Dan's Room – Late Night
The clock on Dan’s bedside table ticked steadily, its sound cutting through the oppressive silence of his dimly lit room. Rain pattered against the window, the faint glow of the streetlamp outside casting fractured shadows on the walls. Dan sat hunched over his desk, his hand trembling as it gripped a pen. Before him lay an open notebook, pages already filled with messy scrawls, half-erased sketches, and hastily written notes.
He hadn’t slept in days—not properly, at least. Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmare came, vivid and relentless. Each time, the details grew sharper, more real. The same images haunted him: a dark figure standing in the shadows, bloodied hands reaching for him, the sound of distant screams that echoed like a ghostly wail. And always, at the center of it all, was a girl’s face, pale and terrified, her eyes begging for help.
Dan rubbed his face, his palms slick with sweat. His breath hitched as he forced himself to write.
"The train yard again. Rust everywhere. Smell of oil, blood, and something burning. The figure is watching me. He has red eyes, glowing like embers. There's a woman this time—not Abigail. She's crying. She's trapped. I hear her voice, calling for someone. The screams—they're getting louder. Closer."
He paused, staring at the words, his heart pounding. Each sentence felt like a splinter driving deeper into his mind. He wiped the pen across the page, smearing the ink, as if trying to erase the reality of it.
“Why is this happening to me?” he whispered to himself, his voice cracking.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking toward the window. The storm outside mirrored the chaos in his head. His thoughts turned to Carter, the only person he trusted. But the idea of showing his notebook to Carter made his stomach churn.
“He’ll think I’m crazy,” Dan muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Hell, maybe I am crazy.”
But deep down, he knew he wasn’t. The dreams weren’t just random—they were connected. Every detail matched the case Carter was working on. The train yard, the missing girls, even the suspect’s eerie presence. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
He flipped back through the pages, each entry more disturbing than the last. In the beginning, the dreams had been disjointed, blurry flashes of fear. But now they were painfully clear, like memories instead of dreams.
He scribbled another note: “This isn’t just a dream. It’s a message. A warning. But from who? And why me?”
Dan’s hand froze, the pen hovering over the page. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “I can’t keep this to myself,” he whispered. “If there’s even a chance this could help Carter... I have to tell him.”
But the fear lingered. Carter was logical, grounded. What would he say when Dan told him his nightmares might hold the key to solving the case?
“You’re losing it, Dan,” he imagined Carter saying. “Go see a shrink.”
Dan’s chest tightened, his breathing uneven. He closed the notebook and held it against his chest, as though trying to absorb its secrets.
The wind howled outside, rattling the windowpane. Dan stared at his reflection in the glass, his own red-rimmed eyes staring back at him, hollow and haunted.
He turned back to his desk, opening the notebook one last time. He wrote in bold letters:
“The girl in the dream is next. I have to stop it before it’s too late.”
Dan’s hand trembled as he underlined the words twice.
Taking a deep breath, he muttered, “Tomorrow. I’ll show Carter tomorrow. Even if he thinks I’m insane, he deserves to know. And if this is real...” His voice faltered, his eyes dark with dread. “If this is real, then someone else’s life is on the line.”
He placed the notebook carefully in his drawer and locked it, as though trying to lock away the nightmares themselves. But as he crawled into bed, the rain drumming steadily outside, he knew sleep wouldn’t come.
And when it did, the nightmare would return—sharper, darker, and more terrifying than before.
* * *
