They say dreams are born from imagination, a vast ocean of creativity where our thoughts float freely, unbound by logic or reality, and that nightmares, then, become the reflection of our deepest fears and unresolved problems. So, I wonder, what problems could I have had back then, being just a child?

From a young age, I always felt different. Despite my age, my way of reasoning was deeper than that of many children in my generation. I was kind to everyone, as I had been taught to be. However, each night, I was tormented by terrible nightmares. Even now, I wonder, what was going through my mind to generate such horrifying images? I never fully understood it, but I can still clearly remember the first time it happened. I was barely four years old, and all I had known until then were children’s TV shows, just like any other child. So, where could such a macabre imagination come from, capable of creating visions of mutilated bodies and hallways filled with blood and entrails?

Those dreams terrified me. It was inevitable that I would end up asking for help. My parents, always attentive and loving, didn’t hesitate to offer their support. They were devout, like many families, and turned to what they knew: they blessed me, placed crosses, bracelets, and necklaces, even left holy water under my bed. They didn’t let me sleep alone after that. However, all of it proved to be only temporary relief. After a few nights, the nightmares returned, sometimes with greater intensity or in subtler forms, but they always managed to instill fear in the child I was.

Over time, I stopped telling my parents about my nightmares. I knew that worrying them would only make things worse, so I pretended everything was fine. I grew accustomed to the routine of suffering, night after night, a different form of torture. But as I grew, so did my fears. What had once been mere visions of mutilations transformed into something much darker. I found myself trapped in unknown streets, surrounded by blood and shadows, ghosts whispering, hiding as if they, too, were fleeing from something worse.

That was when they appeared. Creatures I had never seen before. Some were small, others enormous, impossible to ignore. Some with massive wings, others without legs, writhing as they turned to look at me for the first time. In that instant, the first thought that came to my mind was: demons? Terror paralyzed me, and before I could move, I woke up. From that moment on, each night became a battle for my survival. I had two options: run or die.

Those creatures pursued me relentlessly. They slowed me down, making me feel heavy, as if my legs wouldn’t respond. If I managed to lose them, I would finally wake up, but if they caught me, they would torture me in indescribable ways before killing me. Then, I would wake again, with the echo of the pain still present in my body. Sometimes, even after waking, I could feel the same pain in the places where they had mutilated or stabbed me. It was a slow, persistent sensation—unfortunately, it was only the beginning of everything that was to come.

Many times, I spent the entire day pondering how to stay calm and remind myself that it was all just a dream. But at night, as soon as I closed my eyes, and the images began to take shape, I often felt like I was no longer myself, instead becoming someone else, someone with a predetermined role in that world.

I seemed to know what to do at every moment, and sometimes, I would instinctively move through places that felt strangely familiar, even though I had never seen them before. Every corner, every shadow, seemed known to me. It was as if the version of myself in the dream knew what needed to be done but was always trapped in the same routine of terror. No matter how hard I tried to remember it was just a dream, something pushed me to accept that role of victim, repeating the cycle of fear and despair over and over again.

As I grew older, I honed my reflexes within the nightmares. I learned to be more aware, to read my surroundings, and to endure the pain. Although, to be honest, I had never been stabbed or shot in real life, so I couldn’t be sure if what I felt in the dreams was the same. However, something curious happened: everything I learned in my dreams seemed to have some kind of utility in the real world. I remember one dream in particular—one of many—in which I managed to lift myself into the air. My inexperience worked against me, and I ended up spinning out of control until I fell headfirst and woke with a jolt.

It was around that time that I met someone special.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I decided to take a walk in the park. The sun was shining, and the laughter of children filled the air, but my mind was lost in dark thoughts. I walked distractedly, watching the people around me, when suddenly, I heard her.

—Hey, kid! —said a cheerful voice to my left. I turned, and there she was, sitting on a bench with an ice cream in her hand, pointing at me—. Do you know where the orphanage kids go after a nuclear missile? —she asked, tilting her head—. Everywhere! —she shouted, raising the arm that wasn’t holding the ice cream.

I was startled and let out an involuntary laugh.

—Or do you know why they don’t send self-guided missiles to Africa? Because they can’t find the white!

