THE LAST DREAMER

The nights had become worse. Ethan had hoped that the nightmares would fade, that with time, they would settle into the distant shadows of his memories. But each night, they grew stronger, more vivid, more real. It wasn't just the figure with glowing eyes anymore. Now, the nightmares had evolved into something more sinister. There were whispers—soft, insidious voices that called his name, weaving through the darkness like a dangerous lullaby. They pulled him deeper into the abyss, clawing at his sanity, like the hands of the past coming to drag him back.

Ethan was losing sleep, and with it, his grip on reality.

Tonight was no different. He lay in his bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of the wind howled through the cracks in the house. The silence in the room was suffocating, pressing in from all sides. The remnants of the battle they had fought seemed to still hang in the air like a heavy fog, a constant reminder that the world they once knew had been shattered, replaced with something darker. He turned his head to glance at Maya, lying motionless in the bed next to his. They had grown distant since the curse was broken, and the secrets they had all kept were now like cracks in their fragile relationship. Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that she was hiding something—something important. It was as if the woman he had once trusted more than anyone else had become a stranger in the blink of an eye. The quiet intensity in her eyes, the way she avoided his gaze—it all pointed to something being buried deep inside her.

*Maybe it's the same for her,* Ethan thought grimly. *Maybe she's having the same nightmares.*

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he felt it again—the faintest whisper, like a voice curling around his consciousness, pulling him in.

*"Ethan..."*

His pulse quickened, and his breath caught in his throat. He shot up in bed, eyes wide with terror, his heart pounding against his chest. For a moment, he thought it was Maya speaking, but when he looked over at her, she was still asleep, her face drawn and peaceful, as if she hadn't been disturbed at all. The room felt colder now, the shadows darker, more oppressive.

There it was again—the whisper.

"Ethan... Come closer."It was coming from somewhere in the room, but it wasn't Maya's voice. It wasn't even a voice he recognized. It was distorted, otherworldly, like a thousand voices speaking at once but filtered through something dark, something vile.

Ethan swung his legs off the bed and stood, his body trembling from the cold sweat that clung to his skin. He didn't know what was happening to him. He felt like he was losing himself, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.

The whisper grew louder, clearer. *"You are mine, Ethan... Always... Forever..."*

His hand reached for the light switch, but it didn't work. The bulb flickered and died, leaving him in complete darkness. Panic surged within him, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had to focus. He had to figure out what was happening.

Then, a cold chill swept over the room, and a figure materialized before him. The air grew thick, heavy with malevolence, and Ethan could feel it—the unmistakable presence of something not human.It was a shadow at first, just a dark silhouette in the corner of his vision, but it rapidly took shape, becoming clearer as the seconds ticked by. A tall, imposing figure, its face hidden behind a black mask, eyes glowing a menacing red. It stood motionless, as though waiting for him to acknowledge it.

Ethan froze, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The air in the room seemed to press down on him, the weight of the figure's presence suffocating him. He knew this figure. He recognized it.

*"No..."* Ethan whispered under his breath, his heart sinking. *"It can't be... You're not real..."*

The figure stepped forward, its movements unnaturally fluid. The mask—smooth, featureless, but with two bright red eyes glaring from within—stared at him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. The whispering voices filled his head, louder now, crashing together in a cacophony of anguish and fury.

*"I am the one who controls you, Ethan. The one who has always controlled you."*

The words hit Ethan like a punch in the gut. He couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. His body refused to respond, as if his very existence had been frozen in place by the sheer power of the figure before him.Then, the figure raised its hand—long, pale fingers stretching toward him, and a chill unlike any he had ever known shot through him. It wasn't just physical cold—it was the cold of despair, of hopelessness. The kind of cold that seeped into his bones and threatened to tear him apart.

Suddenly, a crackling sound filled the room, like something unraveling. The walls seemed to tremble, and the shadows in the corners of the room shifted unnaturally. The figure's form wavered, as if it were made of smoke, fading in and out of reality.

*"You cannot escape what you are, Ethan. Not from me. Not from yourself."*

The figure lunged at him, and for a moment, Ethan thought he might die right there—suffocated by the very air itself. But before it could reach him, something inside him snapped. A surge of energy rushed through his body, pushing back against the darkness, the cold, the oppressive force that sought to consume him.

It was instinct. Pure survival.

With all the strength he had left, Ethan shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos of the nightmare. "I'm not yours! I will never be yours!"The figure faltered, its form flickering like a dying flame, and for a split second, Ethan thought it might dissipate completely. But then, just as quickly as it had come, the figure lunged again, its hand grasping for him. It was stronger now—its presence more overwhelming, its power undeniable.

Ethan was falling, his grip on reality slipping, when the light from the hallway flickered, then exploded into the room. The figure screeched, its form evaporating like mist in the sunlight, and for a brief moment, Ethan was left gasping in the silence of the aftermath. The presence was gone, the oppressive weight lifted.

But the damage had already been done.

Ethan collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving with the remnants of his panic. The room was still, the shadows stretching into the corners, but his mind was a whirlwind. He couldn't understand it—*what was that?* Who was that? The creature, the figure, the voices—it was as if the nightmare had bled into reality. But more than that, it felt like something was trying to break through, something that had been waiting all along, lurking in the corners of his mind.

And then he heard a voice behind him.

"Maya."Her voice was quiet, trembling with uncertainty. Ethan turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face pale with fear, her eyes wide with concern.

"Maya…" he whispered, barely able to get the word out. His voice was hoarse, his throat raw. "It's happening again."

She stepped forward, her eyes scanning his face. "Ethan, what's happening? What's going on?"

"I don't know." His voice cracked. "I don't know, but whatever it is… it's not just in my head. It's real."

Maya's hand reached out to touch his arm, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled him into a hug. She didn't say anything, but the warmth of her touch grounded him, bringing him back to reality, even if only for a moment.

But deep down, Ethan knew it wasn't over.

Something was coming. Something more powerful, more dangerous than anything they had faced before. And this time, it wouldn't be so easy to escape.