The Nightmare Realm
Shristi woke up with a start at 3 AM, her heart pounding against her ribs. At first, she thought it was just a dream or a random disturbance, but the faint noise outside persisted. It was neither loud nor distinct, yet enough to keep her from falling back asleep.
She turned to check on Bhumi and Varsha, but their beds were empty. A frown formed on her face. Did they go somewhere at this hour? she wondered. Perhaps the noises were just them moving around. She tried to ignore it, burying her face into her pillow, but then—
A whisper brushed against her ear, carried by the still night air.
"Shris-s-s-t-i-i..."
Her eyes shot open, and a chill ran down her spine. The voice was distant yet unnervingly familiar, as though someone was calling her from a void. Her breath hitched, and she held still, listening. But the room was empty. The air felt heavier than before.
Summoning her courage, she slid out of bed and crept toward the door. The hallway was dark, bathed in eerie silence. Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks, she reasoned, but doubt gnawed at her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped outside, scanning the corridor. No one was there.
"Shris-s-s-t-i-i..."
The voice came again, a whisper carried by the wind, teasing the edges of her sanity. She knocked on a few doors, but there was no response. The silence felt unnatural, oppressive. Are they all in deep sleep? But something felt wrong. The entire hostel was too quiet.
Despite the fear tightening in her chest, she followed the voice, wandering through the dimly lit corridors until she realized she had lost her way. She blinked, trying to find her bearings.
Then she noticed where she was—the old hostel, the one allotted for students from other colleges. The building stood like a forgotten relic, its presence unsettling in the moonlight. And now, the whisper was closer.
A shiver ran through her as she turned in the direction of the voice. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice barely above a whisper.
No answer.
But she wasn't alone.
A shadow loomed ahead. A grotesque figure emerged from the darkness. Its upper body resembled a human, but its eyes—large, round, glowing like an owl's—bore into her with an unnatural intensity. Its lower body was that of a wolf, muscular and terrifying. One of its hands was grotesquely ripped, blood dripping onto the ground, staining the dirt beneath it.
Shristi's breath came in shallow gasps as she stepped back. The creature tilted its head, its disfigured face impossible to categorize—neither human nor animal, something beyond nightmares.
"Shris-s-s-t-i-i..." it whispered again, its voice twisting with something sinister.
Panic surged through her veins. She turned and ran, her feet barely touching the ground. The wind howled behind her as the whispers grew louder, chasing her. But before she could escape, the ground beneath her collapsed.
She fell into darkness.
The impact knocked the breath out of her, and as she looked around, her stomach twisted. She was inside an underground lair, walls damp and claw-marked. It felt like a tomb. She turned her head frantically, searching for a way out. The creature stood at the edge of the pit, staring down at her—but it did not enter.
Then—
Shristi jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat. Her breath came in ragged pants, and her pulse throbbed in her ears. She sat up abruptly, gripping the sheets. Her room. She was back in her room.
"Just a nightmare," she whispered, her voice trembling.
But something was still wrong.
She glanced around, her unease deepening. Bhumi and Varsha were still missing. Pushing aside her fear, she climbed out of bed and rushed to the door. The hallway was just as eerily silent as before. Her fingers curled into fists as she knocked on the other doors—one, two, three—but each one creaked open. Empty. Every single one.
The hairs on her neck rose. Where is everyone?
Then she heard it. A faint sound near the hostel gate. She hurried to the balcony, trying to get a look. The figure was shadowed, barely visible. She squinted, but whoever—or whatever—it was, remained obscured.
Her mind screamed for her to run back to her room, to lock the door and wait for dawn. But curiosity—or perhaps a lingering fear of the nightmare—pushed her forward. She rushed downstairs, determined to find out what was going on.
As she stepped outside, a soft melody drifted through the air. A slow, haunting tune, barely audible. It was unlike any music she had ever heard, and yet, something about it felt unsettlingly familiar. Her pulse quickened.
"Is this still a dream?" she murmured.
A sudden chill brushed against her skin. She turned back toward the stairs, deciding she had seen enough. The melody was growing louder, almost as if it was following her.
Then—a hand rested on her shoulder.
To be continued...