"Waking Into Darkness"

--- It started on a cold, silent night. My chest tightened, my breath turned shallow, and my voice faded to a whisper. Alone in my apartment, the darkness closed in until everything went black. I thought I had died. But I awoke in a strange forest, beneath a sickly green sky. The trees were barren, their twisted limbs like claws. The silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural. Shadows darted through the trees, whispers slithered through the air. I was being watched. Driven by instinct, I walked. Eventually, I came to a crooked bridge over a river of black water. A pale figure in a tattered cloak waited on the other side. He silently raised his arm and pointed behind me. I turned—and saw a monstrous creature of shadow and flame. Its voice didn’t enter through my ears but pressed into my thoughts: “You have crossed into the realm of the forgotten.” I ran. I sprinted through darkness until I collapsed. The earth beneath me cracked open, and I fell—through layers of time, voices, and screams—before landing hard in a new nightmare. Now I was in a fleshy hallway with pulsing walls and flickering lights. The air reeked of rot. At the end was a door... my apartment door. Inside, everything looked normal. But the TV screen reflected silent figures standing behind me. I turned. Nothing. Then the TV switched on. A news anchor’s voice: “The young man who died last night was buried today. Neighbors report strange occurrences.” My picture flashed on the screen. I touched my face—cold. My breath left no fog. I screamed. Then I woke up. In my bed. Safe. Breathing. Just a dream. Or so I thought—until I saw fingerprints outside my window. My door, which I’d locked, was ajar. A shadow shifted in the corner. I tried to dismiss it as sleep paralysis. I even called a friend. He laughed—until he glanced into the dark corner. His expression changed instantly. “Who lives with you now?” he whispered. “Please tell me you didn’t actually die.” He left in a panic, refusing to explain. That night, I didn’t sleep. The shadow moved along the walls, lights failed, my phone died. My TV showed my funeral—mourners walking past my coffin as I watched from the couch. Again, I screamed. No one heard. Then I woke up. Again. Now I was on a train. The passengers sat frozen, staring forward. I asked where we were going. No one answered. Outside the window: the same dead forest. The same crooked bridge. We were going back. Then it clicked. Each time I “woke up,” I was still dreaming—or sinking deeper into something else. Each layer peeled reality away. Finally, I awoke once more—in a coffin. The lid creaked open to reveal my apartment ceiling. I sat up, gasping. And I realized the truth. I had never really woken up. Maybe I never would. Or maybe… I was still dead. ---