Dream of a Rotting Corpse in Room

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Haunted by a Corpse in Her Dream

Lily had always believed that the city never truly slept. Even in the deepest hours of the night, when most people were locked inside their apartments, wrapped in blankets and dreams, the world outside her window continued to breathe. Sirens wailed in the distance like wounded animals. Trains rumbled beneath the streets, shaking the bones of the buildings above them. Neon signs flickered endlessly, painting the clouds with artificial colors. From the thirty-second floor of a towering glass apartment complex, Lily watched it all in silence.

She lived alone, far above the noise, yet somehow still trapped inside it. Her blond hair often caught the glow of passing lights, giving her reflection an almost ghostly shine. By day, she was a graphic designer, shaping colors and lines into something beautiful. By night, she was a prisoner of her own thoughts, trapped in a loneliness that felt like The Isolations Embrace Horror Story. Her apartment was modern, spotless, and carefully organized, but no amount of cleanliness could protect her from what waited in her sleep.

For weeks, Lily had been struggling with insomnia. The city lights seeped through the blinds, cutting pale lines across her walls like scars. Every creak of the building felt louder in the darkness. Her mind refused to rest, replaying unfinished conversations, forgotten regrets, and vague fears she could never name. When sleep finally came, it was never gentle. It dragged her down like a current, pulling her into dreams that felt more like places than illusions. And in those places, something was always wrong.

The first dream arrived quietly, without warning. Lily lay in her bed, staring at the familiar crack in the ceiling that looked like a river on an old map. Her breathing slowed. The city’s noise faded into a distant hum. Then, in a way she could not explain, she woke up. She was still in her bed. The same room. The same furniture. The same shadows. Everything looked exactly as it should. Yet something felt off, like a wrong note in a familiar song. The air was heavier, thicker, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Then the smell reached her.

It was not a sharp scent. It was thick, sweet, and suffocating, like damp soil mixed with spoiled meat and rusted metal. Lily gagged and covered her nose, her eyes watering. “What is that?” she whispered. Her voice sounded strange, distant, as if the walls were swallowing her words before they could travel far. She pushed herself out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Each step forward made the smell stronger, more unbearable, like walking deeper into a grave.

In the corner of the room, near her wardrobe, something lay beneath a shadow that did not match the angle of the light. The darkness there seemed thicker, heavier, as if it had weight. Lily’s heart pounded in her ears. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around, to run, to wake up. But her body moved forward anyway, drawn by a terrible curiosity she could not resist.

As she stepped closer, the shadow peeled away, revealing a human body twisted at an unnatural angle. The skin was gray and blistered, stretched tight over bone in some places and sunken in others. Patches of dark rot bloomed across the chest like bruised flowers. The smell was overwhelming now, crawling into her throat and lungs. The eyes were open, glassy, and lifeless, staring at nothing. Flies buzzed lazily around the corpse, their wings whispering through the air like tiny knives.

Lily screamed.

She woke up in her bed, gasping for air, her heart racing so violently she thought it might burst through her ribs. Sweat soaked her sheets. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. The room was clean. Empty. Silent. No corpse. No smell. No flies. Only the distant glow of the city beyond her window, indifferent to her terror.

She pressed a hand to her chest and forced out a shaky laugh. “Just a nightmare,” she whispered to herself. The words felt thin, fragile, like paper in the rain. She stayed awake until sunrise, afraid to close her eyes again.

The second night, the dream returned.

This time, Lily knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes. The air felt heavier, thicker, as if gravity itself had grown stronger inside her apartment. The smell of decay filled her lungs before she even sat up. Her stomach twisted in fear. “No,” she whispered. “Not again.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements slow, as if she were walking through water.

The corpse was closer now. It lay beside her bed, its twisted body resting against the mattress as if it had crawled there during the night. Darkened blood leaked from its wounds, staining her once-clean floor. The skin had split in several places, revealing blackened muscle beneath. Lily stumbled backward, shaking her head violently. “This isn’t real,” she said. “Wake up, Lily. Wake up.”

