Darren hadn't dreamed in years. He missed it—until the night he finally did.
It began as a whisper while he slept:
"Close your eyes tighter. You're not done sleeping yet."
He awoke gasping. But something was wrong. The world felt… muted. Softer. Like plastic wrap over reality. He turned on his lamp. It worked—but the light didn't reach the corners of the room. Shadows hung there like wet fabric, unmoving.
Darren walked to the kitchen.
His footsteps made no sound.
Outside, the world was still. Not quiet—silent. The kind of silence that crushes your eardrums. No wind. No cars. No breath. Even the blinking red light on the microwave had frozen.
He tried to scream.
But no sound came out.
That's when he realized: he was still dreaming.
---
Panic set in. He forced his eyes shut, clawing at his head, willing himself to wake.
He opened them again.
Still here.
The apartment looked the same. But now, the walls were… wrong. They were breathing. Slow, subtle pulses in the plaster. The ceiling had grown a dark circle—spreading like rot.
He grabbed his phone. The screen read:
"00:00 / Forever"
Every time he "woke up," he returned to the same room. The same still world. Over and over. It became a loop. A coffin with walls made of his own thoughts.
The worst part?
He wasn't alone anymore.
In the corner of his room stood a figure—no eyes, no mouth. Just skin stretched too tightly over a tall, humanoid shape. It never moved. Never spoke.
But each time Darren "woke up," it was closer.
First across the room.
Then at the door.
Then beside his bed.
Finally, it stood over him and whispered:
"You slept through your life, Darren. Now, stay awake here… with me."
---
Darren's body was found in his apartment two weeks later.
Doctors said it was natural—heart failure in sleep. Peaceful, they called it.
But his eyes were wide open.
And his fingernails were shattered from clawing at his own face.
---
Postscript:
They say if you sleep in that room now, the dreams last longer. Time stretches. Hours become years. You wake up exhausted—if you wake at all.
Some say the figure still waits there.
Watching.
Ready to pull the next Sleeper under.