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Nightmare That Breathes

Glitcher_
7
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Synopsis
Every breath is a battle. Every second, a struggle. She wakes in strange places — drifting above a silent desert, soaring through a starless sky, drowning in an ocean with no bottom. A mysterious boy appears again and again, guiding her through each nightmare. Together, they search for her missing boyfriend, chased by a shadow that feeds on every trace of hope she has left. But the deeper she ventures, the more her memories begin to twist. The boy knows more than he says. The monster’s face feels familiar. And the ocean’s mission isn’t what she thought. It has taken her ten tries to get this far. Ten times she has drowned, forgotten, and started over. This time, the truth is close enough to touch — and it’s far more terrifying than the monster. Some nightmares end when you wake. This one breathes.
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Chapter 1 - Nightmare That Breathes

She sits there, motionless. Eyes blank, body still. To the world, she is nothing—a wasted existence, a burden. But inside, she is fighting. Every breath is a battle. Every second, a struggle.

Then, darkness. Her eyes close.

A voice calls her. Soft, yet urgent. A young boy stands before her, eyes pleading. "Help me. Get up."

She doesn't know him. A stranger. "Who are you?"

He looks at her, a strange familiarity in his gaze. "I am like you. And we need help."

The world around them shifts. The distant wail of sirens fades. The murmurs of onlookers dissolve into silence. The weight on her chest lifts.

Then, wings—light, powerful, unshackled. She feels them, and so does he. Together, they rise, soaring into the air.

She soars. The weight of the world left behind. The wind rushes past her, lifting her higher. The boy flies beside her, effortless, his eyes bright with possibility.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

He smiles. "Wherever you want. The whole world is yours."

He points downward. "Let's start under the ocean."

She tenses. A flicker of fear crosses her face. She doesn't know why, but the thought unsettles her. A silent refusal.

The boy watches her closely. He doesn't push. He simply nods. "Then not yet. But we're needed there. A mission awaits."

She looks away, uncertain. "I just need time."

So they wait.

They drift across the endless sky, the night unfolding around them. Stars stretch above, untouched by the world below. Beneath them, a vast desert—golden sands glowing under the moonlight. They hover there, weightless, watching.

She exhales, a strange peace settling in her chest. "I always wanted to feel this." Her voice is softer now, almost a whisper. "Here. In the desert."

The boy says nothing. Just watches as she finally, truly breathes.

They drift through the endless sky, wrapped in silence, gazing at the stars. The girl feels lighter than she ever has—until a sudden thought grips her.

Her boyfriend.

She straightens, panic settling in. "I need to go. I have to help him. He'll be home soon."

The boy beside her tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "He's alright. You don't have to worry."

She shakes her head. "No. I need to see him."

Before he can stop her, she dives. Wind tears through her, faster, faster—rushing toward the city below. But something is wrong.

The moment she enters his apartment, her wings snap shut. Gone.

She stumbles forward, breath uneven. The air is thick. Wrong. A presence lingers—something dark, something watching.

Her boyfriend isn't here. But something else is.

She takes a slow step forward. "Where is he?"

Silence.

Then—a figure emerges from the shadows.

First, she assumed that It is him. But it's not. The eyes are empty. The skin stretched too tight. The air around him hums with something unnatural.

"What did you do to him?" she whispers.

No answer. He steps forward, his movements jagged, unnatural.

Then—he lunges.

Before she can react, a blur of motion cuts through the space between them.

The boy—the one she flew with—steps in front of her. His hand lashes out, clawing deep into the creature's arm.

A twisted scream fills the room.

The girl stares, frozen. The night, once peaceful, now torn apart.

Something has begun. Go save yourself

Her wings were gone.

Panic surged through her as she stumbled forward. No sign of the boy. No sign of her boyfriend. Just the suffocating silence of the apartment.

She ran.

Room to room, searching. But the walls weren't right. Every hallway looped back into itself. Every door led her deeper inside instead of out. Even the windows—she looked through them, expecting the city, the sky, anything. But all they showed was the same room she stood in.

Trapped.

