Scary stories I wrote

The Dream of His Death

(A/n this will be my last one for today)

Liam had never had a dream so vivid. It started with him standing in the middle of a long, winding road that seemed to stretch into eternity. The sky was painted in deep purples and reds, as if the sun had bled into the horizon. Everything felt real-the cool breeze, the distant sound of a crow cawing, and the weight of something he couldn't explain pressing against his chest.

As he walked down the road, the scenery changed subtly. First, he noticed the trees along the side were wilting, their leaves brown and brittle, despite the warm air. Then, the road itself began to crack, jagged lines running through the asphalt like veins. But what unnerved him the most was the silence. The world around him had fallen utterly quiet, as if waiting for something.

Liam's heart began to race. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling the uncomfortable prickling sensation of being watched. There, in the distance, a shadowy figure stood. It didn't move, just stared-if it even had eyes. It was a figure he recognized from the news. A boy about his age had gone missing a month ago, and the rumors in his small town swirled with grim predictions. They never found him.

The figure began to move. Slowly at first, then quicker, almost gliding toward Liam. Panic surged through him as his legs finally responded, and he ran. His feet pounded against the cracking road, his breath short and sharp, but no matter how fast he ran, the figure stayed behind him, gaining ground effortlessly.

He looked ahead, and there it was-a massive drop-off at the edge of the road. It was the end. Below was nothing but blackness, like the void of space. There was nowhere to go.

The figure stopped a few feet behind him, and now Liam could feel its presence as cold and suffocating. It raised its hand slowly, pointing toward him. An unbearable weight crashed down on Liam's chest, as if all the air in his lungs had been stolen. He stumbled backward, his heel slipping off the edge of the road, and he fell.

Just before his body was swallowed by the darkness below, Liam jolted awake.

His room was pitch black except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. His sheets were soaked with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He sat up, gasping for air, trying to calm himself down, but his hands trembled uncontrollably. He had never felt so sure of something in his life: that fall was real, and he was meant to die tonight in that dream.

But he was awake now. He was safe.

Liam wiped his forehead and reached for the glass of water on his nightstand. That's when he noticed it-on his wrist was a faint bruise, almost like the shape of a hand. The same hand that had reached out to him in the dream.

Word count not including this: 506