NEMOPHILIST || ej.

【 III 】

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding against her ribs as if trying to break free. She found herself in that same cursed forest—a place that always seemed to blur the line between reality and nightmare. The tall pines and slender birches stood like sentinels, their silhouettes stark against the dim twilight. The ground beneath her was a blanket of dead leaves, crunching ominously with each step.

She exhaled, her breath misting in the cold air. "Great. Back here again," she muttered, her voice carrying an edge of bitterness. The dreamscape was all too familiar—a recurring nightmare that clung to her like a shadow. But tonight, something was different. The forest, usually teeming with eerie sounds and the ever-present sense of being watched, was unnervingly still. No wind, no whispers. Not even the distant presence of him.

Y/N’s eyes darted through the darkness, suspicion creeping into her mind. Was she being toyed with? Had the nightmare changed its rules? The usual, looming figure of the tall man was nowhere to be seen, but that only heightened her anxiety. She forced herself to take a step forward, the crunch of the leaves beneath her feet the only sound in the stillness.

Her foot caught on a root, and she stumbled forward, barely catching herself before colliding face-first with a tree. "Seriously?" she huffed, glaring at the offending root as if it had done it on purpose. She straightened, about to move on, when something caught her eye.

A piece of paper was nailed to the bark of the tree she had nearly kissed. Y/N’s breath hitched as she reached out, her hand trembling slightly. The paper was worn and stained, the symbol on it crude but unmistakable—a circle with an X slashed through it. Her pulse quickened. She’d seen this before. And then she noticed the dark smudges on the paper. Blood. Her blood.

—

Y/N jolted awake, gasping for breath, her heart still pounding from the remnants of the nightmare. The vividness of the dream clung to her, making it hard to shake off the unease. It wasn’t often that her dreams took such a disturbing turn. Usually, it was just a relentless chase—him always just out of reach. But the symbol on the paper was new. Where had she seen it before?

Groaning in frustration, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Dwelling on the dream wouldn’t do her any good, and she had enough to worry about already. She resolved to push the nightmarish thoughts aside and face the day.

As she stood up, her eyes fell on the four unopened pill bottles sitting on her nightstand. They were meant to help with her anxiety and nightmares, but she had never taken them. The idea of becoming a guinea pig for her psychiatrist’s experiments wasn’t appealing. She didn’t even know what was in those pills. Sticking with therapy seemed like the safer bet.

She rose from her bed, stretching her arms above her head, and grabbed her phone. A wince crossed her face as she saw several missed texts from her manager. It was 11:22 a.m., and her phone was bombarded with urgent messages:

‘Y/N, why did you close so early last night?’
‘I reviewed the cameras. Not only did you close early without notifying anyone, but you also “borrowed” merchandise. We need to discuss this.’

The remaining texts were more demands for her to call or text back, which she wasn’t in the mood to address. Instead, she decided to call her father, hoping he’d answer.

Her father, Chief of Police, was a busy man despite the town's low crime rate. He was a good man, and she missed him. She tapped his contact and put the phone on speaker, standing by her bed with her hair a messy tangle.