Her breath hitched. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Then—movement.

A sliver of light from the bathroom door, slightly ajar. She stepped closer, hesitant. Inside, the boy—her guide, the one who flew beside her—was slumped against the wall. Blood smeared his arms, his clothes. His breaths were shallow, his body wrecked.

She froze. A part of her wanted to rush in. Another part—one she couldn't explain—wanted to turn away.

She did.

She shut the door.

Eyes squeezed shut. Hands pressed against the wood. She didn't want to see.

But after a moment, she forced herself to open it again.

The scene had changed.

The blood was gone. The wounds had faded. He stood, steady now, as if nothing had happened.

He tilted his head at her, as if amused by her reaction. "Sorry," he said casually, rolling his shoulder like shaking off an old ache. "Took longer than expected to heal."

Then, as if he hadn't been dying just seconds ago, he asked, "Are you okay?"

She steadied herself, staring at the boy. "What happened? Where is my boyfriend? And how did you heal so fast?"

The boy exhaled, glancing around as if he, too, was searching for answers. "We're trapped here," he said finally. "I don't know where your boyfriend is."

Her stomach twisted. "But you—how are you fine now? You were covered in blood."

A small smirk played on his lips, almost like this wasn't the first time he'd had this conversation. "I'm from a species that heals infinitely. No matter how bad it gets, I just fix myself up."

She let out a breath—half relief, half disbelief. At least one thing made sense.

But then his face darkened. His voice lowered.

"But that's not what we should be worried about."

She tensed. "Then what?"

His eyes flicked toward the shadows stretching along the walls. "This thing. The one inside this house. It feeds on good emotions. It takes and takes until nothing's left. Until all your happiness, your love, your hope—every good feeling is drained dry."

Her skin went cold.

"And once it's done," he continued, voice steady but grim, "it moves to the next target."

She swallowed. "So it's looking for someone new?"

He nodded. "It's looking now."

A heavy silence settled between them. She felt it now—the presence. Watching. Waiting.

"Then how do we stop it?" she asked.

"You don't stop it," he said. "You survive it."

She frowned. "How?"

His expression was unreadable. "By giving it what it wants. But exactly how it wants it. Any deviation—any slight difference in your behavior—could be brutal."

Her pulse pounded. She had a feeling this was only the beginning.

She stared at him. "There's a way to get to my boyfriend?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. But it's not simple."

"Tell me."

He hesitated, then pointed toward the bathroom. "You have to go in the bathtub."

She blinked. "What?"

"It's the only way." His expression was serious.

She scoffed. "That makes no sense."

"It doesn't have to," he said. "It just works."

A chill ran down her spine. Every instinct told her not to trust this. But she had no other choice.

The presence—the thing—was still lurking. Watching. Waiting. She could feel it pressing in around her. She needed to move.

So she ran.

She didn't hesitate. She leaped into the tub.

The water swallowed her whole.

She plunged downward, expecting to hit the bottom. But there was no bottom. The water stretched endlessly below her, a dark abyss.

She kicked, trying to surface. But when she looked up—she froze.

It was there.

A shape, twisting, watching from above. A presence that didn't move, didn't blink, only waited.

She couldn't go up.

But she couldn't go deeper, either.

Her lungs burned. She fought to hold her breath. But panic crept in. She couldn't escape this. Couldn't breathe.

And worse—this was exactly what she feared.

She never liked deep water. The thought of drowning, of sinking into the unknown, had always haunted her. And now, she was trapped in it.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her body screamed for air.

She had to choose.

Go back up—to the monster.

Or go deeper—into the unknown.

And she had no idea which was worse.

Her chest burned. Her vision blurred. Just as she thought she couldn't hold on any longer—

A way out.

The water shifted beneath her, pulling her downward. A passage opened at the bottom, a swirling darkness that promised something—escape or something worse, she didn't know.

She had no choice.

She let go.

The water swallowed her whole, and then—air.

She crashed onto a cold surface, coughing, gasping, dragging in ragged breaths. Her body trembled from the shock, but she was alive. She pressed her hands against the ground, trying to steady herself.

