“Dream Within a Dream”

Ethan sat bolt upright, gasping for air. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the peeling wallpaper. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. He could still feel the touch of cold hands on his neck—the ones that had tried to strangle him moments ago.

But when he looked around, there was no one.

“It was just a dream,” he muttered to himself, running a trembling hand across his face.

Or was it?

He tried to steady his breathing, forcing himself to believe that what he had experienced was nothing more than a nightmare. Yet, as he looked down at his hands, he froze. His fingers bore faint red marks, as though someone had truly been gripping him.

Fear clawed at him.

Ethan stood, stumbling toward the door of his apartment. He grabbed the handle and pulled—only to find himself standing in the same bedroom again. The peeling wallpaper. The shadows. The broken clock ticking too slowly.

His throat went dry.

He tried again, this time running toward the window. He yanked it open, expecting the cold air of the city night to wash over him. Instead, he saw his reflection staring back at him in the glass—his eyes bloodshot, lips moving without sound. The reflection smirked. Ethan staggered backward.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered. “This isn’t real.”

From the corner of the room, a whisper echoed, “But isn’t it?”

Ethan spun, his heart hammering against his ribs. A figure stepped forward from the darkness. It was him. The same face, same clothes—but eyes darker, emptier.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” the double said.

“What the hell are you?” Ethan demanded, his voice shaking.

The other Ethan smiled coldly. “I’m the part of you that sleeps while you dream. And you’ve wandered too far.”

Suddenly, the walls pulsed, shifting as if they were alive. The ceiling bent downward, dripping with something black and thick. Ethan tried to run, but his feet sank into the floor as if it were quicksand.

The double moved closer. “You think you’ve been dreaming. But this is where you really are. This room… this endless loop. You only wake up inside another dream.”

Ethan screamed and tore himself free, sprinting toward the door again. This time, when it opened, he stumbled into a hospital corridor. The walls were blinding white, the smell of disinfectant choking him.

A woman in a nurse’s uniform rushed toward him. “Mr. Hayes! You need to lie down. You’ve been in a coma for weeks.”

Ethan’s mind reeled. “A coma?”

“Yes,” the nurse said, placing a hand on his arm. “This confusion is normal. You’ve been dreaming, but you’re awake now. Safe.”

Relief washed over him like warm water. He followed the nurse down the hall, his legs shaking. At the end of the corridor, she opened a door. Inside was a hospital bed, machines beeping softly, and—

—Ethan.

His body lay there, pale, unmoving, tubes connected to his arms.

He stumbled backward in horror. “That… that’s me.”

The nurse’s smile widened unnaturally. Her teeth sharpened into jagged points. “No, Ethan. That’s the part of you that refuses to let go. You should have never woken up.”

The machines screamed with alarms as his other self sat up in the bed, eyes snapping open. The figure grinned with the same dark emptiness he had seen before. “You don’t belong here.”

The lights flickered. The corridor melted away, dragging Ethan back into the peeling-walled room. The broken clock ticked once, then stopped completely.

He fell to his knees, clutching his head. “Please… just let me wake up!”

A voice, his voice, whispered in his ear: “You already did.”

Darkness swallowed him.

When Ethan opened his eyes again, he was sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat. Sunlight streamed through the window, warm and real. He gasped, clutching at the sheets. The room looked normal. No peeling wallpaper. No broken clock.

He laughed shakily. “It was just a dream. Thank God.”

Then, from the corner of the room, the clock ticked once. Slowly.

Too slowly.

And Ethan realized, with bone-deep dread, that he had only woken inside another dream.