The Dream Walker: Terror Between Worlds

Table of Contents

Haunted Sleep Realm and Nightmare Gates

Evelyn lay in bed, frozen. The air felt thick, heavy, like invisible fingers squeezing her lungs. She tried lifting her arm, but her body wouldn't obey. It felt like she was pinned beneath a thousand pounds of cold earth.

Sleep paralysis. Or something pretending to be it. Many terrifying night-shift incidents have also been caught on security cameras, like security footage haunts night shift, sending chills through anyone who watches them.

"Hold on," she whispered to herself. "Stay awake. Stay here."

Yet the room flickered — lights bending, walls breathing like beasts. Her mirror pulsed, rippling like liquid. And somewhere under her bed, something scraped the floor slowly, deliberately, like claws dragging along wood.

Scrrrrch. Scrrrrch.

"No," she whispered, voice trembling. "I'm awake. I am awake."

From beneath the bed, a voice hissed, low and broken like a throat made of rusted wires.

"You think waking saves you?"

Evelyn's skin crawled. "You're not real."

"Neither are you," the thing whispered. "Not fully."

Her breath stuttered. "I am real."

"Pieces in two worlds rot twice as fast."

Scrrrrch. Scrrrrch.

The scraping stopped. Silence filled the room, heavy enough to crush thoughts. Then a pale hand — fingers too long, nails black and sharp — reached out from under the bed. It blindly searched the floor, tapping like a spider feeling for prey.

Evelyn forced her muscles, fighting the invisible weight. Her fingers twitched — then moved. She slid her hand to her nightstand, feeling for her phone. If she could turn on the flashlight, maybe—

The hand froze, sensing movement.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Another voice — her own — whispered from under the bed.

"Come back. Sleep. We are waiting."

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut. "This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't—"

Her phone lit up.

The hand recoiled, vanishing under the bed with a soft hiss like steam burning skin. Evelyn gasped, air flooding her lungs. She jerked upright and scrambled away, back pressed against the wall.

The room looked normal again. Ordinary. Safe.

But the mirror still had that crack — and the faint outline of her palm inside it.

"Think," she whispered. "Anchor. Reality. Stay aware."

Her eyes darted toward the clock — 3:42 AM. Too early. Too quiet.

Then her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She hesitated, thumb shaking, then answered.

"You didn't wake up," a voice said — Isaac's voice.

Evelyn's stomach turned. "Stop. You're not real. My brother is alive and fine—"

"Your brother hasn't spoken to you in three months," the voice replied calmly. "You know that."

Her breath caught. That was true. They hadn’t spoken since the fight. A tear welled in her eyes, but she blinked it away.

"You're in my head. You're not real."

"If I wasn't real," Isaac’s voice murmured, "would I know what you buried under your mattress to forget Mom's death anniversary?"

Evelyn froze. Her chest tightened. Under her mattress — a photo and a bracelet. Only Isaac knew that.

"You need to come back," the voice whispered. "You belong where we are."

"I am awake," she said through clenched teeth.

Silence.

Then Isaac’s voice softened. "Are you?"

The call ended.

Evelyn trembled. She walked to the mirror — slowly, as if the floor might vanish beneath her feet. Her reflection stared back, expression almost identical… but not quite. Its smile was just a shade too forced. Its eyes too still.

"You're not me," she whispered.

The reflection blinked wrong — lids closing sideways.

"Yet," it whispered.

Evelyn backed away, heart pounding like fists against her ribs. She stumbled into the hall and flicked on every light she passed. Light meant real, right? Light meant safety.

But as she walked into the kitchen, something felt off. The refrigerator hummed too slowly, like sound passing through thick water. The clock ticked — but each tick echoed far too long. And the kitchen window showed only darkness, deeper than night, like a void swallowing the world outside.

"This isn't right," she muttered. "I'm still dreaming."

Behind her — a soft sigh, like someone disappointed.

She spun around.

A man stood in the doorway — tall, pale, coat flickering like broken film. The same figure from the Otherworld.

"I told you," he murmured. "Waking would not come easily."

"I'm awake," she snapped, backing up.

He tilted his head. "The dream doesn't end because you will it. It ends when you stop believing this world is real."

"Stop. You're manipulating me."

"No," he said gently. "I'm warning you. Anchors only hold if you trust them."

"You're lying!"

"Am I?" His form glitched, flickering like TV static. "Then why can’t you remember who called you two hours before you slept?"

Evelyn blinked, trying to recall. Her phone buzz. A call. A voice. No memory.

Her stomach twisted. "Go away."

"When you forget waking," he murmured, stepping backwards into the hallway shadows, "the dream becomes home."

He vanished.

The lights above flickered violently. The walls rippled like flesh again. Evelyn choked on panic — and sprinted back to her room.

Her bed sat messy, sheets half on the floor. Her mirror glowed faintly. Something tapped from inside the glass — slow, desperate, like knuckles on wood.

She crawled to the nightstand, grabbing the bracelet she hid — a thin silver band. Her mother's. Her anchor. Her memory.

"This is real," she whispered fiercely.

The mirror rattled.

A distorted version of her voice echoed from inside the glass: "Come back."

Evelyn shook her head, clutching the bracelet tighter. "I refuse you."

The mirror screamed — not breaking, but warping like a throat releasing agony. Her reflection pressed harder, face twisting into something hollow and hungry.

Then — a knock.

Real. Physical. On her apartment door.

Evelyn froze. "Who…?"

A voice from the hallway — shaky, human, familiar. "Evelyn? It's Isaac. Please open the door."

Her blood ran cold. That voice — sounded real. Terrified. Alive.

"Evy, please. They’re pulling you in. I need you to open the door."

The mirror voice hissed, "Don't trust him."

The scraping returned beneath her bed.

The lights buzzed, strained like they were fighting something unseen.

Isaac knocked harder. "Evelyn! Open it or you won’t come back!"

Evelyn stood shaking, torn, breath ragged. Which world was real? Which voice lied?

Her pulse thundered. Mother’s bracelet dug into her palm like a lifeline.

"Move," she whispered. "Pick. Choose."

Her feet stepped one way — then the other — as if both worlds tugged at her bones.

"Evy, please!" Isaac begged. "You don’t have much time!"

The mirror whispered, "Stay."

The ceiling creaked — something crawling inside the plaster.

Her brain screamed. Her heart trembled. The world twisted. Reality grew thin.

Evelyn took a breath — lifted her hand — and reached for the door.

She turned the handle—

—and everything went dark.

Silence swallowed her whole.

Then a whisper, deep and ancient, breathed across the void:

"Reality is only where your mind stays longest."

A single heartbeat thumped in endless black.

Then nothing.