The clock on the wall made a constant sound, almost imperceptible, but to Lucas, it felt like thunder in a silent field. He always woke up at the same time, 3:17 AM. He didn't know why, but he knew he always woke up at this hour, feeling a chill down his spine, as if something, someone, was lurking.
He looked around the dark room, the distant furniture, the window closed, the soft moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. The house was silent, but Lucas felt that silence was just an illusion. There was something, someone, moving outside. It was always there.
With a heavy breath, he crawled out of bed and went to the door. The lock was intact, but he checked it again. He unlocked it and locked it again, feeling the cold key in his hands. He couldn't help but do this. He never could. His hand trembled, and he knew that if he didn't check, something terrible would happen. Something invisible, something he couldn't control.
The door was locked, just as it should be, but the sound persisted. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know where it was coming from. But fear seeped into his mind like a thick fog, clouding everything around him. Every corner of the house was watched by something he couldn't see but could feel.
After a few minutes, he tried to go back to bed, but his eyes were too open to the dark. He felt the corners of his mind twisting, the thoughts becoming tangled in an endless cycle. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring fixedly at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't rest.
Sometimes, when he was younger, he believed that monsters were just inventions of his mind. Now, he knew they were real, but they weren't physical creatures, with claws and teeth. They were shadows, fluid and invisible, sliding around him, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves. He felt them, more than he saw them, their presence.
When he was little, Lucas always had someone to look after him. His mother would stay by his side, always telling him everything would be fine. But now, he was alone, and the shadows seemed closer every day.
"You're just imagining things," he tried to convince himself, but the voice in his head wasn't his. It was another, a harsh voice, with the same certainty. "There's nothing here. It's just you and your mind."
But he knew he wasn't alone. He could feel the presence of shadows in every movement, in the slightest sound. The ticking of the clock grew louder, sharper. He couldn't ignore it, couldn't silence what his mind insisted on showing him.
It was always like this. During the day, he pretended everything was fine. When people were around him, he tried to be normal. But at night, when the house calmed and the sounds of the world disappeared, he started to hear things no one else could hear. The crackling, the whispering, the soft sound of something moving, something he couldn't see, but knew was there.
Over time, Lucas learned to live with it, but that didn't mean he was at peace. He always felt the weight of the shadows, even when he mingled with the crowd. At school, his classmates' laughter wasn't laughter. It was whispers about him, about what he did and didn't do. It was easier to hide in the corner of the classroom, where he could observe, where the voices around him didn't seem so threatening.
He had trouble looking people in the eye. He couldn't connect, couldn't speak. Every word he said felt empty, and he always had the feeling that everyone around him knew something was wrong with him, but no one said anything. It made him anxious, it made him want to disappear.
"They know. Everyone knows. You're not normal. You're not like them," the voice in his head whispered, and he felt his stomach twist, a growing pain in his head, as if a rising pressure was crushing him.
When he got home, he did the same routine he always did. He locked all the doors and windows, checked the locks more times than necessary. However, while doing this, something didn't feel right. He looked into the mirrors, searching for something. Something was reflected in them, something that shouldn't be there. He didn't see it, but he felt it. He felt as if someone was standing behind him, watching him.
With a sigh of relief, he rushed to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, trying to shake off the panic. His eyes were red, his hair disheveled, but he didn't care. He just needed to make sure nothing was wrong. That nothing was moving in the shadows.
He spent the rest of the night in his room, listening to the sounds, checking the door, locking it, and rechecking the window. The paranoia grew with each passing second. Every sound in the house seemed amplified, as if the walls were whispering secrets from another world, a world where he wasn't welcome.
He tried to sleep, but his eyes remained wide open, fixed on the darkness. He knew tomorrow would be the same. He would wake up, pretend everything was fine, try to be normal again. But deep down, he knew he couldn't escape. There was no cure for what he felt. And he knew that, one day, the shadows would take him completely.