The way she said it, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, made me feel like I was watching a show rather than just hearing a joke. It was clear she meant it in good humor, as if trying to lighten life’s absurdities with dark humor.

Intrigued, I approached her. —Do you always make fun of people like this? —I asked, enjoying the lighthearted tone.

—Yes, of the world in general. —she replied, shrugging with a playful smile—. Besides, what better way to deal with the absurdity of life than by making dark jokes about random things?

Taking the opportunity, I sat beside her. —Sometimes, I think humor is the only thing that keeps me sane. Though my jokes tend to be... darker.

She turned her head, looking at me curiously. —Darker, you say. Something like, “My life is so dark it should have its own horror movie”? —Her laughter was infectious, and soon I found myself laughing along with her.

—More like, “My nightmares are so bad, I’m thinking of suing my brain for damages,” —I replied, letting out a nervous laugh.

—That’s brilliant! —she exclaimed, leaning forward—. We should start a support group for tortured dreamers. We could have weekly meetings to share our horror stories... or not. What a waste of time.

I couldn’t help but observe her more closely and continued talking to her for quite some time. It was obvious she was brilliant; she always had a sharp response and a unique perspective on things.

—I never struggled much with school subjects or anything like that —she said with a mischievous smile—. Though sometimes, I wish math had a bit more excitement.

She told me about how she spent hours drawing and painting, creating worlds full of color and vibrant characters. —My drawings are the only thing that really connects me to the world, —she confessed—. It’s like I can pour everything I feel onto paper, even the things I can’t say.

But despite all those qualities, there was a shadow that followed her. Her tone turned melancholic when she mentioned the loneliness she felt. —Sometimes, I feel so alone, —she admitted, watching her ice cream melt in her hand—. I’m good at almost everything, but I never quite fit in. I don’t have real friends, just acquaintances who stay on the surface. It’s like they can never see beyond the girl who stands out in class. And when I saw you... that look, your lost look, I decided to do for you what I’d like someone to do for me when I’m feeling that way. When I saw you, I thought we’d get along well.

Her confession resonated deeply within me. It felt like looking into a mirror. I, too, was someone who excelled at many things but often felt isolated. —Sometimes I feel like my life is a blank canvas, —I replied—. An incomplete work that never becomes what it should be.

—Exactly. —she said, her eyes shining with understanding—. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever find someone who truly understands my words, who really gets who I am. It’s like everyone around me is living in a colorful landscape, while I’m stuck in a gray forest.

—I feel the same, —I said, realizing how our experiences intertwined—. Most people don’t see beyond the surface. Like my nightly nightmares—they should at least have some logic or sense, but when I tell people about them, they either laugh or look at me with pity. It’s like everything I feel doesn’t make sense to them.

In that moment, I realized that despite being so different on the surface, we shared a unique connection. We were both good at almost everything and carried a void that seemed impossible to fill. In that connection, I found some comfort amidst our loneliness.

She was always willing to listen to everything I had to say. She never seemed bored by our conversations, and her constant laughter brightened every meeting from then on. Although I had tried to talk about my dreams with other people before, no one, except my parents, had ever taken me seriously. But she was different. She believed me. She listened to every detail, and in the end, not only did she validate me, but she also seemed to understand me in a way no one else ever had. Her words echoed in my mind over and over, filling the space that doubt had previously occupied with relief.

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—Well, I guess I’m not so crazy after all, —I told her, letting out a sigh of relief, feeling understood by someone for the first time.

—Maybe you are, —she replied with a smile.

—Huh? —I turned to look at her, slightly puzzled by her comment.

—But if that’s the case... we're already two. —she concluded, smiling warmly, making the idea of being crazy seem not so terrifying for the first time.

Over time, I started to notice something strange, something I couldn’t easily explain. The nightmares were still the same—intense and terrifying. But what began to unsettle me more wasn’t the monsters or the ghosts tormenting me; it was the fact that, each time I woke up, the pain I felt in the dreams seemed more real.

At first, I thought it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. After all, who hasn’t had nightmares so vivid that, upon waking, the fear still lingers? However, over time, those echoes began to leave marks.

