A small town, nestled between the woods and the quiet sighs of distant hills.
Hale had never been one to dream vividly. His nights were usually blank—no voices, no visions, no lingering thoughts. Just darkness and silence. But for the past four nights, that silence had been broken. He would wake, breath caught in his throat, at exactly 3:12 AM. Every time.
It started with the clock.
The old analog piece above his desk ticked calmly enough during the day. But at night, it changed. Its second hand would stutter mid-tick, then leap forward with unnatural speed, only to pause again—like it couldn't decide if time was worth keeping. The sound it made was irregular and unnerving: tik-tik—tik—tiktik... as if metal were tapping against hollow bone.
Tonight, it was worse.
Hale woke with a jolt, heart pounding like it had been running in his chest without him. Moonlight poured through the half-open curtains, pooling pale and cold on the floorboards like spilled milk. The air was sharp, far colder than spring should allow.
He turned to the clock.
3:12.
A breath escaped him—half sigh, half resignation. He sat up slowly, ran a hand through his hair.
Then he saw it.
It wasn't immediate. No gasp. No scream. Just a slow, creeping realization. Reflected in the curved glass of the clock, two eyes stared back at him. Not his own. Too wide-set. Pupils dilated until only a sliver of iris remained. Unblinking. Watching.
He spun around.
Nothing.
His room sat in its familiar disarray. Books scattered like fallen leaves. A desk cluttered with sketch pads and broken pencils. A cold coffee mug. A warped vinyl record still resting on its player by the window, unmoving. Everything normal—except for how wrong it all felt.
He approached the clock. Touched the glass.
Warm.
A quiet laugh slipped from his lips. "Not real," he whispered. "None of this is real."
He turned toward the mirror beside his closet.
His own reflection stared back—pale, hollow-eyed, the ghost of a night's sleep stolen. He raised a hand to comb through his hair.
His reflection didn't.
He froze.
The silence deepened until it rang in his ears like pressure underwater.
Then—just as suddenly—the reflection moved, catching up like a delay in a video feed.
Hale stood still, staring into his own eyes, but seeing something else beneath them.
Outside, beyond the walls of his house, a dog howled into the void.
And for a moment... the night held its breath.