"Who the hell are you?!"Stop it!" he shouted, but his voice sounded too weak, almost uncertain.
The monitor went out again, as did the lights in the room. This time, the darkness seemed even thicker, and it seemed to press him down, filling every corner of the room.
And then there was another sound. The same creaking of the floor, but now much closer.
Rick froze, his breathing quickened. Turning on the flashlight on his phone, he carefully illuminated the room. The beam of light trembled with his hand, picking out the outlines of a table, chair, and shelves from the darkness...
And suddenly he noticed something.
A figure appeared in the corner of the room where there had been nothing before. Tall, black, as if composed of darkness itself. She stood motionless, but Rick could feel her "gaze" literally burning through him.
The phone in his hand vibrated. Rick took a quick look at the screen. Message.
"Run."
While Rick was standing in a convulsive state, the creature disappeared as suddenly as it appeared when he blinked.
"What the fuck?" What the fuck? — Rick ran to the door, with only one goal, to get the fuck as far away from this apartment as possible, but the door jammed. No matter how hard he tried to pull her, it didn't help. And suddenly there was a new sound. Louder, sharper, as if something metallic had fallen to the floor with a crash. The source of the noise was in the bedroom.
Rick froze in place, feeling cold fear wrap around him like invisible chains. His fists clenched instinctively, but his palms were sweating, and he felt the bat he had grabbed from the doorway slip into his hands.
"It's just a coincidence. It's nothing special," he told himself, but the words sounded fake. His feet carried him to the bedroom on their own, even though his mind was telling him to stop. Every step echoed loudly in the silence of the apartment, as if everything around was silent, waiting for the denouement.
When he reached the door, its position looked ominous—slightly ajar, as if someone had just walked inside. The darkness that was gathering in the crack seemed impenetrable, as if no light from the corridor penetrated there.
"Hey, who's there?!" Rick's voice, harsh and full of tension, escaped his lips before he could stop himself. The reflected echo split the silence, but there was no response.
Rick slowly reached out his hand and gently pushed the door open. It opened with a long creak, reminiscent of the sound of a knife sliding on a grindstone. A narrow beam of light from the hallway fell on the bedroom floor, outlining the bed and the closet next to it.
He took a step forward, leaving the saving light of the corridor behind him, and pressed the switch.
The light bulb flashed on, filling the room with yellow light. The bed was unmade, as he had left it in the morning. Everything looked in its place.
But there was a metal object lying on the floor near the closet. It was a kitchen knife, the one he had kept on the table a few days ago, having forgotten to put it away. The knife obviously couldn't have been here on its own.
Rick came closer, bending down to pick it up. At that moment, he heard a strange sound—a light, almost inaudible whisper, as if someone was nearby and watching.
Rick whirled around. His heart began to pound in a frenzied rhythm. The room was empty.
"Who's there?!" he almost shouted, but his voice was lost in the oppressive silence.
The only response was the slow, creaking movement of the closet door, which opened slightly, as if inviting a peek inside.
The room remained empty, as before. No sign of an intruder. But his eyes immediately caught on one detail — his old gaming headset was lying on the floor next to the bed. The one he hadn't used in a long time. It lay neatly, as if someone had put it there on purpose.
"I definitely put it in the closet..." he whispered faintly, coming closer.
As soon as he bent down to pick up the headset, the light in the room flickered and went out. In the blink of an eye, everything was plunged into darkness.
Rick froze, feeling the cold air fill the space around him. He sighed, trying not to panic, but his breathing became uneven and his heart began to pound in his chest.
And then he heard. Breath. Quiet, slow. He froze, unable to move. The air seemed to constrict in his chest, his skin felt burning, and his heart was beating so fast that it seemed like it was about to burst out.
"Who the fuck are you?" He managed to keep his composure. But his voice, instead of sounding firm, faltered, barely containing a panic attack.
There was no response. However, the breathing continued, as if whoever was standing next to him wasn't going to leave. Rick swore he could feel the warmth of someone else's exhale on his neck.
Unable to bear the horror, he whirled around, stretching his arm forward to strike with the bat, but there was no one behind him.
At that moment, the light turned on again. The bedroom was the same as before. Silence. The headset was still on the floor. It looked as if nothing had happened.
