Whispers in the Dark

Epilogue: A New Nightmare

Hundreds of miles away from Crescentville, in a small town far removed from the chaos of Jeff's actions, a teenage boy named Dylan lay in his bed. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of his nightlight. He had always been afraid of the dark, ever since he was little.

Dylan pulled the covers up to his chin, trying to shake the feeling that he was being watched. He had felt uneasy all evening, ever since he got home from school. He couldn't explain why, but something just felt... off.

As he lay there, trying to convince himself it was all in his head, a soft voice broke the silence.

"Hello, friend."

Dylan's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned his head slowly, seeing a shadowy figure standing at the foot of his bed. The figure stepped into the faint light, revealing a face twisted with a grotesque smile, carved deep into pale skin.

"You may not know me, but I've known you for a while now. More than you probably know yourself," the figure continued, his voice smooth and menacing. "It's no time for you to ask questions! The time is past your bedtime."

Dylan's breath caught in his throat, fear paralyzing him as he stared at the intruder.

"So you'd better go to sleep, friend. And do not open your eyes till it's morning. And pretend like nothing happened. Go to sleep, my friend. That's right. Go to sleep."

Dylan's eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling under the covers. A few moments of silence passed, then he heard footsteps coming towards him. He felt breath on his cheek, then heard a whisper in his ear.

"Sweet dreams are made of screams, broken minds and silent tears,"

Dylan's eyes shot open and he straightened up, the twisted smile never leaving the figure's face. Dylan screamed shrilly, succumbing to his fear, the figure turning and slipping back into the shadows, leaving the boy to the mercy of his nightmares.

A rush of footsteps came to the bedroom door and Dylan's father burst in. "What is it? What happened?" he asked frantically. Dylan was hyperventilating, a shaky hand pointing at the open window, a soft wind slowly moving the curtains back and forth.