It always starts the same.
A knock on the door.
Three times. Slow. Hollow.
I open it, even though I never mean to.
There’s no one there — just fog spilling into the hallway, whispering like it’s breathing.
Then the power cuts out.
Footsteps follow.
Behind me. Above me. Inside me.
Every night, I wake up gasping, drenched in sweat. The same time on the clock — 3:17 a.m.
And every morning, I tell myself it was just a dream.
But last night, I noticed something new.
My door was open.
And muddy footprints — the same shape, the same pattern — led from the hallway to my bed.
I laughed nervously, called it déjà vu, and closed my eyes again.
I’m probably just stuck in a dream loop, right?
...Right?
Somewhere in the dark, I heard it — the knock.
Three times. Slow. Hollow.
And this time, before everything went black,
I saw it.
A figure standing by my bedside, head tilted, grin too wide to be human.
Watching me.
And even as I fell into another “dream,”
I swear—
it winked.
