The rain drummed softly against the window as Dan sat in his dimly lit living room, staring at the phone in his hand. His reflection in the darkened screen looked pale and gaunt, a stark contrast to the vibrant man he had briefly become. The nightmares were back. Worse than ever.
At first, he’d dismissed them as a fluke—a bad night, a bit of stress. But when they returned, night after night, he couldn’t deny the truth. The therapy hadn’t cured him; it had only delayed the inevitable.
And now, the dreams had shifted.
The familiar darkness of his subconscious had a new presence. A man. He didn’t know who the man was or why he was there, but his intent was unmistakable—he wanted Dan dead.
The first time he’d seen him, the figure had been a shadow, faceless and indistinct. But with each passing night, the man became clearer. His movements were deliberate, his presence oppressive. Dan could feel the weight of his malice even as he woke, gasping and drenched in sweat. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the man’s face.
It terrified him.
Dan’s hand trembled as he unlocked his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he reached Dr. Lane’s name. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button.
She had helped him before—brought him peace he hadn’t felt in years. But now, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning. What if this was her doing? What if the therapy had stirred something in him that should have remained buried?
He shook the thought away. He didn’t have the luxury of doubt. He needed relief, no matter the cost.
With a deep breath, he pressed the button.
The phone rang twice before she answered.
“Dan,” Dr. Lane’s voice was as calm and soothing as ever, but there was a hint of surprise in her tone. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
Dan swallowed hard. “Not great,” he admitted. “The nightmares... they’re back. Worse than before.”
There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice was measured. “I see. Tell me more.”
“It’s not just the old ones,” Dan said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “There’s a man now. I don’t know who he is, but he’s trying to kill me. Every time I wake up, it’s like he’s still there, watching me. I can’t... I can’t live like this, Dr. Lane. I need another session.”
Her response came after a moment’s hesitation. “I understand. Let’s schedule something immediately. Can you come in tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” Dan said quickly, relief flooding through him. “Thank you.”
“I’ll prepare for your session,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Dan. Don’t worry.”
When the call ended, Dan let out a shaky breath and leaned back on the couch. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of hope.
But as he sat there, staring out at the rain, the unease crept back in. Something about the nightmares—the man—felt more real than any dream he’d ever had.
