Emily's consciousness felt like a swimmer breaching the surface after being submerged for far too long. The fluorescent lights above her burned her eyes, and the soft hum of machinery filled the sterile air. A wave of disorientation swept over her as she blinked herself awake. She became aware of the weight of a hospital blanket on her and the sharp antiseptic smell of the room.
"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," a familiar voice quipped.
Her head turned toward the source, and there he was—George, sitting in a plastic chair beside her bed. He looked like hell, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair dishevelled. Yet, his lopsided grin was intact, though there was something about it that seemed forced, as though he was holding something back.
"How long was I out?" Emily croaked, her voice hoarse.
George leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Oh, nothing major. Just a week. You know, a quick power nap."
Emily's stomach dropped. "A week?"
He nodded. "Yep. Seven days, give or take. And let me tell you, you're not the easiest person to sit around and wait for. I was this close to bringing in juggling clowns for entertainment." His attempt at humor landed weakly, the worry in his eyes betraying his tone.
Emily's thoughts spun. A week? Her mind jumped back to the dream—or whatever it was—that she'd been trapped in. The cursed village. The living statue. The haunting faces of the townsfolk. She had spent days in that otherworldly place, and now, here in this reality, it seemed the time matched perfectly.
Her pulse quickened. This wasn't just a series of vivid nightmares. Something far more sinister was at play.
Emily sat up slowly, every muscle in her body aching as though she'd been running marathons. George handed her a glass of water, his eyes scanning her face for signs of improvement.
"I don't understand," she murmured. "A week? How did I end up here?"
"You collapsed in the cabin," George explained. "Completely unresponsive. I had to call for an ambulance. They couldn't find anything physically wrong with you, so they figured you'd wake up when you were ready. Honestly, I was starting to think you wouldn't." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he immediately cleared his throat, masking the slip with a cough.
Emily looked at him, her brow furrowed. "And you stayed the whole time?"
"Of course," he replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Someone had to make sure they didn't accidentally transplant a second kidney into you or something."
She gave a weak chuckle, but the humour quickly faded as her mind drifted back to the dream.
"I think…" Emily hesitated, unsure how much she should reveal. George wasn't exactly known for his belief in the supernatural. "I think I know where I've been. For the past week."
George leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Oh, this should be good. Lay it on me."
"It wasn't a dream," she began cautiously. "I mean, it felt like a dream, but it wasn't. I was… somewhere else. Another place. A village. There were people, cursed people. And a statue that was alive."
George raised an eyebrow. "You're right. That does sound like a dream. A really messed-up one. Were there singing unicorns too?"
"I'm serious, George." Her voice sharpened, and the weight of her words silenced his smirk. "It wasn't just in my head. I was there. And the time I spent there—it lines up perfectly with the time I've been out here. Don't you see how impossible that is?"
George frowned, the gears in his mind visibly turning. "Okay, so let's say—for argument's sake—that what you're saying is true. How? How is that even possible?"
Emily shook her head. "I don't know. But it's been happening ever since I started reading that diary. Every time I sleep, I'm… pulled into these places. These other realities. And they're not just dreams. They're real. I feel pain there. I die there. And now, apparently, time works the same way there as it does here."
George rubbed the back of his neck, his unease growing. "Emily, this is… a lot. I don't even know where to start with this."
For once, George didn't crack a joke to lighten the mood. Instead, he stood and walked to the window, staring out at the parking lot below. His reflection in the glass looked grim, his brow furrowed deeply.
Emily watched him, sensing his turmoil. "What is it?" she asked.
George hesitated before turning to face her. "I just…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to help you, Em. If what you're saying is true—if this is real—what happens the next time you sleep? Or the time after that? What if you don't come back?"
Emily was taken aback. George rarely let his emotions show, and seeing him genuinely worried was both unsettling and touching.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her.
George forced a smile. "You better not. I've already invested too much time into this friendship to start over with someone new." But the joke fell flat, and they both knew it.
As the day wore on, Emily and George delved deeper into the mystery. They talked about the diary and its possible connection to these other realities. Emily shared more details about the village she had seen—the cursed townsfolk, the strange dances, the eerie disappearance of the entire place from existence.
George tried to rationalize it, suggesting it might be some sort of hallucination brought on by stress or trauma. But deep down, even he couldn't deny that the coincidences were piling up.
"You know what this means, right?" George said, pacing the room. "If what you're saying is true, then this isn't just about you. This diary—it's some kind of portal, or key, or whatever. And if it's affecting you, it could affect others too. Hell, who knows how many people it's already messed with."
Emily nodded, her resolve hardening. "We need to figure out where it came from. Who wrote it. And why."
"Great," George said, flopping back into his chair. "Add 'investigating a cursed diary' to my to-do list. Right below 'make sure Emily doesn't disappear into another dimension.'"
As night fell, the hospital grew quiet, and the weight of the day began to settle on both of them. George dozed off in his chair, his head lolling to one side. Emily watched him, her thoughts racing.
She thought about everything they had been through together, and how much George had done for her, even when she hadn't asked him to. His protective nature, his humor, his unwavering presence—they had always been there, a constant in her life.
And now, seeing him like this—worried, tired, yet still trying to make her laugh—made her heart ache in a way she didn't fully understand.
George stirred, catching her staring at him. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
Emily shook her head, smiling faintly. "No. Just… thanks. For being here."
He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes. "Where else would I be?"
As they sat in the dim light of the hospital room, an unspoken bond seemed to settle between them. Neither of them said it out loud, but both knew that whatever this journey held, they would face it together.
And for the first time in a long while, Emily felt a glimmer of hope.