, weighing me down and lifting me up all at once.

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something—anything—but the sound never came. Instead, his eyes locked onto mine, dark and unwavering, and I felt the subtle pull of his presence, magnetic, impossible to resist. My chest heaved, my fingers fidgeted, and the silence stretched, teasing, almost unbearable, until the faint scrape of his shoes against the floor finally broke it.

He pushed off the desk, the wood groaning slightly under his weight. Each step toward the door was deliberate, measured, the soft scrape of his shoes against the floor echoing in the quiet room. With a sharp click, he locked it behind him—the sound final, a promise that nothing could interrupt what was about to happen.

He turned back, and his gaze found mine, dark and intense, tugging at something inside me I hadn’t dared to feel before. The air between us thickened, charged and electric, every heartbeat echoing like a drum.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, voice low, steady, threaded with control that sent shivers crawling through me.

Damian closed the space between us, each step deliberate, weighted with intention. His gaze burned into mine—dark, molten, and impossible to resist. My body trembled, heart hammering, as if it already knew what was coming.

His hands slid around my waist, firm and commanding, molding me against him. Every touch felt deliberate, intoxicating, foreign yet intimate—like he could read every reaction of my body before I even realized it. The control he wielded over me, over this moment, made a thrill race down my spine.

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasped softly, caught between pulling away and craving the closeness that seared through me. He nipped at my skin, teasing and soft at first, and I shivered, fingers instinctively clutching at his shirt.

The scent of him—warm, sharp, intoxicating—flooded my senses, drowning out everything else. His lips traced the curve of my jaw, brushing against my neck, while the heat of his body pressed me closer, grounding me, igniting a desperate ache deep inside.

“Just breathe,” he murmured, low and rough, carrying both desire and a tenderness that made my chest tighten. His hands explored the curve of my waist with confident precision, holding me close as if memorizing me with nothing but touch.

I closed my eyes, letting the tension melt away, letting the closeness—the smell, the warmth, the subtle press of him—pull me into a haze where nothing existed except us. Every brush of his lips, every press of his body, scattered my thoughts. I couldn’t think, couldn’t resist—I could only react. And I wanted to.

He shifted slightly, letting his weight settle on me, careful, deliberate. His hands pressed gently along my sides, tracing the curves of my body as if memorizing every line. My fingers tangled in the sheets, heart hammering, breath shallow and uneven.

Leaning closer, his lips brushed against mine in a whisper of a kiss, soft but insistent, tasting, learning, connecting. I trembled under him, a shiver running from the tips of my fingers to the back of my neck.

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, voice low and warm, a promise woven into every syllable. His hands held me close, anchoring me while letting me feel completely free to surrender. The words wrapped around me like a shield, and I let myself relax, trusting him entirely.

Every movement, every touch was careful and intimate, a dance of closeness that made my chest ache with warmth and desire. I melted into him, into us, into the quiet understanding that this moment was ours alone—safe, consuming, and infinitely tender.

The night ended with us collapsing onto the bed, breathless and tangled together, the warmth between us softening into something quiet, something real. For a while, neither of us moved—just the steady rhythm of our breathing, the lingering closeness, the unspoken understanding wrapped around us like a second skin.

Then came the knock.

“f**k… why is he here,” Damian muttered, his voice low with irritation. “Wait, I’ll talk to him—”

“I should actually get going too,” I cut in gently, my voice softer than I intended.

His eyes snapped back to mine, searching. “Are you sure?”

I hesitated—just for a second—before giving him a faint smile. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, bending to gather my clothes from where they’d fallen, his movements slow and deliberate, then handed them to me. I dressed quickly, grateful for his quiet presence, and when I was ready, he held onto my arm, guiding me out protectively, his fingers brushing mine lightly. I avoided eye contact with his roommate entirely, focusing only on the floor as we passed, my heart racing from the closeness and warmth radiating from him.

Outside, he held me firmly yet gently, his hand resting at my waist as we moved down the hall, every step grounding me, shielding me from the world. When we reached a quiet corner, he leaned in, and before I could think, his lips met mine—soft, lingering, carrying all the words neither of us had said, a kiss that made my chest ache with warmth and longing.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his forehead resting briefly against mine.

I didn’t move right away. I lingered, savoring the moment just a second longer than I should have, before finally pulling back.

“Goodnight,” I whispered.

I glanced over at the hallway watching him walk away.

I could still feel him—like the night hadn’t quite let me go yet.

I stood frozen for a long, trembling moment, the echo of Damian’s warmth and steady presence still clinging to my skin like a fading aftershock. My chest ached with the memory of him—calm, grounding, almost impossibly safe—and yet, beneath it all, a gnawing unease coiled in my stomach.

Then the smell hit me. Copper. Sharp. Metallic. Blood. My stomach lurched, and every nerve in my body screamed that something was terribly wrong, that whatever horror waited wasn’t just outside—it was inside.

I couldn’t move. My hands shook violently, the faint tremor of fear mingling with the ghost of desire I still felt for him, leaving me unsteady and raw.

Finally, forcing myself to act, I dragged a shaky breath through my throat and reached for the switch. My fingers lingered for a heartbeat, quivering, as if daring the darkness to strike before I had the chance.

With a trembling push, the lights slammed on, spilling a cold, harsh glow across the room—and there she was, Isharma, crumpled and pale, a dark ribbon of blood streaking her cheek, her chest barely rising with each shallow breath, time slowing with each dragging second as my heartbeat hammered against my ribs.

Unable to move, I collapsed to the floor, tears tracing rivers down my cheeks. My body shook, limbs heavy with dread, as if the air itself had thickened around me. Every breath came in ragged gasps.

Then, lifting my head, my eyes locked onto the wall—scarlet and jagged, the letters dripping like fresh wounds:

“THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HIDE FROM ME.”

The words seemed to pulse with menace, each letter carved into my skull with invisible fingers. My vision blurred, heart hammering so violently I could hear it in my ears. And then… I screamed.