Chen Li had always been passionate about painting, but after moving into this apartment, he found himself painting things he didn't understand. The twisted trees, the shadowy figures between them, and the ever-looming fog in his paintings all seemed to reflect the disturbing dreams he'd been having.
Every night in his dreams, he found himself walking in a dense, dark forest. The towering trees seemed to block out the sky, and the air was thick with mist. Occasionally, he would hear footsteps behind him, soft but unnerving. When he turned around, there was nothing but endless darkness.
That night, as the rain continued to pour outside, he felt a strange compulsion to paint. He moved to his easel, picked up his brush, and began adding more details to the painting. The strokes seemed to flow from him as if guided by an invisible hand. He added more branches, twisted and gnarled, then dark shadows lurking among the trees.
Hours passed, but he didn't stop. His hand moved swiftly, almost unconsciously. It wasn't until the faint light of dawn crept through the window that Chen Li realized he had finished. He stepped back to look at his work.
The forest in the painting seemed to come alive—the trees appeared almost sentient, watching him with unseen eyes. But what sent a chill down his spine was the faint silhouette of a figure standing in the mist, barely visible yet undeniably there.
Chen Li's heart raced. He didn't remember painting that figure.