In the dim light of a sleeping lamp, I woke up.
Or at least I thought I did.
That strange feeling came again. My body wouldn't move.
I could only move my eyes and maybe my fingers.
Breathing felt wrong. Too heavy, like something was pressing down on my chest, forcing the air out before I could take it in properly. I tried to inhale deeper, but it only made the pressure worse.
Panic crept in slowly, crawling under my skin.
And then I saw it.
In the corner of my room.
There was someone standing there.
No. Something.
I tried to close my eyes, but I could still see it, even in the dark behind my eyelids.
It didn't move. It didn't speak. It just stood there, half-hidden in the shadows, like it had always been part of the room and I had only just noticed it. Watching me.
I tried to think rationally. Maybe it was just my lab coat—the one I hung up after anatomy class this morning.
But no. I remembered clearly. I had thrown it into the washing machine.
I tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
My throat tightened. My voice felt trapped somewhere between my chest and my mouth. The harder I tried to move, the heavier my body felt, like I was sinking deeper into my own bed.
Am I going to die?
Seconds passed.
Or maybe minutes. I couldn't tell anymore.
Then suddenly, I gasped. It felt like breaking through the surface after drowning.
My body jerked forward as if something had finally let go. Air rushed into my lungs, sharp and painful. I pushed myself up, heart pounding violently against my ribs.
The corner of my room was empty.
Of course it was. Just like every other time.
I dragged a hand down my face, trying to steady my breathing.
"Just sleep paralysis," I whispered.
It wasn't the first time. Never a pleasant experience.
And lately, it had been happening more often than I wanted to admit.
That's my life now. Final-year medical student. Buried under deadlines, clinical rotations, and sleepless nights. I used to think getting into med school meant escaping the usual nightmares people complain about.
I was completely wrong.
Fighting parents. Loud siblings.
Yeah, right.
Turns out, I just traded them for something worse. Something that follows me into sleep. Something that waits for me there. Sleep paralysis.
"Emma! You look like a raccoon. Seriously, get some rest."
Luna's voice came from the doorway. I hadn't even noticed when she walked in.
I turned to her, forcing a small nod. "Yeah… I just didn't sleep well."
That was easier than explaining.
How do you tell someone you wake up every night unable to move, still seeing things even with your eyes closed, convinced something is standing in your room?
You don't.
"You've been like that for days," she said, frowning. "Are you sure you're okay?"
I nodded again, a little too quickly.
"I'm fine."
I should know how to manage stress. I'm in my final year. I've studied sleep cycles, neurological responses, parasomnias—all of it. I know exactly what this is. A harmless disruption between REM sleep and wakefulness. A misfire in the brain. Nothing more.
That's what I keep telling myself.
But last night… it felt different.
I glanced at my phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up as I picked it up.
03:17 AM.
The same time. Again.
A chill ran down my spine.
I frowned, trying to shake it off. It was probably just a coincidence. My sleep cycle must be aligning in a weird way. That's all. Nothing to worry about.
It has to be.
I lay back down, staring at the ceiling. My body felt heavy, exhaustion pulling at every muscle, but the thought of closing my eyes again made my chest tighten.
What if it happens again?
What if that thing is still there… waiting?
I turned to my side, squeezing my eyes shut anyway. I needed sleep. I didn't have a choice.
A vibration buzzed softly beside me.
My eyes snapped open.
For a moment, I didn't move.
Did it start again?
No. I could move.
Slowly, I reached for my phone. The screen glowed faintly in the dark.
A new message.
Unknown number.
My thumb hovered for a second before I tapped it open.
The message was short. Only one line.
Don't sleep tonight.
My stomach sank.
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it.
Spam? A prank?
But something about it felt… wrong. Too specific. Too deliberate.
My fingers trembled slightly as I looked at the sender again.
And that's when I noticed it.
The number.
It wasn't unknown.
It was mine.