Every Time I Sleep, It Gets Closer

The first time, it was far away.

So far I almost didn’t notice it.

It was just a shape.

Standing at the end of a long hallway.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Just… there.

I woke up with a strange feeling.

Not fear.

Not yet.

Just… awareness.

Like something had seen me.

The next night—

it was closer.

Not much.

Just a few steps.

But enough that I could tell:

It wasn’t random.

It was coming toward me.

I tried to laugh it off.

Dreams repeat.

Brains are weird.

It meant nothing.

But the third night—

it was halfway down the hall.

And this time—

I could feel it.

Not physically.

Not like touch.

But like pressure.

Like the air around me was tightening.

I woke up sweating.

Heart racing.

And for the first time—

I checked my room.

Nothing.

Of course.

But I didn’t sleep well after that.

Because deep down—

I knew what was coming.

The fourth night—

it reached the doorway.

I couldn’t see its face.

Only its shape.

Tall.

Too tall.

And still—

not moving fast.

Just… closer.

Every time.

Every single time.

I stopped sleeping after that.

Or at least—

I tried to.

Coffee.

Lights on.

Phone in hand.

Anything to stay awake.

Because I knew—

the moment I slept—

it would continue.

And I didn’t want to know what happened when it reached me.

But the body always wins.

Eventually—

I slept.

And this time—

there was no hallway.

I was in my room.

Exactly as it was.

Except—

I couldn’t move.

And it was standing in the corner.

Closer than ever before.

Watching.

I tried to scream.

Nothing came out.

I tried to move.

Nothing happened.

And then—

slowly—

it tilted its head.

Like it was curious.

Like it had been waiting.

I woke up choking.

And that’s when I noticed something new.

The corner of my room—

felt wrong.

Too dark.

Too deep.

Like it hadn’t fully come back with me.

The next night—

I didn’t remember falling asleep.

But I remembered the dream.

Because this time—

it was beside the bed.

I couldn’t see it fully.

Only pieces.

A hand.

Long.

Thin.

Reaching.

Not touching.

Just…

hovering.

Waiting.

I woke up screaming.

And my arm—

ached.

Like something had almost grabbed it.

That’s when I realized the truth.

It wasn’t just getting closer in dreams.

It was learning the way.

Mapping it.

Finding the path between there—

and here.

Now—

I’m afraid to sleep.

Because I know—

next time—

it won’t be reaching.

It will be touching.

And after that—

I don’t think I’ll wake up at all.