Dim light seeped through the cracks in the wall, casting mottled shadows on the earthen floor. His mind was blank, but the sharp pain at the back of his head reminded him he was alive. Slowly, William opened his eyes, cold sweat soaking his back.

Looking around, he realized he was in an unfamiliar place. He lay on a crude bed made of rough wooden planks, with a layer of straw underneath that emitted a faint musty smell.

The room was dim, its walls made of a mixture of mud and straw, uneven and full of pits. The ceiling was low, supported by intersecting wooden beams, with slivers of sunlight leaking through the gaps. In one corner lay several broken barrels and farming tools, while a rickety wooden table leaned against the wall.

William tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his head, forcing him to suck in a cold breath. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his jumbled thoughts.

"Where... where am I? How did I get here?" he murmured hoarsely to himself. Struggling to recall his memories, he found nothing but a blank void. He only remembered his name—William Lawrence—but everything else seemed to have been forcibly erased.

Running his hands over his body, he noticed he was dressed in a rough cloth shirt, the fabric coarse and stiff. What puzzled him even more was that he knew his name, yet nothing else came to mind.

"Why... why can't I remember anything?" William frowned, his fingers unconsciously touching the back of his head. Suddenly, they brushed against a jagged scar, about the length of a finger. The uneven texture sent a chill down his spine.

This wound was deep enough to expose bone. By all accounts, he should be dead. Calmly analyzing his situation, William thought, "Did I die and come back to life? Or did someone save me?"

He forced himself upright, though the room swayed before his eyes. Apart from the bed, the room contained only a broken wooden table and a shaky chair. Farming tools piled in the corner hinted at the identity of its owner.

Leaning against the bed, William felt the throbbing pain in the back of his head. The sunlight streaming through the cracks painted dappled patterns on the floor but inexplicably filled him with unease. As the sun sank lower, the room grew darker, and a nameless fear began to creep into his heart.

William steadied himself against the wall, struggling to stand. A wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him to close his eyes and wait for it to pass.

His legs trembled, and every step felt like walking on cotton. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously moved forward. The light filtering through the wall cracks was fading, and shadows began to spread throughout the room.

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. William spun around, staring into the dense darkness in the corner of the room. There was nothing there, but his heart pounded wildly. The shadows seemed alive, writhing at the edges of his vision, evading direct focus.

Whenever he tried to look at the shadows, a deep, bone-chilling fear welled up within him. This wasn't ordinary fear—it was a primal terror, as if something unspeakable was lurking there, watching him.

William forced himself to look away and stumbled toward the door.

Beyond the door lay a small living room, modest in size. On the far side, a wooden staircase hinted that the house had a second floor.

It was clear he wasn't living here alone.

After a brief pause, William decided against going upstairs and instead pushed open the main door to step outside.

The moment he opened the wooden door, the fading light of dusk, though not bright, made him squint after spending so long in the dark room.

A village unfolded before him. On the dirt road, farmers carrying tools passed by, and a few women chatted while washing clothes by the well. In the distance, golden wheat fields swayed like ocean waves under the breeze.

"Poor child," an old man herding sheep nodded kindly at him. "It seems you've finally woken up."

William wanted to respond, but his throat was so dry that no words came out. He could only nod slightly.

"Dr. Baker said your injuries were severe," the old man continued. "It's a miracle you're alive."

William noticed the villagers were dressed in coarse linen clothes. The women wore headscarves, and most of the men were bare-chested. The dusky sunlight blanketed everything in an orange glow, warm yet strangely oppressive.

Leaning against the doorframe, William's sweat-soaked clothes clung to his body. Even standing for this short moment had drained all his strength.

Back inside, he collapsed onto the bed, closing his eyes. The scar on the back of his head throbbed faintly, a constant reminder of the lost memories. Why was he injured? Why was he here? And most disturbingly, why did he feel such fear of the dark?

This fear didn't feel like the aftermath of trauma; it felt instinctual, primal. Every time night fell, that sense of being watched intensified. William knew this wasn't a normal reaction to his injury.

William sank back onto the bed, his muscles aching with an overwhelming fatigue that nearly suffocated him. Closing his eyes, he tried to find a moment of peace in the darkness. Yet, fragmented images and the unsettling memory of his scar kept flashing through his mind. The pain at the back of his head felt like a thorn, constantly reminding him of the memories that had been erased.

"Why was I injured? Why am I here?" he repeatedly questioned himself, but the answers were as elusive as the darkness itself. His thoughts were shrouded in an intangible fear, one that seemed rooted not in trauma but in a primal instinct.

He recalled the scene at the door—the villagers' faces, kind and welcoming under the sunlight. Yet, that warmth failed to dispel the cold dread that lingered in his heart.

Trying to relax, he let out a heavy sigh, but the unease within him grew stronger as the room dimmed further. The flickering light of the oil lamp cast unstable shadows around the room, as if it could extinguish at any moment.

William glanced at the oil lamp in the corner, his chest tightening. The room's windows faced away from the sun, and the lack of light made him feel suffocated. His earlier exertion and thoughts had drained him further, leaving him too exhausted to search for another lamp.

At that moment, the oil lamp suddenly went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. William's heart began to race as the silence around him tightened like an invisible web.

His breathing quickened, and faint whispers seemed to echo in his ears, as if something was watching him from the darkness. He tried to convince himself it was just his imagination, but the voice of reason was drowned by the rising tide of fear.

"Stay calm, William," he whispered to himself, forcing his voice to sound steady. But the oppressive darkness felt like an invisible hand tightening around his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe.

As time dragged on, William's unease intensified. His palms grew sweaty, and his body trembled faintly, as though an unseen force was closing in on him. His gaze wandered through the darkness, searching for any sign of movement.

Then, breaking the silence, he heard the faint creak of a wooden door opening from outside the room. His heart sank like a stone into an abyss.

"Who's there?" he called out in a low, shaky voice that seemed pitifully weak in the empty room. But the only response was the unrelenting darkness and silence.

William's heart pounded furiously, his mind flashing through countless horrifying possibilities. It felt as though something dreadful, hidden in the shadows, was creeping closer.

He sat up slowly, his fingers gripping the bedsheet so tightly they nearly tore through it. Instinct urged him to flee or hide, but there was nowhere to go.

The shadows near the door seemed to grow thicker, as if unseen eyes were watching him from within the darkness.

"Stay calm, William," he muttered again, forcing his voice to sound firm. But the strange noises outside and the expanding darkness inside the room seemed like a countdown to doom.

The darkness seemed to advance relentlessly toward him, inch by inch.

Just as the shadows engulfed the room, a sudden gust of wind hit him. The next moment, an invisible hand gripped his throat with terrifying force!