When I went up to the terrace for some air, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The wind blew calm and steady, brushing against my skin like a quiet song. It was soothing, almost heavenly, after all the chaos of the day. I never realized how much comfort I could find in the warmth hidden inside such cold winds.
I let myself sink into that feeling, letting the world go silent for once. But then—my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I hesitated before answering, but curiosity won.
The line crackled. Then came a sound that sent chills crawling up my spine—someone breathing. Slow, deliberate. And then a voice, low and distorted:
"Meet me at Termont Park."
Before I could speak, the call cut off.
My chest tightened. The air that once felt like heaven now pressed down on me like a shroud. The calm winds suddenly felt colder, sharper, slicing through the silence with unease.
Who was that?
Should I go?
What if it's a trap?
Every instinct screamed at me to stay away. It sounded too eerie, too dangerous. Maybe it was a wrong number. Maybe it wasn't even meant for me.
I decided not to go.
But the moment that thought settled in my head, my phone buzzed again. A text. From the same number.
My hand trembled as I opened it.
It was a picture.
The car. The same one from the accident.
My heart lurched. My chest tightened with the same stabbing pain I felt earlier, like the dream had reached through the screen and clawed at me again.
My phone slipped in my hand, almost crashing to the floor. I caught it just in time, my palms slick with sweat.
The image glared back at me, cold and undeniable. The same car. The same dent in the hood. The same number plate I saw in my dream.
My breath came shallow, ragged. Whoever sent this knew.
I spun in place, scanning the terrace, the rooftops around me. Empty. Quiet. Too quiet.
Another buzz.
A second text. Just three words:
"Don't ignore me."
The calm wind that once felt comforting now carried weight—like the air itself was watching me. My chest tightened.
I typed back with shaky fingers: Who are you?
The reply came:
"You already know."
I froze, my whole body locking in place. The phone felt heavier in my hand.
Already know? What did that mean?
I stared into the dark horizon, heart thundering, when I caught it—faint, almost hidden—a silhouette on the far side of the street, still as stone, head tilted upward… right in my direction.
My phone buzzed again.
"See you soon."
After thinking it over, I realized this was more than just some random call. This was bad—worse than I wanted to admit. But if I ever wanted answers, I had to see the person behind my dreams. I had to know who he was, and why he was doing this to me.
Curiosity clawed its way past my fear. Against every instinct screaming at me to stay home, I went.
The further I walked, the heavier my chest felt. That same dull ache—the same one from the classroom—throbbed in time with my heartbeat. Each step closer to Termont Park made the air colder, thicker, like I was walking into another world.
And then I saw him.
He stood just ahead, cloaked in shadows near the park's edge. I couldn't see his face clearly, but the shape, the posture—he was definitely someone from my class. That much I knew instantly.
I swallowed hard. "Why don't you come out of the shadows?" I called, my voice sharper than I felt.
He didn't move. His reply came low and heavy, like the sound of a door closing.
"The dreams you see… they're my doing. They will haunt you every time you sleep. But if you join me…"
He paused, and for a second the wind itself seemed to hold its breath.
"I will release you from that pain."
His voice was dark and heavy, each word landing like a stone. The weight of it pressed on my chest, and I had to force myself to stay upright.
I clenched my fists. "Join you? What does that even mean? I'm just a normal person. What use could you possibly have for me?"
The figure tilted his head, and I swear I caught the glint of a smirk in the dark.
"You think you're normal?" His voice rolled out slow, deliberate. "If you were… you wouldn't be seeing what you see. You wouldn't feel the pain that isn't yours."
My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.
"What are you talking about?" I snapped, though my voice cracked at the edges.
"You've already touched the line between dream and death," he said. "That makes you valuable. More than you can imagine."
He stepped forward, just enough for the dim light to graze part of his face, though it was still too obscured to recognize. My pulse hammered in my ears.
"Join me," he repeated, softer this time. "And I'll show you what's really happening. Or keep running…" His words stretched into a whisper. "…and the dreams will tear you apart."