I remember one particular night. In the dream, one of those creatures caught me. I felt its claws tear through my arm, a sharp pain that made me scream until I woke up. But when I opened my eyes, the pain didn’t go away. Looking down at my arm, I saw three thin marks, almost like scratches. They were superficial, but they were there. I couldn’t stop staring at them, frozen, trying to convince myself that I had scratched myself while sleeping, that it was just an accident... but deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.

And that wasn’t the only time. As the nightmares intensified, the marks on my body became more frequent. Sometimes I’d wake up with small cuts, other times with bruises I couldn’t explain. It was as if the pain from the dreams not only followed me into the waking world but was beginning to manifest on my skin.

What scared me the most was that, with each passing night, those injuries seemed to become more real. They were no longer just scratches; they became scars that lingered for days, even weeks. The pain, once only a fleeting sensation upon waking, began to accompany me throughout the day, as if the nightmares refused to let go of me.

I knew something wasn’t right, but how could I explain it? How do you tell someone that the wounds from your nightmares are real? It was something I was terrified to admit, even to myself.

One afternoon, as we were sitting in the park, the topic of my nightmares came up again in conversation. It had been a while since I’d talked about them, but that day, after so many nights of anguish, I felt I couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

—It’s the same every night, —I said, staring at the ground—. Those monsters, those creatures… They chase me, they torture me. And no matter what I do, they always catch me. I feel like I’ll never be able to escape them. It’s... terrifying.

She stayed silent for a moment, watching my trembling hands. Then, she took one of them in hers, warm and soft.

—You know, —she began in her calm and sweet tone—, I think all those things chasing you in your dreams aren’t real. They’re just fragments of your imagination. And as scary as they are, they can’t actually hurt you.

I looked at her without saying a word, hiding my injuries at that moment, while her words began to sink in.

—But the most important thing, —she continued—, is that you don’t have to run from them. Maybe what you need isn’t to escape but to face them. What if, instead of running, you stand your ground and show them you’re not afraid? They’re just dreams. And you… you’re stronger than anything your mind can create.

Her smile was so soft and understanding that it almost made me forget the terror I’d been feeling for so long.

—What if they hurt me? —I asked in a whisper, as if saying it aloud might summon them.

—The pain isn’t real, —she said, gently stroking my hand—. You only feel it because your mind tells you to. But if you decide they can’t touch you, then they won’t be able to. You control your dreams, even if you don’t realize it. You have the power to change what you see, to turn those monsters into smoke, into nothing. All you need is to believe you can.

Her words brought me a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time, the idea of facing those horrors didn’t seem so impossible. With her by my side, I felt braver.

—Trust yourself, —she said softly—. It’s just a dream, and you’re the master of your dreams. Don’t let them control you. Make them disappear.

That made me think. I was scared—an intense, constant fear—but I knew I couldn’t live like this forever. That very night, I tried to mentally prepare myself to face whatever was haunting me in my nightmares. I repeated to myself that those creatures wouldn’t be my hunters anymore—they’d be my prey. After imagining how I’d confront them for a long time, I finally lay down. But sleep didn’t come.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed before I got up, feeling the weight of insomnia and anxiety. I stepped out into my backyard, seeking fresh air, and lay down on the grass, trying to calm myself. I pulled out my phone and called her number, but there was no answer.

I stayed there, staring at the sky. Then I saw something strange: the moon seemed to be growing, getting bigger, as if it were moving closer to the Earth.

—What...? When did I fall asleep? —I wondered aloud—. Or is this not a dream?

But it had to be. Something like this wasn’t possible.

—Angel!

The voice made me turn, and when I looked toward the backyard door, I saw my parents. Their faces were filled with a terrifying panic.

—We have to get out of here, honey! —my mom shouted, running toward me, her eyes full of desperation.

—Don’t get distracted, —whispered a horrible voice in my mind. When I looked up, I saw them—those creatures, descending from the roof like hungry shadows, their eyes fixed on us.

Before I could react, the creatures pounced on my mother. In one swift, brutal movement, one of them tore her arm off and severed both of her legs. She fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Her cries pierced the air, and they tore through my soul. I was frozen in place.

—Danna! —my father roared, his face a mixture of rage and despair as he ran toward the creatures, sobbing.

The creatures laughed, looking at me with disdain. One of them extended its long, grotesque arms and grabbed my father by the neck, lifting him several feet off the ground. They looked at me as if I were nothing, as if they were merely waiting their turn to play with me.