The corpse did not move, but the room itself seemed to breathe. The walls pulsed subtly, expanding and contracting like lungs. A whisper brushed her ear, so faint she almost missed it.

“You see me.”

Lily spun around. “Who’s there?” she shouted. Her voice echoed unnaturally, breaking apart as it bounced off the walls. There was no one behind her. The whisper came again, closer this time, slipping directly into her thoughts.

“You see what remains.”

She woke up screaming, her throat burning with the effort. Morning light spilled into the room, harsh and ordinary. But the fear did not fade. She called in sick to work, her hands shaking as she held her phone. All day, she felt as if something invisible followed her from room to room, like a presence from The Stalkers Shadow Horror Story. Sometimes, she caught faint hints of that horrible smell, even though her apartment was spotless.

By the third night, Lily was exhausted. Her eyes were heavy, her body weak, her mind fraying at the edges. When she fell asleep, she did not even fight it anymore.

In the dream, the corpse sat upright on her couch. Its head tilted slightly, as if listening to something she could not hear. Its mouth hung open, lips pulled back from blackened teeth. The smell was so strong it felt solid, like a wall she could not pass through.

“Why are you here?” Lily cried, tears streaming down her face. “What do you want from me?”

The corpse remained silent. Instead, the air behind her rippled, as if something massive and unseen was moving through the room. Lily felt cold fingers brush against her arm. The touch was numb, empty, wrong. She screamed and stumbled forward.

A voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere at once. “It is not here for you. It is you.”

Lily shook her head violently. “That’s impossible. I’m alive. I’m right here.”

The unseen presence laughed softly, the sound like dry leaves scraping across stone. “You are what remains when the dream ends.”

She woke up on the floor, her body aching where she had fallen from the bed. The room was silent, but the feeling of being watched never left her.

From that night on, Lily was never truly alone.

During the day, reality began to slip. She forgot words in the middle of conversations. She found bruises on her arms shaped like fingerprints. Her reflection in the mirror seemed delayed, its movements slightly out of sync with her own. At night, the invisible presence returned. Sometimes, she felt the mattress dip beside her, as if someone had sat down.

“Stop it,” she whispered into the darkness. “Please.”

A breath brushed her cheek. “You asked to remember.”

Lily did not remember asking. That terrified her more than anything else.

On the seventh night, she tried to fight back. She turned on every light in the apartment. She brewed coffee strong enough to burn her throat. “I will not sleep,” she told herself. But exhaustion claimed her anyway.

This time, the corpse stood before her. Its skin peeled away, revealing familiar bones. A silver ring slid from its finger and hit the floor.

Lily stared in horror. It was her ring.

“You died here,” the unseen voice whispered. “And you refused to leave.”

Memories flooded her mind. A rainy night. A bottle of pills. A desperate wish for silence.

“I didn’t mean to,” Lily whispered. “I just wanted it to stop.”

“Dreams do not end when the body does,” the corpse replied.

She woke up to darkness. Her phone was dead. The smell of rot filled the room. In the bathroom mirror, her reflection smiled when she did not.

“You’re not ready,” it said. “You still cling.”

Lily smashed the mirror, blood blooming across her knuckles. “I am alive,” she whispered. “I am alive.”

Laughter echoed through the apartment. “Then wake up.”

The final dream was different. The room was abandoned, dust-covered, silent. The corpse on the bed looked peaceful. It looked like her.

“What happens if I stay?” Lily asked.

“You rot. You repeat,” the presence replied.

“And if I leave?”

“Then the dream ends.”

Lily touched the corpse. It turned to ash. The smell vanished. The room brightened.

She woke up in a hospital bed. Machines beeped softly. A nurse smiled. “Welcome back.”

Tears filled Lily’s eyes. For the first time in a long time, the room felt real.

That night, her dreams were empty. No corpses. No whispers. Just darkness, quiet and gentle.

And somewhere, something unseen finally let her go.