A Scary Dream Story Called
The Never-Ending Dream

This is a scary dream story called "The Never-Ending Dream," an exploration of the fragile boundary between reality and the subconscious. This story was inspired by the universal experience of nightmares and the lingering dread they can cast over our waking lives. I wanted to explore what happens when the lines blur and the terror we escape in sleep begins to seep into our reality, questioning our perceptions and sanity.

I invite you to delve into the depths of fear, isolation, and the unknown. This tale is a homage to classic psychological horror, aiming to unsettle and provoke thought about the unseen forces that may influence our lives.

So, dim the lights, settle into a comfortable spot, and prepare to step into a world where dreams don't end when you open your eyes.

Sweet dreams, my friends!

Brenda
Weird as Ever

The night was gloomy and silent. Sarah bolted upright in her bed, heart pounding against her ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She gasped for air, shaking off the lingering traces of a nightmare that had wrapped itself around her mind. The sheets, damp with sweat, crowded against her and a quick glance at the nightstand clock made her stomach drop.

It was 3:33 a.m… again!

The room was shrouded in darkness, save the faint light of the digital clock casting an eerie red glow on the walls. To Sarah, it resembled a glimpse into a fire pit, almost as if she were beholding the depths of hell. Shadows were thick in the room, heavier than usual, as if the room itself was pressing down on her. She rubbed her temples, trying to dispel the fog of dread that clung to her body and soul.

It was just a dream, she assured herself. Just a dream. Go back to sleep.

Deep down though, she knew it wasn’t a dream. This was the fourth night in a row she'd awoken at the exact same time, 3:33 a.m., drenched in sweat with a cold knot of fear tightening in her chest. The details of the nightmare eluded her, slipping through her fingers like sand, but the terror it left behind was all too real.

She swung her legs out of bed, the old wooden floor creaking under her bare feet as she shuffled her way to the bathroom. The light flickered on, harsh and uninviting, but tonight the glare was welcome. Anything to banish the dark.

The cold water felt good as she splashed it over her face. As she turned to leave, Sarah caught sight of herself in the mirror. For a split second, her reflection seemed off—her eyes were too dark and too hollow.  Her expression…was that a smirk? She blinked and shook her head. And in a split second, the expression was gone, replaced by the same tired face she was all too familiar with.

"Get a grip,” Sarah muttered to herself. "You need more sleep."

She turned off the light and trotted back to bed, but sleep was a distant hope. As she stared at the ceiling, the image of her bathroom reflection haunted her, while every creak of the old apartment felt like a threat. Hours passed, and when she finally drifted off, it was with a sense of dread that the nightmare would return.

The Next Day

The next day passed in a haze. Sarah went on autopilot all day. Her mind was fogged with exhaustion and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The nightmare wasn't just a product of stress or lack of sleep. It felt deeper, truer, and more real than any dream she'd ever had.

By the time she returned to the house that evening, she was too tired to care. Sarah collapsed onto the sofa, mindlessly scrolling through her phone, trying to distract herself from the sense of fear growing inside her. Her apprehension told her it would be time for bed again soon. And as the hours ticked away, the night deepened, and so did her anxiety. What if it happened again? What if she woke up at 3:33 a.m. in a cold sweat, feeling that same suffocating terror?

She thought about calling Jody, a friend she’d known for years, but what would she say? "Hey, I'm terrified of a recurring nightmare I can't even remember?" They'd laugh it off and Jody would tell her she needed to relax. Then Jody would suggest some herbal tea or a melatonin. But Jody didn't know what it felt like to wake up with your heart in your throat, to feel like something dark and menacing was lurking just out of sight. And Sarah feared she’d she needed a lot more than melatonin. 

Eventually, sleep claimed her, and with it, the nightmare returned, pulling her down into its darkness.

***

The Dream

This time, the dream was clearer once it started to roll out.

Sarah found herself standing in a long, dimly lit corridor with wet, narrow walls that appeared glossy in the darkness. The corridor stretched out endlessly before her and the air was thick with the smell of mildew and something else, something rotten. She could hear footsteps echoing in the distance. They were slow and deliberate, as if someone were taking great care not to be heard.

Her heart raced as she began to walk, footsteps muffled atop the cold stone floor. No matter how fast she moved, the corridor stretched on, an unending tunnel of darkness. The footsteps behind her grew louder and closer, and a cold sweat broke out on her skin.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice small and flat in the emptiness. No reply was uttered, yet the relentless sound of footsteps continued.

Panic surged through her as she broke into a run, gasping shallow, ragged breaths. No matter how fast she ran, the end of the corridor never arrived. All that was there was the sound of furtive footsteps incessant in the cold, damp darkness.

Then, she saw it. As she turned a corner, a door at the end of the hallway appeared. A deluge of relief flooded inside her, and she sprinted toward it, desperate to escape. But as she reached for the handle, the door swung open on its own, revealing nothing but a black void beyond.

Sarah screamed, and in that very instant, she was awake, sitting bolt upright in her bed.

