Nightmare Notes

Jacob Turner sat at his small desk, staring at the blank screen of his laptop. The clock on the wall ticked softly, its hands frozen at 2:00 a.m. For the past three nights, Jacob hadn't slept. He had always struggled with insomnia, but this time, it felt worse. He was a writer, and his job was to create stories, but now, he couldn't even form a single sentence. Every idea felt hollow, every word empty.

The wind outside howled, rattling the windows of his small apartment. His eyes burned from exhaustion, and a dull ache pulsed in his head. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples when suddenly, a faint scratching sound caught his attention. It was coming from the hallway, just outside his front door.

Jacob paused, listening. Maybe it was just the wind. But then, he heard it again—a light, deliberate sound, like something being slid under the door.

Cautiously, he stood up and walked to the door. His fingers hesitated on the doorknob, but he opened it just a crack. There was nothing outside except the dimly lit hallway. He looked down and saw a small piece of paper lying on the floor, partially tucked under the door.

Frowning, he picked it up and unfolded it. The handwriting was shaky, almost childlike. The note simply read:

"Beware. The nightmares are coming."

A chill crawled down Jacob's spine. He quickly checked the hallway again. It was empty. No footsteps, no shadows—nothing. Confused, he closed the door and locked it. Maybe it was just a prank, he thought, tossing the note on his desk.

Still, he couldn't shake the unease that clung to him. He sat back down and tried to write, but his mind kept drifting back to the note. Who would leave such a thing? And why?

That night, Jacob didn't sleep. When the sun finally rose, he dragged himself through the day, feeling more tired than ever. But by the time night fell again, he was back at his desk, staring at the screen, waiting for words that wouldn't come.

At 2:00 a.m., the scratching noise returned.

His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the door. Once again, he found another note, this one slightly longer:

"The nightmares will find you. You cannot escape."

Jacob's hands shook as he read the words. Who was doing this? He lived alone, and his apartment building was nearly empty. Most of the tenants were elderly, and none of them seemed like the type to play such cruel tricks.

He spent the rest of the night pacing, unable to focus. When the sun rose, he felt worse than before—exhausted, paranoid, and on edge. He couldn't concentrate on his work. All he could think about were the notes.

That evening, as darkness crept in again, Jacob couldn't ignore the growing sense of dread. The wind howled louder, rattling the windows with more force. By midnight, the entire apartment felt suffocating, the silence pressing in on him. He was almost afraid to check the door this time, but he couldn't resist.

At 2:00 a.m., another note arrived.

"Your nightmares will become real."

Jacob's blood ran cold. He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it into the trash. He wanted to believe it was just a sick joke, but a deep part of him knew something was wrong—terribly wrong.

That night, the nightmares began.

Jacob woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. In his dream, he had been trapped in his apartment, but it wasn't his apartment. The walls had been covered in shadowy figures, their faces twisted and contorted. They whispered his name over and over, their voices like nails scraping against his mind.

He shook off the terror and splashed cold water on his face. It was just a dream, he told himself, just a dream. But when he returned to his desk, he found another note waiting for him.

"They are coming for you. Soon, they will be real."

Jacob couldn't breathe. The handwriting was the same—shaky, childlike—but this time, it felt more menacing. He checked the door, but there was no sign of anyone. The hallway was as empty as ever.

The next few days were a blur. Jacob's insomnia worsened, and the nightmares grew more vivid. Each night, a new note appeared, describing something horrific—his apartment filling with dark water, hands reaching out from the walls, his reflection in the mirror coming to life. And each night, the nightmares followed the notes, matching them exactly.

By now, Jacob was terrified to sleep, terrified of the night. He didn't know what to do. He stopped answering calls from friends, stopped leaving his apartment. His world shrank to the size of his room, the notes, and the nightmares.

One night, after yet another note—**"The shadows will claim you tonight"—**Jacob decided he had had enough. He couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, desperate to leave the apartment, maybe even leave town. But when he reached for the doorknob, his hand froze.

A shadow stretched across the floor, moving slowly like smoke. It wasn't his shadow. It came from the hallway, slithering under the door.

Jacob stumbled back, his breath quickening. The shadow seemed to grow, pooling across the floor like liquid darkness. His heart raced, pounding in his ears. He tried to back away, but the walls seemed to close in on him.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the room grew colder. The air became thick like he was underwater. The shadow moved closer, reaching for him.

Desperate, Jacob grabbed his phone to call for help, but the screen wouldn't turn on. The lights flickered again and then went out completely, plunging the room into complete darkness.

In the pitch black, Jacob heard something—whispers, soft and distant, like voices carried on the wind. They grew louder, filling the room, surrounding him. He couldn't understand the words, but they felt wrong as if they weren't meant for human ears.

The shadows moved faster now, swirling around him. Jacob's heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him tightly. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

And then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the shadows vanished. The lights flickered back on. The room was silent.

Shaking, Jacob stumbled toward the door. He had to get out—now. But as he reached for the doorknob, he froze once more. Another note lay on the floor.

His hands trembled as he picked it up. The handwriting was the same, but this time, there was only one word:

"Run."

Without thinking, Jacob yanked the door open and ran down the hallway, not looking back. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get away.

The nightmares had crossed the line into reality, and now, he was running for his life.

Jacob never returned to his apartment. No one ever found out who—or what—had left the notes. But sometimes, late at night, when the wind howls and the world seems too quiet, people claim they hear a faint scratching sound like paper sliding under a door.

And those who do never sleep peacefully again.

Disclaimer:

This story has been generated by an AI. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The content is for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect any real-world situations or entities.