Maya was used to vivid dreams. She often woke up with details fresh in her mind — colors, smells, even sounds. But nothing could have prepared her for the morning she found strawberry juice on her pillow.
The dream had been simple: she was in a sunny field, eating fresh strawberries, their sweetness staining her lips. When she opened her eyes, the taste was still on her tongue. At first, she laughed. Until she noticed the red blotches smeared across her pillowcase. Sticky. Real.
She told herself she must’ve spilled something in her sleep. But the next night proved her wrong.
She dreamed of swimming in the ocean. The salt stung her eyes, waves crashing over her head. She woke up gasping, hair damp, sheets cold and wet as if she had just climbed out of the water.
Panic set in. Something was happening. Something impossible.
Over the next week, her dreams grew stranger — and so did the aftermath. She dreamed of walking through a garden, and woke up with dirt beneath her fingernails. She dreamed of holding a child’s toy, and found a tiny wooden horse in her bed. She dreamed of fire… and woke up coughing, her lungs raw from smoke.
Maya tried to stay awake, terrified of what might happen if she slept too deeply. Coffee, energy drinks, long walks at midnight. But exhaustion always won.
And the dreams got darker.
One night, she dreamed she was in a forest at night. The air was cold, and something moved between the trees. She heard her name whispered. When she woke, she found leaves and broken twigs scattered across her bedroom floor.
Another night, she dreamed she was standing in front of a stranger, a tall man in a black coat. He handed her a letter. She woke up clutching it in her hands. The paper was yellowed, the ink faded, the handwriting unfamiliar. It only said three words:
“Don’t sleep again.”
Maya’s hands shook as she read it over and over. Whoever — or whatever — was reaching her through her dreams, it wasn’t random. Someone was trying to warn her.
But the worst came when she dreamed of drowning again. This time, the water didn’t stop when she opened her eyes. She woke coughing violently, her lungs filling with liquid. Her sheets were soaked, her chest heaving, her body convulsing as if she’d been pulled straight out of the ocean.
She barely made it to the floor before the water subsided, leaving her gasping in terror.
For hours, she sat shaking, staring at the stained carpet, the saltwater soaking into the fibers.
And then, just before dawn, she realized something.
There were wet footprints across her room.
Leading from her bed… to the door.
