The nightmare Part 1



Rain slammed against the tall windows of Blackthorn House, each drop sounding like fingernails tapping glass. The old mansion stood alone at the edge of Ravenswood Forest, its shadow swallowing the moon. Every villager knew the stories whispered about it — people who entered heard voices at night, saw shadows moving in mirrors, and some never returned the same.

But Jessica Hart didn’t believe in ghost stories. She rolled her eyes at superstition.

Not until the night she found the diary.

The house had belonged to her grandmother, who died under mysterious circumstances years ago. When her mother vanished without a trace last month, Jessica had no choice but to move into the mansion alone. Her hands shook as she turned the rusted key that first evening, her chest tight with dread she refused to name. The door groaned open, breathing out air that smelled like dust and dead roses.

The first night was silent. Too silent. Jessica lay stiff in her grandmother’s four-poster bed, ears straining at nothing. The grandfather clock downstairs didn’t even tick. She finally exhaled and whispered, “See? Just an old house.” She forced a laugh. It sounded small and lost.

The second night, she heard them.

Slow.

Dragging.

Footsteps.

Jessica’s heart slammed against her ribs. She sat up, clutching the blanket to her throat, eyes wide in the dark. Someone barefoot walking across the attic floor._ The sound stopped the second she held her breath. Her skin prickled. “Grandma?” she called. Her voice cracked. No answer. Only the rain.

Grabbing her phone for light, she crept up the narrow stairs, her bare feet icy on the wood. Each step groaned like it was in pain. The hallway seemed longer than before. When she pushed the attic door open, dust rained down and made her cough. The room was empty — except for an old mirror covered with a yellowed white cloth and a black leather diary lying beside it, as if someone had just set it down. The cloth twitched, even though there was no wind.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the diary. The leather was cold, damp. On the first page, written in faded, shaky ink, were the words:

_“If you see her in your dreams, do not let her touch you.”_

Jessica let out a nervous laugh that echoed too loud. “Right. Dramatic much, Grandma?” But as she turned the brittle pages, her smile died. Her lips parted. A cold sweat broke across her forehead. Her hands started to smell like copper.

Every entry described the same woman.

Long black hair hanging like wet rope. Hollow eyes that looked carved out. Pale dress, stained at the hem with something dark.

Watching from the shadows. Always watching.

The writer called her _The Sleeper_.

According to the diary, she appeared first in dreams… then in reflections… and finally in real life.

_And once she whispered your name — you belonged to her._

Jessica slammed the diary shut. The sound made her flinch. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.” She backed away from the mirror, bile rising in her throat. She told herself it was just grief, just the storm. But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She ran downstairs and locked her bedroom door. Twice.

That night Jessica dreamed of the hallway outside her bedroom.

Dark.

Endless.

The floorboards stretched into nothing. The air smelled like damp earth and old blood. The wallpaper peeled, revealing black mold shaped like faces.

At the far end stood a girl with her head lowered, hair hiding her face. Her dress hung off her frame like a burial shroud. Water dripped from her hair, but there was no water. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

“jessica…” the voice rasped. It sounded like paper tearing. Like something dry being dragged across stone.

The girl slowly lifted her face. Jessica couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Her body was frozen but her heart was sprinting.

Her eyes were completely black. No whites. No light. Just holes. And in those holes, Jessica saw herself, screaming.

Jessica woke screaming, nails digging into her palms until they bled. Her nightgown clung to her, soaked in cold sweat. She gasped for air — and froze.

Because standing in the corner of her room… was the same girl.

Motionless.

Watching.

Tilting her head like a curious bird.

The air turned to ice. jessica’s breath came out in clouds. She couldn’t even blink.

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