***

3:33 a.m. Again.

Sarah’s body trembled as she surveyed the room. Everything was as it should be—the same furniture, the same shadows, the same suffocating silence hanging in the air like a heavy blanket. A sense of dread clung to her like a second skin.

The next morning, Sarah knew she couldn't keep going like this. She needed answers, or at the very least, someone to tell her she wasn't losing her mind. She downloaded an app from the app store and booked a remote session with a therapist. Her appointed counselor suggested the dreams might be the result of unresolved trauma or anxiety, and recommended she try a mild sleeping pill. Of course she would suggest drugs! Sarah though indignantly. “That’s absolutely no help.” Then Sarah turned off her phone and sat there thinking. 

But Sarah wasn't convinced. This felt different, like the nightmare was trying to tell her something, or dworse, trying to trap her. 

That night, she defied her therapist’s instructions by drawing a warm bath. Then, Sarah replaced the drug recommendation with a supplement she picked up at the health food store. Sarah hated drugs, so opted for GABA instead. Fortunately, between the warm bath and supplements, she began to relax. The warmth of the blankets was comforting, and soon, sleep overtook her.

And so did the dream…

***

Within seconds, she was back in the corridor, but this time, it was different. The walls were closer, pressing in on her like a tightening grip and the air was so thick with the smell of rot, it made her gag. The footsteps were louder now. They sounded right behind her. She didn't dare look back.

The door appeared in the dream once again, but this time when it opened, there was something on the other side. A shadowy figure hovered ominously in the doorway, its face obscured. It stood there, utterly motionless not speaking. It had no face, but she could feel its gaze boring into her, pulling her in.

"No," she whispered, backing away. But the figure stepped forward, and the corridor began to close down around her. The walls creaked and groaned as they advanced, pushing her ever closer toward the figure.

She screamed, but her cries didn’t register. The shadow loomed closer. She felt a cold, clammy hand on her shoulder, then something pulled her in toward the darkness.

***

Once again, Sarah awoke with a start, her heart hammering in her chest. She gasped for breath, the sense of an icy hand still lingering on her shoulder.

She glanced at the clock. It was 3:33 a.m. and this was getting surreal.

Panic overwhelmed her as she stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over tangled sheets. Then Sarah dashed to the bathroom and peered into the mirror. Her reflection was there, but it was all wrong. Staring back at her was an unfamiliar face with wide, terrified eyes, and behind that, she saw it. The shadow. It was standing right at her back, just as it had been in the dream.

She spun around, but was met with nothing. Just the cold, empty room and the ever-deafening silence. When she looked back at the mirror, the shadow was gone. Only her reflection stared back at her, eyes dark and hollow, a smirk curling at the corners of her mouth.

She smashed the mirror with her fist, shards flying everywhere, but the shattered mirror still reflected that twisted version of her visage, each fragment grinning in unison as if they knew something she didn’t.

***

Days passed, but Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. And she couldn’t tell if she was awake or still trapped in that endless nightmare.

She tried to stay awake, drinking coffee after coffee, latte after latte, but exhaustion eventually pulled her under, and the dream always managed to find her one more time.

***

The last time she dreamed it, the corridor was narrower, the air thicker, and the shadow closer than ever. The door at the end of the hallway loomed large and she knew there was no escape. The footsteps behind her were louder, and as she turned to run, she felt the walls closing in, forcing her toward the door.

The shadowy figure stood waiting, its form more defined, more solid than before. She could see its eyes now—glowing with a malevolent light.

She ran toward the door, not out of hope, but of desperation. Yet as she reached it, the shadow reached out, its icy fingers wrapping around her wrist, pulling her into the darkness.

Sarah awoke with a scream lodged in her throat. But this time, something was different. The room was darker, the air thicker, and when she glanced at the clock, it still read 3:33 a.m. Sarah also had the weirdest feeling that she hadn’t truly woken up.

Everything felt off—her bed, the furniture, even the air. It was as if she was still in the dream, still trapped in that nightmare corridor. She tried to leave the bed, but her legs wouldn’t move. The shadows in the room seemed to grow, creeping toward her like dark tendrils.

With a sense of rising panic, she looked at the shattered mirror. In the fragments, her sinister reflection smiled darkly, and behind it, the shadow stood, closer than ever.

“No,” she whispered, but the word fell flat in the silence of the room.

As she watched in horror, her reflection moved independently, lifting a hand to wave at her. The shards of glass trembled, and the reflection’s smile widened.

Sarah tried to scream, but the silence swallowed the sound. She was paralyzed, frozen by fear, as the shadow in the mirror stepped forward, merging with her reflection until they were one. The room seemed to close in on her, the darkness taking her down.

Then Sarah realized she could no longer tell where the dream ended and reality began.

The next morning, Sarah’s bed was empty.

As the clock struck 3:33 a.m., the cycle began anew. Sarah's scream was inaudible, lost in the vacuum of the never-ending dream.

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