The Inheritance

Chapter Three - The Shadows Grow Longer

The following nights offered no reprieve for Mike. The sleep paralysis returned with greater intensity, each episode more vivid and terrifying than the last. He began dreading sleep, staying up late into the night with a bottle of whiskey for company. The lack of rest, combined with the haunting visions, began to show in his appearance—dark circles formed under his eyes, his skin pale and drawn. His usual calm demeanor faltered.

The pub, which had once been his refuge, started to feel more like a cage. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations—it all became background noise as his mind drifted. Mike found himself frequently zoning out, his eyes drawn to the corners of the room where the shadows seemed to stretch just a little longer than they should.

It wasn't just the nights anymore. The lines between his dreams and reality were blurring.

One evening, as Mike sat at the bar after closing time, one of his employees, Jen, walked in. She was one of the few people who could get through to him on bad days—smart, quick-witted, and always honest with him, even when it wasn't easy.

"You alright, Mike? You've been... off lately," she said, concern in her voice as she leaned against the counter.

Mike forced a tired smile. "Just tired, that's all."

Jen raised an eyebrow. "Tired doesn't usually make you look like you've seen a ghost."

Her words hit too close to home. Mike hadn't told anyone about the visions. He didn't want them to think he was losing it. But something about Jen's tone made him pause. She was persistent, not easily brushed off.

"It's nothing," Mike finally muttered, turning his gaze to the bottle of whiskey in front of him. "Just bad dreams."

Jen slid onto the stool across from him. "Want to talk about it?"

Mike hesitated, then sighed. "It's not just dreams. It's... it feels real. I wake up, and I can't move. There's something in the room with me. I see it, standing there. And... I hear it. It talks to me."

Jen's face paled slightly, but she didn't interrupt.

"I keep telling myself it's just sleep paralysis. But it's been getting worse. And now... I'm starting to see things when I'm awake too." Mike's voice dropped to a whisper. "I think I'm losing it, Jen."

Jen stared at him for a moment, then finally spoke. "You're not losing it. I've heard of stuff like this. Sleep paralysis can mess with your head, especially if you're stressed or not sleeping well. But if you're seeing things when you're awake..." She trailed off, her brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe it's something more."

Mike's heart skipped a beat. He had been afraid of that. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Jen admitted. "But I think you should talk to someone—like a therapist, maybe. It could help."

Mike shook his head. He'd been down that road before, years ago when his anxiety had been at its peak. The sessions had helped back then, but now? This felt different, darker, like something no amount of talking could fix.

"I'll think about it," he said, not wanting to continue the conversation. Jen didn't push, but the look in her eyes told him she wasn't convinced.

That night, Mike found himself standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, staring at his reflection. His face looked hollow, like the life had been drained from it. His mind was racing, but exhaustion tugged at him, pulling him toward sleep despite his fear of what awaited him in the dark.

He crawled into bed, the silence of his apartment thick and oppressive. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind outside, made him flinch. His body was on high alert, his muscles tense as if preparing for the inevitable.

And sure enough, the paralysis came.

This time, it was immediate. Mike's eyes snapped open, his limbs frozen in place. The familiar weight settled on his chest, but there was something different this time. The shadows in the room seemed darker, more solid. And in the corner, the figure stood once again, watching him.

But this time, it wasn't alone.

There were others—vague shapes, barely distinguishable in the dim light, but unmistakable. They crowded around his bed, silent and still, their presence suffocating.

The voice returned, but it was different now, distorted and layered, as if several voices were speaking at once.

"You can't escape us, Mike."

The words echoed in his head, reverberating in the stillness. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow