Shattered Sleep

The first thing Nathan remembered was the blood. It was everywhere—splattered across the walls, soaking the bed, pooling beneath his fingers. It clung to his skin like ink, like tar, like something that had seeped into him and wouldn’t let go. And the body—God, the body. It lay twisted, broken, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Staring at him.

He stumbled backward, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. The room tilted, swayed, reality warping around him. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Nathan?”

The voice was distant, like an echo in a tunnel. His mother? No—she wasn’t home. His father wasn’t either. They had left the night before for a business trip, telling him to be good, to take care of himself.

And Ethan.

Nathan’s stomach lurched. Ethan had been here. His best friend. His only friend. He had spent the night, sleeping in the bed next to his. They had watched movies, played video games, and then… then what?

He squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed, memories slipping through his grasp like water. He had been dreaming—hadn’t he? A nightmare. A terrible, suffocating nightmare where Ethan had turned on him, his face twisting, his voice a snarl, his hands reaching for Nathan’s throat. He had fought back. He had to. If he hadn’t…

No. No, that had been a dream.

His hands trembled as he reached out, his fingers hovering just above Ethan’s unmoving chest. His skin was already cold.

A strangled sound escaped Nathan’s lips.

He had killed him.

The hours blurred together. He didn’t remember cleaning the knife, but when he came back to himself, it was gone. His clothes had been changed. The bed stripped. But none of it erased the truth.

Ethan was dead.

Nathan sat curled in the corner of his room, knees drawn to his chest. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. He couldn’t call the police. They wouldn’t understand. They would say he was crazy. That he had murdered his best friend in cold blood. But they didn’t know—they didn’t see what he saw.

The dream had been real. Hadn’t it?

Or had reality twisted itself into something unrecognizable?

His fingers dug into his scalp. He had always had strange dreams, ones that left him disoriented, lingering even after he woke. But this—this was something else. The lines between waking and dreaming had shattered, and now he was trapped in the aftermath.

A creak in the hallway sent his heart slamming into his ribs. His breath hitched.

The house was empty. Wasn’t it?

Another creak. Closer this time. Nathan’s fingers curled around the edge of the nightstand, his knuckles white. His skin prickled.

Then—

“Nathan.”

His breath caught in his throat. It was Ethan’s voice.

His head snapped toward the doorway, his vision tunneling. A shadow stood there, tall and unmoving. The dim glow of the hallway light caught the edges of something familiar—too familiar.

No.

His body refused to move, to breathe. He watched, paralyzed, as the figure took a step forward. The floor groaned beneath its weight.

“Nathan,” it said again, and this time, it was closer.

His mind screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He could only stare as Ethan—or what looked like Ethan—stepped into the room.

But Ethan was dead.

Nathan had killed him.

Hadn’t he?

His pulse roared in his ears. The figure was near enough now that he could see its face. A mirror image of Ethan. But its eyes—God, its eyes. They weren’t Ethan’s. They were black, endless voids, hollow pits that swallowed the dim light of the room.

“Nathan.”

It lunged.

Nathan screamed.

He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The room was dark. Silent. The only sound was the pounding of his own heart.

A dream. It had been a dream.

His shaking hands reached for his phone. The screen glowed in the darkness. 4:12 AM.

He turned his head to the other bed.

Empty.

No blood. No body. Just rumpled sheets, the faint imprint of where Ethan had been. A sob tore from Nathan’s throat. Relief flooded him, dizzying and overwhelming. It had all been in his head. Just another one of his night terrors.

Then his phone buzzed.

A new message.

From Ethan.

Nathan’s breath stilled as he opened it.

You killed me.

His phone slipped from his grasp, the screen flickering as it hit the floor.

Somewhere in the darkness, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the house.

Nathan didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He sat on the edge of his bed, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the doorway. The footsteps had stopped, but the silence was worse. It stretched, thick and suffocating, as though something waited just beyond his line of sight.

When the morning light finally trickled through the window, he forced himself to move. He had to know. He had to be sure.

He crept through the hallway, his breath shallow. The house was still. But something felt wrong. The air was heavy, thick with something unseen.

And then he saw it.

The front door was open. Not wide—just a crack. Just enough for someone, something, to slip inside.

A cold wave of dread washed over him.

His phone vibrated again.

Another message from Ethan.

I'm not done yet.

Nathan’s pulse pounded as he turned, his reflection staring back at him from the hallway mirror.

Except—

The reflection didn’t move.

It just smiled.

And then the lights went out.

The darkness swallowed him whole. A whisper brushed against his ear, the voice unmistakable. "You’re still dreaming, Nathan. You never woke up."

His body locked up as he gasped, but the air felt thick, suffocating. He scrambled backward, his feet slipping against the cold hardwood. The reflection in the mirror moved now—slowly, deliberately. It stepped forward as he stepped back.

Nathan's chest tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut. "This isn't real."

A cold hand gripped his wrist.

His eyes snapped open.

Ethan stood before him, his skin pale, his lips curled in an almost playful smirk. "Are you sure?"

Nathan opened his mouth to scream, but the darkness swallowed the sound.

And then there was nothing.