The room was cold when you woke up. The kind of cold that gnawed at your skin, pricked through your bones, and seeped into the very air you breathed. Your throat dry, your body stiff as if it had been frozen in the night. You blink once, twice, your mind swimming in that hazy space between dream and reality. Then, a noise—soft, almost imperceptible—like nails dragging lightly over the walls.

You freeze.

Your eyes, sluggish and heavy, begin to adjust to the dark. There, in the corner of the ceiling, something shifts. You blink again, your breath catching in your chest, eyes straining to see. But it’s too dark, too... wrong.

A figure.

Crawling.

The shape is vaguely human, limbs grotesquely twisted as it skitters, not walks, across the ceiling. Its movements are unnaturally smooth, too fluid for anything that should be human. The figure drags itself closer, head twisted at an unnatural angle, rotating—rotating—until a pair of hollow eyes meet yours.

The smile. Oh, God, the smile.

It’s wide, impossibly wide, stretching from ear to ear in a way that makes your stomach lurch. The teeth are too white, too sharp, jagged like broken glass, glinting in the faint slivers of moonlight peeking through the blinds. Your heart thuds in your chest, every muscle in your body locked in place as if bound by invisible chains.

“I’m sorry,” it whispers, the voice scraping at your ears like nails on a chalkboard. “Did I wake you?”

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. The stench hits you then—thick and sour, like rotting meat left in the sun for days. It clings to your throat, suffocating you, making your stomach turn. It crawls closer, closer still, until it’s directly above you, its head dangling down, upside down, that smile never fading.

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“I’ve been watching you,” it says, the words dripping like venom from its mouth. “You were sleeping so peacefully. It’s a shame to wake you… now.”

Your chest tightens, panic swelling like bile. But the figure only chuckles, a low, guttural sound that vibrates in your bones.

“Do you... dream?” it asks suddenly, tilting its head to the side in an unnerving, almost childlike curiosity. “What do you dream of, little one?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, suffocated by the terror gripping your throat.

“Dreams...” it muses, slowly lowering itself from the ceiling, its limbs stretching, distorting, until they dangle just inches above your face. “Such fragile things, aren’t they? Just like you.”

The figure lands softly, silently, crouching on the bed now, inches from your body. It leans in close, the stench overwhelming, and whispers, “I can smell your fear. It’s... delicious.”

Your pulse is hammering, thudding so hard you can feel it in your skull. The room feels too small, too tight, the walls closing in as the figure leans even closer, its cold breath brushing against your ear.

“Shall we play a game?” it asks, grinning wider—impossibly wider—its face stretching, distorting, pulling tight against its skull. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You want to scream, but your voice is trapped, suffocated by the weight of the terror pressing down on your chest. The figure reaches out a hand, long, bony fingers trailing lightly over your skin. The touch is ice cold, sending jolts of electricity through your body.

“Let’s see...” it murmurs, its voice a low hum. “How much blood do you think you have inside you?”

The question hangs in the air, absurd, horrific. Before you can even process the words, the figure’s hand snaps out, fingers curling around your throat in a vice-like grip. You thrash, panic taking over, but it’s too strong, impossibly strong.

“Shh... shh...” it coos, tightening its grip as your vision starts to blur. “It’ll all be over soon. Just a little game... a little experiment.”

The figure's smile grows wider still, its eyes gleaming with sadistic glee as it drags a finger slowly across your chest, pressing just hard enough to draw blood. The warmth of it spreads, soaking into the fabric of your shirt, as the creature tilts its head, watching with twisted fascination.

“Let’s see how long you last,” it whispers.

Your world tilts, darkens, as the figure’s smile is the last thing you see before the shadows swallow you whole.