But Rick couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. An aching feeling, as if the presence was still in the air, not letting go.
He took a step forward, but instead of a solid floor, he felt only emptiness. Everything around him spun as if he had fallen into a funnel, and instantly his body was swallowed up by this invisible center. The torchlight faded, and the booming sounds that seemed to come from the very end of the world faded away. The wind that had previously carried the smell of snow suddenly turned icy, and his body was pulled down as if he were falling into an abyss.
Rick tried to scream, but the sound stuck in his throat. He couldn't even breathe, his chest was being squeezed by an invisible hand.
The darkness was replaced by a blinding flash. He opened his eyes and found himself back in his room.
The jolt brought him out of this nightmare. Rick jerked, breathing heavily, his eyes darting around the room in search of something familiar to calm his emotional storm. Everything was in its place: the computer, the chair, the bed. No strange sounds, no headsets on the floor.
"Sleep," he exhaled, running a hand over his face, feeling cold sweat trickle down his skin. "It was just a dream."
But for some reason, even this conviction was not completely certain. Anxiety continued to itch inside, as if the dream hadn't ended after all.
But his heart continued to pound, unwilling to calm down. It was beating with such force that Rick could almost feel the pulse in his temples, and a heavy, oppressive residue remained in his chest. It was all too real.
He got out of bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his phone screen. The clock showed 3:47 a.m. There were no new messages or calls on the screen.
But his gaze suddenly fell on the desktop, and there, in the very center, was a headset. She was still there, but something about her position seemed strange. The wire was neatly wound, although he remembered for sure that he had left it tangled.
Rick walked over to the table and, as if in slow motion, picked up the headset. His fingers froze. There was a small scratch on it that definitely wasn't there before.
"It can't be..." he whispered, his voice trembling with bewilderment and fear.
The headphones fell out of his hands, hitting the table with a thud. Everything suddenly became unbearably real. This dream, this nightmarish reality, could not be just an accident.
He stepped back, inhaling deep, cold air. He didn't have the energy to think logically. He was just moving. I went to the window, pulled back the curtains to look at the night city, at this gray world that seemed so far away and safe. But there was a growing fire of anxiety in his chest.
He sat down on a chair and opened the messages on his phone again. They were still empty. My fingers hovered over the key, not knowing who to write to or what to write to. Only chaotic thoughts were swarming in his head.
"I need a distraction," he muttered, as if that helped him make some sense of this absurdity.
Rick turned on the computer, hoping to distract himself with the game, but the screen flashed brightly instead of the usual menu. An inscription appeared on it:
"Did you think it would end so easily?"
His heart contracted, and a feeling of coldness froze in his chest. His breathing became heavy, and the words on the screen began to fade, replaced by a new phrase.:
"This is just the beginning, Rick_silen."
At that moment, it seemed to him again that cold, moist air touched his neck.
Rick screamed, jerking violently, and finally woke up. He was ready for any nightmare, but everything was as usual in the room: the lamp's light softly flooded the table, the headset was in its place, the wires were tangled the way he left them before the game.
His chest was heaving, and his eyes still couldn't focus. Rick ran his hands over his face, trying to process what was happening.
"A dream... inside a dream," he whispered, not believing his own words.
My eyes fell on the clock. 00:13 a.m. Earlier than in the "second" dream. He froze, trying to figure out how this was possible.
Rick got out of bed and looked around the room. Everything looked normal: the noise of passing cars could be heard outside the window, the dim light of a street lamp penetrated from the window. Rick closed his eyes, trying to stop the throbbing pain in his head, which seemed to overshadow his thoughts. He didn't remember falling asleep, but the feeling that those two hours were nothing only increased the oppressive feeling in his chest. All this—the nightmare, these strange, haunting shadows—were so familiar, as if they hid something more, something that he could not see. He rubbed his face with his palms, as if trying to shake out the remnants of sleep, but the more he tried to concentrate, the more he felt this strange feeling, like a shadow, envelop him.
"A shadow? No, you're just tired, Rick. Just a dream." He forced himself to push those thoughts away, but his body wouldn't agree. It didn't believe him. He was sitting in thought, trying to regain at least the illusion of calm, when his stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. This distracted him from his heavy thoughts, and he stood up, rubbing his neck irritably.