The Voice That Speaks at Night
It began as a whisper, soft yet distinct, threading its way through the dark. At first, I thought it was the wind—restless, playful, tugging at the edges of my mind. But then the voice called my name.
I sat up, heart thudding, scanning the shadows that filled my room. "Who’s there?" I asked, my voice barely a match for the silence that followed.
The air felt heavier, charged with a strange energy. The voice came again, closer this time, low and melodic, like a lullaby spun in reverse. It wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t comforting either. It spoke of forgotten paths, choices I didn’t make, and doors that remained unopened.
Against all logic, I followed it. Barefoot, I stepped into the hallway. Shadows stretched unnaturally, reaching for me as I moved. The voice grew louder, leading me toward a door I’d never noticed before. Its wood was old and scarred, the handle cold against my skin.
I turned it.
On the other side was a place I couldn’t explain—neither here nor there. A vast field stretched before me, under a sky filled with stars I didn’t recognize. The voice spoke again, urging me forward, promising answers if I just kept walking.
But with every step, the field seemed to grow darker, the stars winking out one by one. I felt the ground shift beneath my feet, a sinking sensation that pulled me down.
And then, I woke up.
The sun streamed through my window, dispelling the lingering shadows. It was just a dream, I told myself. But as I swung my legs off the bed, my feet brushed against something cold and metallic on the floor.
It was the handle of the door.
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