I couldn’t move. Fear held me captive, pinning me to the ground. My legs, my arms—none of my muscles responded. I was trapped in my own body, helpless and terrified, watching everything I loved being destroyed.

—Angel…! Ru...n... —my father managed to say, his voice weak and strained, before one of the creatures grabbed his head and, without mercy, crushed it completely.

Then, all of them turned toward me, their empty eyes and sinister smiles fixed on me. Their lips didn’t move, but their voices echoed in my mind in a chilling, synchronized chorus.

—We warned you, don’t get distracted.

I felt a cold hand on my shoulder, and its pressure froze my blood. I saw them advancing, their twisted forms writhing as they came closer, while the moon continued to descend behind me, so close it seemed ready to collide with the Earth. In front of me, my father lay lifeless, and my mother barely clung to life, letting out faint whimpers of pain that blended with the echo of the creatures’ laughter.

—I’m going to die… I’m going to die… —I whispered repeatedly, tears blurring my vision and a crushing weight on my chest making it hard to breathe.

But then, in the middle of the terrifying silence, her voice echoed in my mind again, so clear it felt as though she were right beside me.

—It’s just a dream, —she whispered, as if trying to cut through my fear—. And you’re the master of your dreams. Don’t let them control you… Make them disappear.

Her words were like a spark. It was her voice, so familiar and strong, that somehow managed to calm me, even amidst the chaos. I clung to that sensation like an anchor. Because in that moment… she was the only thing that made sense.

In an instant, all the fear, the paralysis, the pain… simply vanished. None of it remained. In its place, the only thing I felt was a burning fury, an indescribable hatred toward those creatures that had hunted and cornered me until now.

The peace of her voice resonated in my mind, transforming my fear into something primal. It was as if everything I had endured up to that moment turned into a single emotion that I needed to release. And then, I screamed. A scream so deep that it felt as though it ripped through the air around me. The entire world of my dreams began to shake, to distort as if the ground itself were giving way beneath my feet, and the creatures, who until now had relentlessly pursued me, were also consumed by anger. Their bodies twisted and contorted as they tried to reach me. But now, they couldn’t touch me. They were trapped in a storm of their own hatred, and I, at the center, finally felt like I was in control.

Suddenly, I woke up with a jolt, my heart pounding wildly, gasping as if I had just run for miles. But as I blinked, I noticed something terrifying: I could still see the world of my dreams blending with the reality of my room. The shadows of the real world and those of the nightmare seemed to merge. The walls of my room were warped, the floor trembled beneath my feet, and the moonlight streaming through the window distorted, casting strange shapes and shadows that shouldn’t have been there.

And then, before I could understand what was happening, something dark and dense shot out of my body as I woke. It was them—those creatures—propelled like specters against the walls, crashing violently before collapsing to the ground. I saw them writhe, dragging themselves toward me with those empty eyes, their mouths frozen in sinister grins. The world seemed to shake with their growls, and my breath quickened, but I couldn’t move. I stayed there, frozen, watching as they faded away, leaving only their shadows behind.

Everything went silent. I stayed there, unmoving, unsure if what had just happened had been a dream… or something much more real.

In the middle of my destroyed room, I stared into the void with a strange, unfamiliar calm... and a barely contained smile. Something inside me wanted to laugh, to let out this euphoria, almost as if enjoying the chaos around me was the most natural thing in the world. It was absurd and yet so liberating. For a few seconds, I felt like I was watching everything from a different angle, as if I were merely a spectator enjoying a great show.

Part of me reveled in the hatred those creatures had left behind, in the chaos of the room, in the sight of the dark remnants crawling and fading into the floor. A delicious shiver coursed through me, so unlike the fear that used to suffocate me.

However, the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway abruptly brought me back to reality. The door to my room flew open, and my parents appeared in the doorway, panic painted on their faces.

—What’s going on? —my mother asked, her voice trembling with fear—. We heard a loud crash… are you okay?

I blinked, exhaling the breath I’d been holding and lowering my gaze to the floor. Slowly, I regained my composure, suppressing the laughter that still threatened to escape my chest.

—It’s nothing, —I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady, trying to sound normal—. Just… just a nightmare.