Tik…tok…tik…tok…
The clock's relentless tick echoed through the darkness. It was an endless void—no edges, no corners, no escape.
Ryan stiffened, fear gripped him. He knew from experience that any movement during the clock's ominous chime would mean doom. His limbs would begin to fade—fingers first, then hands, and finally, his whole being would vanish.
Breath caught in his throat, Ryan froze.
The clock's beat quickened, amplifying his terror. Sweat trickled down his spine as he strained to listen. Each tick felt like a death knell.
'Shit! Not this dream again,' he cursed inwardly.
The same nightmare had haunted him since he was a child. He couldn't remember the first time it happened, but the scenes replayed endlessly. Each time, he faced the same horrors, waking up exhausted and shaken—it was a cycle he couldn't escape.
Tik…tok…tik…tok…
As the clock's sound gradually faded, Ryan's tension escalated.
'Here we go,' he muttered to himself, bracing for what would come next.
Then came the footsteps—tap…tap…tap…tap…
They echoed through the darkness, growing louder, as if someone was approaching.
Ryan's focus narrowed to the sounds. His heart raced, drowning out everything else. Sweat continued to trickle down his spine.
Suddenly, the footsteps quickened, resembling a frantic sprint. Someone was running toward him. The clock's ticking still echoed, but Ryan's breath caught in his throat.
'Damn it! Hurry up!' he thought, panic rising.
The footsteps closed in, yet no one was visible. Strangely, he could see his own body, but nothing else.
Tap…tap…tap…tap…
Finally, the clock went silent, leaving only the footsteps.
In a panic, Ryan bolted, running as fast as he could. He didn't care about direction—he just needed to escape.
But the footsteps matched his speed, closing in behind him.
'Why can't I just wake up?' he cursed.
A sudden warmth grazed his neck. Hot breath hit him, sending chills down his spine. The scent of damp earth and decay filled the air.
Ryan sprinted wildly, unsure where he was headed, fueled only by the instinct to survive. His legs pumped hard, but the footsteps stayed with him.
'Damn it! Damn it!' he gasped.
Time blurred as he ran. His lungs burned. The darkness swallowed him whole.
Then, a thunderous growl reverberated through the air. Massive fangs erupted from the shadows, their sharp tips glistening. They were enormous—longer than his arm and thicker than his thighs. An ethereal, soft-white glow illuminated them, contrasting sharply with the surrounding darkness.
Ryan's gaze locked onto the gleaming teeth. Terror held him captive. The growl deepened, vibrating through his bones. Time seemed to stop, leaving only the threat looming before him.
It was the open maw of a gigantic beast.
Ryan screamed as he tried to change direction. But it was too late. The beast's fangs snapped shut around him. The hot breath enveloped him, reeking of decay.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end.
***
Ryan jolted awake, gasping for breath. His shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to his torso. His heart raced wildly. He buried his face in his palms.
"Why won't these nightmares leave me?"
Ryan rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. It was always the same. The darkness, the ticking clock sound, the footsteps, the jaw-all the same.
Years of research and countless documents had yielded no answers. The unsettling dreams haunted him, refusing to let go. Their unnerving realism lingered long after he woke.
As his sanity returned, the soothing sound of waves crashing against the ship calmed him. Outside his cabin window, darkness enveloped the night, only broken by the gentle rocking of the ship. It was 5 a.m. in Egypt.
Ryan rose and poured a glass of water from the desk pitcher. He drained it and peeled off his damp shirt. The simplicity of the cabin reflected his character: a single bed, a desk, and a compact cabinet. Papers were stacked neatly—documents and journals for his next excavation.
"It does feel very hot," he muttered to himself.
At 23, Ryan had rugged features shaped by years of digging through ancient sites. His angular face, framed by dark hair, was highlighted by piercing blue eyes.
Those haunting nightmares had fueled his obsessive quest for answers since he was a child.
He thought back to his childhood. His father had been an archaeologist, obsessed with finding the truth behind lost civilizations. Ryan remembered sitting in dusty libraries, surrounded by old books and maps. His father would speak of the mysteries of the past as if they were alive, breathing. Those stories ignited a fire in Ryan. Yet, it wasn't just fascination—it was a connection. A connection he felt was deeper than mere interest. It was as if his father had left him a puzzle to solve, a legacy buried in the sands of time.
The more he studied, the more he felt the weight of expectations. Not just from his peers, but from the echoes of his father's voice. What if he was meant to uncover something significant? What if these nightmares were clues? He often wondered if the dreams were a warning, or perhaps a call to action. Ryan was determined to find out. He needed clarity.
Peering into the darkness outside his ship's window, he wondered, "Was it hot the last time I came here?"
He shrugged and dismissed the thought. Without bothering to change into a new shirt, Ryan settled into his chair, pouring over documents.
Sleep slipped away from him, as always. He buried himself in work, it was a way to escape the nagging feelings from his nightmares.
Each page turned was a distraction, but the fear linger. He was searching for answers, not just about ancient civilizations but about himself. Why did these dreams haunt him? What was the connection?
Maybe, just maybe, it would put the nightmares to rest. He grabbed his jacket and stepped outside, the cool night air hit him hard. It felt so different from the heat of his cabin.
It was time to confront the past. He needed clarity. And until he found it, he would keep digging—both in the dirt of ancient sites and in the depths of his own mind.