Anne Dolin woke with a jolt, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to adjust to the dim morning light filtering through the cracked blinds. She rubbed her eyes, groggy, and sat up, pulling the thin sheets away from her legs. The bed was cold, the room unfamiliar, but something about it felt oddly… mundane.
She stared at the peeling wallpaper, the slight hum of an old ceiling fan keeping her company. Everything felt too still, too quiet. Her skin tingled with a faint unease, but she chalked it up to the disorienting way sleep always wrapped around her thoughts, leaving a residue of dreams even when she woke.
"I must have just been dreaming," she muttered to herself, forcing a laugh to shake off the unease.
She stood up, her feet meeting the floor with a soft thud, and walked across the room. The wooden floor creaked beneath her weight. She glanced at the clock—8:17 AM.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She was awake, she was fine.
But as she reached for the door handle, something tugged at the back of her mind.
There was a faint sense of déjà vu, like a feeling she couldn't quite place, a memory just out of reach. She frowned, shaking it off.
Opening the door, she stepped into a narrow, sterile hallway. It looked like a cheap motel, the walls covered in wallpaper that had seen better days. As she walked down the hall, the air seemed to thicken, weighing down on her shoulders.
Everything felt wrong.
She paused by the staircase at the end of the hallway, the quiet stillness pressing in on her. She turned around, half expecting to see someone behind her. There was no one. Just empty hallways stretching in all directions, each door closed, each room silent.
She reached for the railing, her fingers cold against the metal, and hesitated. She wasn't sure why, but the place felt… unreal.
"Okay, this is ridiculous," Anne whispered to herself. "I'm just overthinking it."
She turned, walking down the stairs into the lobby below. The sound of her footsteps echoed off the walls, magnifying the eerie silence that filled the space.
As she reached the bottom, a chill ran down her spine. There was something unsettling about the way the lobby was designed—dimly lit, with old-fashioned furniture that seemed like it hadn't been touched in years. The air smelled stale, like the place hadn't seen life in decades.
She noticed the door was slightly ajar.
The faintest whisper of movement made her turn toward the back corner of the room. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
There, sitting at a table by the window, was a man. His face was obscured by the shadows, his body hunched over as if lost in thought. He didn't look up when Anne entered, but there was something about him that made her hesitate.
Should she speak to him? Was he even real?
The silence grew, thick and suffocating. Her pulse quickened as she took a hesitant step forward.
"Excuse me," she called out, her voice sounding far too loud in the stillness.
The man didn't move, but a soft chuckle escaped from him—a sound that made Anne's skin crawl.
"You're awake," he said, the words flat and empty.
Anne stopped in her tracks. "What?"
The man finally looked up, his eyes cold and hollow, like they had seen too much. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before speaking again.
"Or at least, you think you are."
Anne's mouth went dry. There was something off about the way he said it, as if he knew something she didn't.
"I… I don't understand," Anne stammered. "Where am I?"
The man leaned back in his chair, his fingers wrapped loosely around a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. He looked like he hadn't moved in years, like this place was his permanent residence.
"Los Angeles," he said, as if that was supposed to make sense. "Or at least… it was."
Anne frowned, stepping closer to the table. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch around them, drawing them closer, tightening.
"I don't get it. I just woke up. I don't know where I am."
The man's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "That's what we all tell ourselves at first. But it doesn't matter how many times you wake up. You'll never leave."
Anne shook her head, a flicker of panic rising in her chest. "No, this has to be some kind of mistake. I'm fine. I'm just… I'm just in a weird place, that's all."
The man's eyes softened with an almost sad understanding. "You really think you're fine?"
"I—" She was about to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. The room… was it shrinking? She glanced around, her heart racing. It felt like the walls were closing in on her, like the air was thickening, growing heavier.
The man didn't move, but he seemed to sense her discomfort. "Don't worry," he said. "You're not the first to think that."
Anne's voice quivered. "What do you mean?"
He sighed and leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers.
"This place… it's not real. But it's real enough to keep you here."
Anne's chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "Not real? But… everything feels so real!"
"That's the problem," he muttered. "It's real enough to make you believe you can wake up, but you never do. You just stay here, stuck in this... dream."
Anne shook her head, disbelief washing over her. "This isn't a dream. This is just some weird place, some glitch or something. I can't be stuck here."
The man gave a hollow laugh. "That's what I told myself too. That it was just a dream. But tell me—if it's just a dream, why can't you wake up?"
The question hit her like a punch to the gut. Her thoughts scrambled, pieces of her reality slipping through her fingers. Was she dreaming? But everything felt so... tangible. So vivid. The smell of stale coffee, the worn fabric of the chairs, the cold air that brushed her skin. How could this be a dream?
But the more she thought about it, the more her doubt grew. If this was a dream… then why couldn't she wake up?
Her mind swirled with confusion, and she took a step back, her voice trembling. "I'm not stuck in some… twisted dream. I'm not."
The man stared at her, his expression hardening. "Then why do you think you ended up here? This isn't just a mistake. This is a prison."
Anne swallowed hard, her thoughts tumbling faster than she could process. Her gaze shifted, noticing how the shadows in the room seemed to shift too—like they were moving, stretching, closing in on her. The walls felt like they were breathing.
"No," she whispered. "I can't be trapped here."
The man stood slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "You'll learn. Just like I did. But be careful, Anne… the more you try to escape, the more this place changes. And not just this place. You."
Anne's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
His lips parted slightly as if about to say something, but then he stopped. His eyes flickered, filled with something dark, something almost desperate.
"Just remember, you asked for this," he said softly, before walking toward the shadowed corner of the room.
Anne stood frozen, her body rigid with fear. The lights overhead flickered as the shadows grew longer, wrapping around her like chains. She could hear the man's footsteps fading into the darkness, but she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The walls… they were alive, closing in on her.
Her breath caught in her throat as the world around her began to warp, to twist, and she realized—
This was no dream. She wasn't waking up.
She was trapped.
And whatever this place was… it was changing her.
The lights flickered again, and she suddenly felt the walls pressing in. The room itself seemed to pulsate, distorting, becoming something... darker.
And Anne knew, in that moment, that if she didn't find a way out, she would never escape. Not just this place, but whatever it was turning her into.
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