My chest was tight, as though something heavy was pressing down on it. My mouth felt stuffed with cotton dry, immobile, like I'd swallowed a fistful of dust. I couldn't breathe. My lungs scratched for air.
Suddenly, I jolted upright in bed, gasping like a drowning man. My room swam in darkness but not the comforting kind. Something was off. I was in my apartment, but everything felt... wrong. The walls had the same color, the same pictures. But the air was heavy. Stale. Alien.
When I looked out the window, my blood turned cold.
There was nothing.
Not darkness. Not fog. Nothing. Just pure, unending void, like the world outside had ceased to exist. No sky. No stars. No city. A perfect black vacuum where reality had been erased.
I turned back into the room, but the walls now looked... farther. The room seemed to stretch like elastic. As I stood from the bed, it was like I had stepped into another world a warped reflection of my home. Each step I took echoed too long, like I was walking in an empty cathedral.
I stumbled toward the kitchen. My throat was screaming for water; my mouth was bone-dry, as if I hadn't had a drop in days. But the hallway kept extending. The doorway pulled further and further away with every step I took, like the house was mocking me shifting, expanding, refusing to let me reach the end.
The longer I walked, the more the world began to dissolve. Doorways led to nothing. Walls curved in impossible angles. The floor below me creaked like it was made of bones.
Then, I heard it.
A voice.
Low, gravelly, like a whisper dragged across broken glass.
It came from behind me.
I froze. The sound of footsteps followed, slow and deliberate, as if someone was walking barefoot on cold wood.
I turned around.
No one.
But I could feel it something watching me, breathing with me, wearing my fear like perfume.
My head was spinning. My skin damp with sweat. I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. Was this a dream? A nightmare? Or had I finally lost my mind?
I just wanted it to stop.
Then "Knock knock."
The sound was sharp. Real. But there was no door in sight.
I spun again.
"Knock knock!"
Louder now. It had to be the main door.
I screamed into the void, "Who's there?!"
Silence.
And then, a reply. A voice smooth, young, male. Familiar, but distant.
"You chased me, remember?"
I didn't recognize the words. I didn't understand what he meant. My heart pounded like a drum. I moved forward, desperate to find the source.
The hallway no longer twisted. Now it was linear doors appearing on either side, unfamiliar and endless. I didn't remember my apartment having this many rooms. Hell, I didn't remember even one of these rooms.
Still, I moved ahead, pulled like a puppet.
Finally, I reached the main door. My hand trembled as I reached for the knob.
The moment I opened it, reality bent.
Instead of the corridor of my building, I found myself standing in an alleyway grimy, narrow, drenched in shadows. It was barely lit by a flickering streetlamp that buzzed like it was struggling to stay alive.
And then, I saw him.
A man bloodied, trembling, leaning against the brick wall like he was about to collapse. His clothes were torn, his face bruised beyond recognition. He looked at me as if I were the devil himself.
He opened his mouth, and spat blood onto the ground.
"You worthless piece of crap… you don't deserve to live," he growled.
I stepped back instinctively. "What the hell? I don't know you!"
The man's eyes widened, twitching with rage.
"Oh, now you don't know me? Then why were you chasing me, huh?! You were following me you knew what you were doing!"
"What the fuck is happening!?" I shouted, my voice cracking.
He lunged at me, screaming like a madman, "Somebody help me!!"
The glint of a blade caught the corner of my eye.
He was holding a knife.
He swung at me wildly. I barely dodged the first swipe, the blade slicing through the air inches from my face. I grabbed his wrist on instinct, struggling, wrestling him for control.
Adrenaline surged through me like a drug.
And then...
I twisted his arm.
The knife turned in his hand.
And I pushed.
The blade plunged into his stomach.
He gasped choked.
Blood poured out, warm and metallic, coating my hands.
He collapsed onto his knees, staring at me in disbelief as if I had betrayed him.
I stood over him, breathless, watching him bleed.
"Did you like that?" I whispered, trembling.
I wasn't sure who I was speaking to him, myself, or the thing that lived inside me.
"I didn't want to hurt you… I was just playing."
He tried to speak. Blood spilled from his mouth.
"Don't blame me," I said, kneeling beside him. "You tried to kill me first, remember? It's not my fault. I just gave you what you wanted."
His eyes faded.
"You're the one who's weak. If you can't take a knife hit… then you're the useless one. Not me."
He fell.
Still.
Dead.
I stood there, staring at the lifeless body, my breath slow, calm, steady. And then, the world began to dissolve again.
"Gasp!"
I woke up.
Soaked in sweat. My heart pounding in my ears like war drums. My shirt clung to my chest like a second skin. I was in bed. My apartment looked normal again.
Was it just a dream?
It had to be. No blood. No alley. No dying man.
I sat up, still panting. The lines between dreams and reality were beginning to blur.
"Am I going insane?" I whispered to myself. "That felt… too real."
Then, the doorbell rang.
I jumped.
A familiar voice yelled from outside. "RAHUL! OPEN UP!"
It was Sam.
I rushed to the door, half-relieved, half-numb. I unlocked it, and Sam barged in like he owned the place, grinning ear to ear.
"Bro!" he said, throwing his bag on the couch. "Why the long face? Not happy to see me?"
I forced a smile. "Do you know how many times I called you?"
"Oh yeah," he said sheepishly. "Forgot to tell you. My phone got stolen. Some guy on the train must've taken it."
"You could've just come here and told me in person."
He shrugged. "Was out of town for a couple days. Work trip. Didn't have time."
Despite the storm in my head, I let him stay.
We played games, drank beer, joked about stupid things, laughed like kids again. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Like the world was still sane. Like I was still sane.
We made instant noodles, spilled chips on the floor, and argued over which football team was better.
Sam even beat me at Mortal Kombat for the first time in years.
And just when I started to forget...
He flipped through channels lazily and stopped on the news.
A report flashed across the screen.
" a man was found dead in an alleyway last night. Victim appears to have died from a knife wound. No suspects yet. The murder weapon was found embedded in the victim's stomach. Authorities are calling it a bizarre case…"
I stopped breathing.
My entire body froze.
Sam didn't notice. He sipped his beer, oblivious.
But I… I was crumbling inside.
The alley. The knife. The way he bled.
It wasn't a dream.
It happened.
It happened.
I stared at the screen. The man's face was bruised beyond recognition, but something about it still felt familiar.
I felt like vomiting. The beer turned to acid in my throat.
"Hey," Sam said, nudging me. "You okay?"
I blinked rapidly and nodded.
"Yeah. Just… tired."
"Want me to change the channel?"
"Yeah," I said softly.
He flipped it, and some cartoon played in the background.
I forced a smile, pretended to laugh at his next joke.
But inside, I was crumbling.
Had I done it?
Had I murdered someone?
Was it self-defense?
Was I even awake?
Am I the killer?