In another room, with dark corners where the night's chill seemed to nest, a small world of dreams lay still. Two children were fast asleep. On the lower bunk, Lucas began to stir. His body twisted as if trying to break free from a nightmare. His tightly shut eyes betrayed the struggle of someone fighting to wake up from something too real to be just a dream.
...
Lucas walked through the small corners of his house, strangely lit. The ceiling shimmered with luminous dots that looked like trapped stars. He headed toward the kitchen table—almost a celestial vision: piles of exotic food, brightly colored fruits, glasses of milk and juice perfectly arranged. A scene worthy of a feast Lucas had only seen in magazines or borrowed schoolbooks.
It was so perfect that his mouth filled with saliva and his eyes with childish wonder. In front of him, a shiny apple—a fruit he had never tasted, reserved only for those who could afford luxuries from another world—tempted him with its gleam. Holding it was already a dream. Taking a bite, something sacred.
He opened his mouth, ready to savor it… but then, a familiar sound stopped him. Water running in the sink. He turned quickly.
And there she was. His mother. Her back turned, wearing a white apron decorated with tiny flowers, washing dishes. Her figure, warm and glowing under the strange light, looked like that of a silent heroine. Seeing the food on the table, he felt a deep satisfaction, a warmth expanding in his chest: "She must've made all this."
He watched her in silence, absorbed, like someone gazing at something sacred.
"Her future husband will definitely be the luckiest man in the world," he thought, a smile forming without him realizing it.
Then he finally bit into the apple. A crunch echoed.
And in that moment… all sound ceased.
As if that crunch—cold, tasteless, mechanical—had flipped a switch. The faucet stopped flowing. The fridge's hum vanished. Even the ceiling lights and stars seemed to dim and die out.
He looked up.
His mother was still there, unmoving, head tilted over the sink. But she no longer moved. Nothing in her did. A strange aura surrounded her, as if something invisible had wrapped her in place.
"Mom…?" —his voice trembled, confused.
A new sensation crept into his mind. It wasn't like the fear when those boys had beaten him. Not even like when Bill forced him to watch that horror movie, the one with the woman in the white dress and her face hidden behind a veil of hair.
This was different. Deeper. A fear that squeezes your heart until you think it might burst.
"Is it… because of the apple?"
"Yes! That must be it. I should've waited for my siblings. Damn... I thought all this food was just for me. How stupid..."
Another crunch—this one deeper, internal, like something breaking inside—made him step back.
His mom's figure remained still. So still she looked like an abandoned wax statue. The faucet was still open, but not a single drop fell. Everything had frozen in a moment Lucas couldn't tell was dream or nightmare.
He approached slowly, legs shaking like dry twigs. He reached his hand toward her.
"Mom…"
The instant he brushed her apron, something changed. The lights in the ceiling began to flicker, one by one, until they went out completely. The silence thickened. Turned violent. As if even the air refused to move.
Then she turned around.
But it wasn't her.
Her face was drenched in shadow, as if light itself refused her. Her eyes—which should've been warm, should've comforted Lucas—were now bottomless dark pits. There was no expression. No anger. No sadness. Just... emptiness.
And she smiled.
A slow, impossible smile that stretched too far. Her skin pulled like wet cloth, revealing white but distorted teeth, too straight, too perfect.
Lucas froze. He couldn't scream. He couldn't run.
"Were you hungry?" —she asked in a hollow voice, as if echoing from a faraway room or deep within his head.
He felt something in his hand. The apple. He was still holding it. But it was no longer red. Nor shiny. It was black, cracked, like it had been rotting in silence for years.
He let it drop, but it made no sound.
"You shouldn't eat that, sweetheart," she said, stepping forward.
He stepped back. Again. And again.
The house was distorting. The walls curved as if breathing. The furniture seemed to drift away, and the pictures on the walls showed images Lucas didn't remember ever seeing: eyes, doors, shadows.
He backed away further, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to find some explanation. He tripped over something behind him—probably furniture—and in a desperate impulse, closed his eyes tight and covered his face. He imagined the thing in front of him wasn't his mother.
Then came crunches. Like bones and joints snapping. Slow and uneven.
He couldn't resist the urge to peek. He opened one eye, spread his fingers to make a small gap.
And regretted it instantly.
Because what stood in front of him wasn't his mother.
It was a dark creature, short and long-eared. Between its lips glinted sharp white teeth like knives. Where its eyes should've been were dark voids, endless as space. On its hands, long pointed claws gleamed with a threat capable of slicing through metal.
Its short frame made it look like a goblin, one ripped from a far-too-real nightmare.
The goblin stared at him in confusion, as if it, too, didn't fully understand what was happening. Lucas, still dazed, felt a flicker of relief: at least it wasn't his mother anymore.
That's when a fleeting thought crossed his mind.
"It's a dream! Just a dream!" —well... more like a nightmare.
Relieved to realize—or at least believe—that the creature wasn't real, he shut his eyes and wished with all his might:
"Go away, go away...!"
He opened them slowly, hoping the goblin had vanished.
But no.
It was still there. And now it was charging at him.
His body trembled. His heart pounded wildly. He dove to the side, just barely dodging the claws.
"Ow…!" —one of them scratched his shoulder.
A searing pain overtook him. It grew the more he thought about it, the more he felt it. Blood spilled in hot, pulsing streams.
Even with fear roaring inside, he clung to the thought that this was just a dream. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath, to calm the tremble.
"It's a dream... a dream! My dream!"
When he opened his eyes again, a little clearer now, he looked at his shoulder.
It was clean. Not a scratch.
He looked up. The small creature was turning to attack again. But this time, Lucas was ready.
A mischievous smile spread across his face.
The house lit up again. The lights, the ceiling stars, even the walls pulsed with new energy. Everything vibrated with life.
The goblin lunged, claws outstretched.
So Lucas imagined it.
A shield. Round, firm. With a big star in the center. And as if the universe obeyed his will, the shield appeared, strapped tightly to his arm.
He smiled.
The goblin's claws struck it with a screeching sound.
Inspired, Lucas stepped forward. Focused.
The walls of the house shook, and from them burst huge spider webs, launched at incredible speed. The threads stuck to the goblin's body, which, confused, tried to break free. It sliced one, two, three—but the walls kept spewing shiny silk that clung to him fiercely.
It was like a scene from an action movie.
The goblin moved with fierce agility, slashing and dodging, spinning like a storm of blades. But it didn't stop. Didn't tire.
He had to think of something else. Something it couldn't cut through.
Lucas understood instantly.
He opened the kitchen faucet with his mind.
Massive streams of water began to flow, reaching his ankles. The liquid swirled before him like a waterfall, spinning until it formed a large transparent sphere.
The goblin kept struggling, tangled in the sea of webs.
The sphere floated… then shot toward its face.
A perfect hit.
The orb latched on, sealing it inside. The goblin thrashed violently. More webs burst from the walls, wrapping its body, holding it still.
It tried to tear the water bubble away, but its movements grew sluggish. Still, it stared at Lucas. With eyes that didn't exist, yet poured out bloodlike presence that pierced beyond the physical. Lucas's spine tingled. He nearly lost focus.
But he reminded himself, silently:
This is a dream.
The creature finally stopped moving. Its body tensed, then disintegrated into tiny golden sparks, like stardust falling in slow motion.
A brilliant white glow filled his vision.
Then, a cold, metallic, artificial voice echoed inside his head:
[Congratulations! You have eliminated a Shape-Shifting Goblin!][Individual deemed fit to enter the Rift. Good luck.]