And then she saw him.

Her boyfriend.

For a second, relief flooded her. He was here. He was safe.

But then—something felt wrong.

The air shifted, the weight of something unseen pressing down on her chest. Her stomach twisted, a familiar unease creeping in.

It was the same feeling.

The same horror she had felt in that apartment. The same suffocating, inescapable dread.

Her boyfriend wasn't just here.

He had always been here. In its claws.

She hadn't seen it before. Hadn't wanted to see it. But now, it was undeniable.

His presence felt like judgment. Like he wasn't just looking at her—he was waiting. Watching. Expecting.

Like she had already lost.

A shiver ran through her.

Her hands curled into fists.

No.

She wouldn't let this thing win.

For the first time, she understood. He had been trapped for far longer than her. He had lived in its grip, controlled, manipulated, twisted.

And she wasn't going to let that stand.

Her breath steadied.

She would get revenge. On it.

The thought of going back stopped her cold.

Her chest tightened. The idea of diving into the water again, of sinking into that endless dark—she could already feel the panic clawing at her lungs.

She had no plan.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching. Then—her gaze landed on a drawer.

She rushed to it, yanking it open. Inside—a gun.

She grabbed it, her fingers wrapping tightly around the cold metal. A weapon. A chance.

She turned—

And froze.

The boy stood there again, covered in blood. More than before. His face pale, his body torn apart, barely standing.

She screamed, stumbling backward. Her grip on the gun tightened as she squeezed her eyes shut.

No.

This wasn't real.

She forced herself to open them again.

And just like before—he was fine.

He smirked, tilting his head. "Guess you like seeing me that way."

He laughed, the sound sharp, almost mocking.

Her breath was still shaky, but she stepped forward, glaring. "Do that again, and I swear—" she raised the gun slightly, "I won't care if you heal."

His grin widened. "Fair enough."

She exhaled sharply, bracing herself. Then, without another word, she dove.

Cold.

Dark.

Nothing.

She swam, pushing deeper, searching for an escape. But there was no light. No way out. Only the suffocating abyss.

Her lungs burned. Her limbs trembled. She needed air.

Her body started jerking, spasming with the lack of oxygen.

Then—

Something moved ahead.

Her heart pounded. She forced herself to look.

Her body.

Floating lifelessly in the water.

Dead. Bleeding.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream—

And then, she realized.

She didn't need air.

She didn't need to breathe.

Her panic faded as she looked down at herself. Her body—the one that had been drowning—was gone.

She swam faster, cutting through the water with an ease she had never felt before. And then—she saw it.

An opening. A way out.

She surged toward it.

And when she finally emerged, she wasn't gasping. She didn't panic.

She was holding the gun.

And she was cautious

She barely had time to react.

A force—unseen but immense—slammed into her back.

She flew forward, crashing into a mirror. The glass shattered, slicing into her skin. Pain flared as she hit the ground, her body shaking from the impact.

She groaned, pushing herself up, but something felt different.

She glanced at her arms—cuts and bruises marked her skin. The same ones. The same places where the boy had always been injured.

Her breath hitched.

The sinister figure loomed over her, its presence suffocating. It reached out, fingers curling toward her hair—

She didn't think. She acted.

She grabbed a shard of glass and hacked through her long hair, strands falling to the floor. The weight lifted. The grip it had on her lessened.

And when she looked in the shattered mirror—

She saw him.

Or rather, herself.

Her reflection looked more and more like the boy. Her features sharper, her expression colder.

The entity hissed, its form shifting, moving faster. A blur of shadows and hunger. Then—pain.

A deep cut tore across her side, spilling blood onto the floor. But the color—

Not red.

Black.

Thick, ink-like liquid oozed from her wound. Her hands trembled as she touched it, staring in disbelief.

She was changing.

No. She had already changed.

She wasn't just like the boy.

She was him.

The truth crashed into her like a wave.

There had never been another boy.

It had always been her.

The entity lunged.

Her fingers tightened around the gun.

Without hesitation, she aimed.

