Elara's eyes snapped open, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body covered in sweat. The same nightmare again. The same haunting presence, the same terrifying shadows. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream that clung to her like a shadow of its own.
"Elara!" Her mother's voice broke through the haze of fear and sleep. "Wake up, now!"
Startled, Elara blinked rapidly and rubbed her eyes. The warmth of her bed, the familiar hum of the house, slowly returned to her senses. She was in her room—safe, not in the hallway from the dream.
But the dread remained, like an invisible weight pressing down on her chest. She took another breath, hoping to calm her shaking hands.
Her mother appeared in the doorway, her face stern, her arms crossed. "What is it now, Elara? Another one of your episodes?"
Elara bit her lip, trying to collect herself. It wasn't like she could explain the visions. She didn't even fully understand them herself. Her mother had never believed in them, never understood why Elara was so often lost in her own world. To her, it was all just nonsense—a phase, something to get over.
"I… I'm fine, Mom," Elara said softly, though her voice quivered. "It was just a bad dream."
Her mother didn't look convinced. "Bad dreams aren't what's happening with you. You've been acting strange for weeks. You're not eating, you're not sleeping. You need help, Elara. This is not normal."
Elara turned her face away, not wanting her mother to see the fear in her eyes. The last thing she needed was more lectures. "I'm not crazy, Mom."
"No, you're not crazy," her mother replied, her voice hardening. "But something is wrong. And I'm not going to sit around and let you spiral into whatever this is."
Elara swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to argue, to tell her mother that she didn't understand—that the shadows, the whispers, they weren't just dreams. But she knew it would be pointless. Her mother would only say she needed to grow up, to stop acting like a child.
"Get up. You're going to school today," her mother said firmly. "I'm not going to let you waste another day in this house."
Elara didn't respond. She just nodded and slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed, trying to get her bearings. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. Her mother's words echoed in her mind, her stern tone repeating the same message: Get out of bed. Go to school. Don't be a problem.
She didn't feel like going. She didn't feel like doing anything. But she had no choice. Her mother wasn't giving her any room to argue.
A few minutes later, Elara stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth. Her reflection stared back at her—tired eyes, pale skin, a look that didn't seem quite right. The past few weeks had been a blur of exhaustion, dark circles under her eyes, and a gnawing sense of unease. Her dreams had started to bleed into reality, and she had no idea how to stop it.
She hurriedly dressed in her school uniform, but she could hardly bring herself to care about the details. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the fog of her thoughts. What was happening to her? Why couldn't she make it stop?
By the time she was ready, her mother had already left the house, presumably to take care of some errand or work-related task. Elara took a deep breath before walking out of her room, her feet dragging as she moved toward the door. She could feel the familiar weight of the house around her—silent, suffocating, pressing in from all sides.
As she stepped outside, the air felt different today—heavier, colder. She could almost feel the weight of something unseen, a presence lurking just out of view. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced around, her instincts on high alert.
The streets seemed emptier than usual, the world around her almost muted. Her footsteps echoed against the pavement, the only sound she could hear. She hated this feeling, this constant sense of being watched. But whenever she tried to explain it to anyone, they just brushed it off as paranoia, a product of her overactive imagination. It didn't help that the visions—if that's what they were—were becoming harder to distinguish from reality.
She walked toward the bus stop, her mind spinning. The walk felt longer than usual, each step taking her further into a world that felt more and more foreign to her. The people she passed on the street seemed to stare at her, their eyes lingering just a little too long, their faces unfamiliar and yet somehow unsettling.
At the bus stop, a group of students was already waiting. Elara took a deep breath and joined them, hoping to blend into the background. But as she stood there, she felt the weight of their gazes. One by one, they turned to look at her, their eyes following her every movement. It wasn't normal. She could feel the difference in the way they looked at her. It wasn't curiosity, or even indifference—it was something else. Something she couldn't quite place.
She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her gaze flickering from one face to another. They were all staring. The silence between them grew heavier with each passing second. Some of them whispered to each other, their heads turning quickly when they thought she wasn't looking. It was as if they were talking about her, or perhaps—Elara couldn't help but wonder—they were talking to her.
She swallowed, trying to ignore the feeling of unease creeping up her spine. It was just in her head. She was being paranoid, overthinking everything. They were probably just wondering why she was standing there, acting so strangely.
But still, their eyes never left her.
The bus arrived, and the group began to board, but Elara hesitated. She could feel the heat of their gazes on her back, pressing into her with invisible fingers. She could feel the weight of their thoughts, as though they were all connected in some strange, unspoken way. She wanted to shake it off, to tell herself it was nothing, but deep down, she knew it wasn't. There was something wrong. Something… off.
Her stomach churned as she climbed aboard the bus, her hands shaking as she gripped the metal pole for support. She found a seat near the back and sank into it, hoping to disappear, to blend into the crowd. But the feeling persisted—the feeling that they were still watching, still waiting.
As the bus pulled away from the stop, Elara stared out the window, her reflection staring back at her. She didn't know what to make of the day ahead, or what was happening to her. All she knew was that something was wrong. Something was pulling her into a world that didn't feel like her own, a world where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were blurred.
And she had no idea how to escape it.
The world outside seemed to pass by in slow motion, the buildings, the trees, the people—everything felt like a blur, as if none of it truly existed. Elara closed her eyes, trying to block out the disorienting thoughts that crowded her mind. But even with her eyes shut, she could still feel it. The presence. The eyes. They were everywhere.
Her hands gripped the seat tightly, her knuckles turning white. She tried to focus on the rhythmic sound of the bus as it bumped along the road, but her thoughts refused to quiet.
And the feeling of being watched only grew stronger.