The cook stared at the familiar ceiling of his tent for a few seconds before trying to move his body again.
But the result stayed the same.
He tried rolling his body to the side, but his hands refused to move as if they were forcefully held down to the ground.
He did the same with his feet and the same thing happened as his feet were rooted in place, not listening to what his brain had to say.
He didn't know what had happened to his body and tried to call for help.
But the second he tried to speak, no voice came out of his mouth. All the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat.
No matter how hard he tried to scream or shout, it only made his throat hurt and nothing came out of his mouth.
The cook didn't have a single idea about what had happened to him, but then a thought came to his mind.
The moments before he slept passed through his mind. The distant crying that got closer and closer to his ears as he tried to sleep, he remembered it all without missing a single detail.
His whole body was about to tremble as he remembered it, but none of his limbs nor any of his muscles could move even when he wanted to curl up.
He was forced to keep his limbs spread open and his chest facing upward as he lost the ability to move any of them.
The single muscle group that he could move was only the one that belonged to his eyes.
And that moment when the fear took over him and enveloped his whole body, the cook could finally see it.
A dark silhouette, a figure, standing still on the edge of his tent, seemingly looking straight in his direction.
It was only a silhouette, he couldn't see any features such as the figure's clothes or face, but the cook was a hundred percent sure that he somehow felt the silhouette looking directly toward him.
He didn't know what happened or what to do.
The only thing that he could only think of was to raise his body up and either start fighting or running.
However, no matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn't move even an inch away from its current position.
It was as if something was weighing his whole body down from above.
As the cook tried to move his limbs for the tenth time, his eyes caught the dark silhouette that had been standing still all this time finally moved.
And it moved towards him.
Seeing the silhouette silently and slowly creep up toward him, the cook could only stare at it as his limbs still refused to move.
His eyes were jerked open, staring at every detail of the silhouette as it got closer and closer to him.
However, the second the silhouette got close enough for him to see the features of it, the cook's eyes opened so wide that his eyeballs almost popped out of their sockets.
What stood before him was a man.
The man's clothes were only rags that were filled with holes and smeared with dirt all over.
However, the cook couldn't care less about the man's clothes as his eyes froze at the man's face.
The face of a man with a bloodied face and rotten skin. That was what the cook's eyes were seeing.
From the top of the man's forehead down to his chin, it was all adored with the dark red color of impure blood.
Blood that had blended with the black rotten skin and the dirt covering the man's body.
Despite the blood looking like it belonged to a corpse that had been buried six feet under for days, the blood seemed to come from a fresh wound as the cook saw several drops of blood dropping to the floor right in front of his feet.
The man's dark, decayed skin which looked like it had been buried under the ground and eaten by maggots was filled with holes, holes so dark that it seemed to absorb any light from the cook's eyes.
When his fear filled his stomach and burst out of his throat, the cook finally retaliated with all his might.
From flailing his arms violently, kicking his feet as hard as he could, screaming his heart out, and wailing, the cook did it all as he tried to get away from the corpse standing right under his feet.
Well, at least he tried to do so.
None of his arms moved, his feet stayed still, and his voice was still taken away from him.
He tried his best to force out the words that had been stuck in his throat, but the harder he tried, the more he felt like his voice had been taken away from him.
Not even feeling the words stuck, the cook couldn't even feel if his voice was still there in the first place.
The cook could do nothing as the corpse's rotten face crept closer and closer to his own face, bending his body in an unnatural way that made his foot stay right in front of the cook's feet.
The closer the rotten face to the cook's face, the stronger the cook's attempt to struggle.
He felt his blood rushing to his face, his heart beating so hard and loud it started to make his chest feel pain.
The cook's nose barely took a breath as he now even felt like he also lost control of the muscle responsible for his breathing.
As if he was loving what he saw with his eyes, the corpse's flat mouth began to curl up the more the cook tried to struggle.
And a wide, terrifying smile was plastered on the corpse's face by the time he was directly in front of the cook's face.
However, the corpse's enjoyment didn't last for long as the cook suddenly stopped struggling, his eyes closed shut and his body stopped its resistance altogether.
His mind couldn't take it anymore and the cook had finally passed out from sheer fear.
As it lost its entertainment, the corpse then disappeared from the tent, leaving the unconscious cook alone with a scarred mind and everlasting fuel for his nightmare.