And pulled the trigger.

A deafening blast.

And then—silence.

She barely had time to react.

A force—unseen but immense—slammed into her back.

She flew forward, crashing into a mirror. The glass shattered, slicing into her skin. Pain flared as she hit the ground, her body shaking from the impact.

She groaned, pushing herself up, but something felt different.

She glanced at her arms—cuts and bruises marked her skin. The same ones. The same places where the boy had always been injured.

Her breath hitched.

The sinister figure loomed over her, its presence suffocating. It reached out, fingers curling toward her hair—

She didn't think. She acted.

She grabbed a shard of glass and hacked through her long hair, strands falling to the floor. The weight lifted. The grip it had on her lessened.

And when she looked in the shattered mirror—

She saw him.

Or rather, herself.

Her reflection looked more and more like the boy. Her features sharper, her expression colder.

The entity hissed, its form shifting, moving faster. A blur of shadows and hunger. Then—pain.

A deep cut tore across her side, spilling blood onto the floor. But the color—

Not red.

Black.

Thick, ink-like liquid oozed from her wound. Her hands trembled as she touched it, staring in disbelief.

She was changing.

No. She had already changed.

She wasn't just like the boy.

She was him.

The truth crashed into her like a wave.

There had never been another boy.

It had always been her.

The entity lunged.

Her fingers tightened around the gun.

Without hesitation, she aimed.

And pulled the trigger.

A deafening blast.

And then—silence.

This twist completes the psychological horror arc—she wasn't just fighting the sinister force. She was fighting herself all along. Every struggle, every moment of fear, every injury the boy took—it was always her.

Where do you want to take it from here? Does she wake up? Does the entity truly die? Or does something else remain?

09ds—---cdffffffffffffffThe smoke from the gunshot faded.

But he was still there.

Or rather—she was.

The boy—herself—stood before her, untouched, unshaken. He tilted his head, watching her with that same knowing look.

"You get it now, don't you?"

Her breath was ragged. The gun felt heavier in her hands.

"No," she whispered. "That's not true."

But the words felt hollow.

"It is," he said, stepping closer. "This isn't some battle against a monster. It never was. You're just remembering."

She shook her head violently. "No. The sinister—it had me trapped! It was controlling me—"

A chuckle. Low. Almost pitying.

"You've been lying to yourself for a long time," he murmured. "Convincing yourself that something else had a grip on you. That it wasn't him."

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Her boyfriend.

The memories slammed into her like a tidal wave. The way he looked at her before she fell. The way his hands pushed. The cold suffocating water. The struggle. The stillness.

It was never a sinister entity.

It was him.

That sick bastard.

The one she kept forgiving. The one she kept running back to. The one she twisted her own mind to protect, blaming something else for his actions.

But now, she saw the truth.

She had drowned.

Not just in water, but in denial.

Her body—her real body—had been too injured to move. She had been paralyzed, sinking, unable to fight as the bathwater swallowed her.

But someone pulled her out.

Probably 911. Probably too late.

And him?

He ran.

And now—he was the one haunted.

She saw it. Every time she traveled through this space, searching for weapons, seeing the floating things around him—made him feel haunted, and after a few times he couldn't handle it and surrendered himself.

The horror was eating him alive, but no sign of guilt.

Unknowingly, She had become his shadow, his nightmare, the thing that never let him rest.

It had taken ten tries to get here.

Ten times she had tried to see the truth.

Ten times she had failed.

Every time she reached him, she forgot everything. Let herself submit to him again.

Every time she picked up a weapon, she lost her way back.

Every time she lost too badly, she had to forget—restart from nothing.

That was the mission in the ocean from the start.

Not to find him.

To remember.

She clenched the gun. Her knuckles turned white.

"So what now?" she asked, her voice quieter.

The boy—herself—smiled. "That's up to you."

She exhaled. Slowly.

Then, without hesitation—

She turned.

And walked toward the exit.

For the first time, she knew exactly where it was.

And finally she kicked the bucket, siren continued, chatters continued, and she was moved to funerals.