Whispers in the Dark

Lena’s world had always been a fragile thing. Each day was a battle against the weight of her life, a fight she wasn’t sure she was winning. The walls of her small bedroom were stained with the remnants of old memories—scratches, marks, and cracks that told stories of years spent in this suffocating place. The floors creaked beneath her as if they, too, were exhausted. Exhausted from holding up a family that was slowly falling apart.

Her mother hadn’t been home for days. The refrigerator was bare except for the smell of forgotten leftovers. Her father… well, he was somewhere in his chair, lost in whatever haze kept him from seeing her or her brother anymore. When Lena tried to reach him, to get him to see her, he would look right through her, as if she wasn’t even there.

At school, things weren’t much better. Kids whispered about her, avoiding her like she carried a sickness they didn’t want to catch. They didn’t understand her—how could they? They didn’t know that her world felt like it was crumbling every second, or that every laugh, every smile, felt like a distant dream she couldn’t quite reach.

And then there were the dreams.

Lena’s bed was the only place she could escape. She had learned long ago that if she closed her eyes tightly enough, she could step into a world that wasn’t this. A world where she wasn’t invisible. Where her mother wasn’t lost in a haze of pills and her father wasn’t slurring his words as he disappeared into a bottle.

In her dreams, Lena was free.

She ran through fields of green, her bare feet kissing the soft grass. The sun kissed her skin, and she felt its warmth, its love, something her own world didn’t give her. She could hear the laughter of children in the distance, the pure, untainted joy of being a child without responsibility, without fear. Her mother was there, too, laughing with her, as they danced in the sunlight, her father standing beside them, whole, alive, and smiling. In those moments, she was not just Lena. She was someone else—a version of herself who didn’t carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But lately, something had started to shift. The dreams that once felt like an escape were beginning to change. Instead of warmth, there was a coldness that seeped in, like ice running through her veins. The laughter of her mother, once so comforting, now felt hollow. The fields that had been so green were turning a sickly yellow. The sun, which had once been her solace, now blazed with an intensity that burned her skin.

The first nightmare came on a Tuesday night, a night when her mother had come home drunk again, and Lena had spent hours trying to calm her down. She had finally slipped into bed, exhausted and drained, her body too tired to fight the pull of sleep.

In her dream, she was in that same field, running, but the air was thick with smoke now. The once-vibrant flowers around her had wilted, their petals falling like ash to the ground. Her mother was there, but she was not laughing. She was standing still, staring at Lena with hollow eyes, the same emptiness that Lena had seen in her mother’s face for weeks. And then, from the shadows, came the sound of footsteps—heavy, menacing.

Lena turned to see her father, but he was not the man she remembered. His face was twisted, contorted in rage, his eyes wild and unrecognizable. He reached out for her, his hands cold as they wrapped around her wrists. His breath was hot on her face, and he whispered words she couldn’t understand, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Lena,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re not enough.”

She awoke with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. She could still feel the cold of his hands around her wrists, the suffocating grip of the nightmare pressing down on her. Her room was still dark, the only sound the heavy beat of her own heart.

But as she sat up in bed, a sense of dread settled over her. The dream had felt too real. The shadows, the suffocating air—it all felt too familiar. Her body trembled as she looked at the empty space across the room, the place where her mother should have been.

The nightmares didn’t stop. Every night, Lena found herself falling into the same dream, each one darker than the last. Her mother, once kind and loving, was now a shadow of herself, an empty vessel who would stand motionless, watching her daughter in silence. Her father, who had always been distant, now loomed like a monster, his presence suffocating.

Lena couldn’t escape it.

Each time she woke up, her chest ached with the knowledge that what she had seen in her dreams might not have been just a dream. What if her mother truly was lost? What if her father was never coming back to the man he once was?

It was the third night that the dream took its most twisted turn. This time, Lena was standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind howling around her, and there was no sign of the field, no sign of her mother or father. Only darkness. And then, from the shadows, she heard her father’s voice again.

“Lena,” he called, but it wasn’t the same voice. It was distorted, filled with something dark. “You have to choose. Her or you.”

Lena’s heart clenched, and she looked over her shoulder to find her mother standing at the edge of the cliff, her arms outstretched, her eyes pleading with her.

“Mom?” Lena whispered, but her mother didn’t respond. She was a silhouette, a hollow figure caught between life and death.

“Mom, please,” Lena begged, but her voice couldn’t reach her. The wind screamed louder, drowning her out.

And then, suddenly, her father was there, his face twisted with anger and pain, his hand reaching for her. “You can’t save her,” he said, his voice cold, detached. “Not anymore. You’re the reason she’s like this.”

Lena tried to move, tried to reach her mother, but it was too late. Her father’s grip was like iron around her wrist, pulling her toward the abyss.

“No!” Lena screamed, her hands shaking. “Please, don’t—”

But the dream was no longer a dream. It was reality. And she was falling.

Lena awoke to silence.

For the first time in weeks, the house was eerily still. She sat up, her heart pounding in her chest, her breaths coming in short gasps. She reached for her phone, but the screen was cracked, no messages, no missed calls.

It was too quiet.

Panic seized her chest as she rushed out of her bedroom, her heart hammering. She found her mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table, her hands clasped in her lap. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, just like in the dream.

Lena felt a lump form in her throat. This was real. This was her reality. And it was slipping through her fingers like sand.

Her mother looked up, her gaze empty, and for a brief moment, Lena could see the woman who had once loved her. But it was gone, replaced by the shadow of what had once been.

“I’m sorry,” her mother whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

And Lena knew—this was the nightmare.

It was no longer a dream. It was her life.