The room was silent except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Ten-year-old Lucas lay curled under his blanket, clutching his stuffed wolf tightly against his chest. Sleep had come easily tonight, wrapping him in its warm embrace like a cocoon. But then, just as dreams began to take shape, he heard it.
Footsteps.
They were soft at first, almost imperceptible over the hum of the house settling into night. Yet they grew louder, deliberate, echoing down the hallway outside his door. His heart quickened, pounding so hard he thought it might burst through his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep, hoping whoever—or whatever—was out there would pass by unnoticed.
But they didn't.
The doorknob creaked as it turned slowly, the sound grating against the stillness of the night. Light from the hallway spilled into the room as the door swung open, casting long shadows across the walls. Through slitted eyelids, Lucas watched in terror as a figure stepped inside.
It wasn't just any figure—it was him . The man who haunted every child's worst nightmares. Tall, gaunt, and cloaked in darkness, he dragged something heavy behind him. Two somethings. Bodies.
Lucas's stomach churned as he recognized them. His parents. Their faces pale, their eyes wide and lifeless. Blood smeared across the floor where they'd been dragged, leaving trails like crimson ribbons unwinding in the dark. The man propped them up on chairs beside Lucas's desk, arranging them with grotesque care, as though positioning dolls for display.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jagged piece of glass. With slow, methodical strokes, he began scrawling words onto the wall using their blood. Each letter dripped red, pooling at the base of the wall like tears.
Lucas wanted to scream, to cry, to run—but his body refused to obey. Paralyzed by fear, all he could do was watch as the man finished writing and stepped back to admire his work. Then, without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and slid underneath Lucas's bed.
For what felt like an eternity, nothing moved. The only sounds were the shallow breaths coming from beneath the bed and the relentless ticking of the clock. Lucas lay perfectly still, mimicking the corpses sitting mere feet away. His mind raced with questions, each more horrifying than the last. Who was this man? Why was he here? And most importantly—what did those words say?
As time passed, his eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the window. Shadows shifted, revealing fragments of the message scrawled on the wall. One word stood out starkly: "AWAKE."
His throat tightened. He tried not to breathe too loudly, afraid even the smallest sound might give him away. But curiosity gnawed at him, urging him to decipher the rest. Slowly, painstakingly, he pieced together the sentence.
"I know you're awake."
A chill shot down his spine as realization hit. Before he could react, the thing beneath the bed shifted. A low chuckle rumbled through the floorboards, vibrating against his back.
"Good boy," the voice whispered, smooth and cold as ice. "Now let's play."
Suddenly, hands shot out from under the bed, grabbing his ankles and yanking him downward. Lucas screamed, thrashing wildly as he was pulled into the suffocating darkness beneath the bedframe. The world tilted, spinning violently as he landed face-first on… dirt?
He blinked, disoriented, as the space around him transformed. No longer was he beneath his bed; instead, he found himself in a cavernous void lit by flickering torches mounted on jagged stone walls. Rows upon rows of beds lined the chamber, each occupied by shadowy figures staring blankly ahead. At the far end of the room stood the man, now illuminated fully for the first time.
His face was a mask of decay, skin peeling away to reveal bone beneath. His hollow eyes glowed faintly, locking onto Lucas with predatory intent. In one hand, he held a quill dripping with fresh blood; in the other, a ledger bound in black leather.
"Welcome to the Waking Ward," the man said, his voice reverberating through the cavern. "You've been chosen."
Chosen? For what? Lucas wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat as the man approached, opening the ledger with a flourish. Pages filled with names flipped past, stopping abruptly on a blank line. With a flourish, the man dipped the quill into a vial of blood and wrote Lucas's name in elegant script.
"From this moment forward, you belong to me," he declared, snapping the book shut. "Your dreams will fuel my kingdom, and your fears will keep you tethered here forever."
Panic surged through Lucas as he realized the truth. This wasn't a nightmare—it was a prison. And the man beneath the bed wasn't human. He was something older, darker, a collector of lost souls who preyed on children too terrified to fight back.
But Lucas wasn't going to go quietly.
Summoning every ounce of courage, he lunged toward the nearest torch, snatching it from its bracket. Flames danced wildly in his grip as he turned to face the man, holding the fire between them like a weapon.
"Leave me alone!" he shouted, his voice cracking but defiant.
The man sneered, taking a step closer. "Brave little lamb. But bravery won't save you here."
With a roar, Lucas hurled the torch at the man, who dissolved into smoke before it could strike him. The flames ignited the ledger instead, sending pages curling and blackening as they burned. The cavern shook violently, rocks tumbling from the ceiling as the void began to collapse.
Lucas ran, dodging falling debris as the walls crumbled around him. Behind him, the man's enraged screams echoed through the chaos, growing fainter with each passing second. Finally, he saw a pinprick of light ahead—a way out.
Bursting through the opening, he tumbled onto the floor of his bedroom, gasping for air. The clock ticked steadily, the room bathed in moonlight. Everything seemed normal again. Too normal.
Until he noticed the writing on the wall.
In dripping red letters, it read: "You can't wake up if you're already dreaming."
And beneath his bed, something stirred.