INT. ARVEN'S ROOM – MORNING
Sunlight filters through the curtains, warm yet harsh against Arven's tired eyes. He wakes slowly, the weight of last night's dream pressing heavily on his chest. Sweat clings to his forehead, his heartbeat quick and uneven. The figure lingers in his mind—faceless, blinding, pleading for help. Its urgency gnaws at him, refusing to fade.
He lies there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the images that haunt him. The memory of his family's fear, the screams in the night, the shared dream—it all presses in like a shadow he can't shake.
Arven finally sits up, swinging his legs off the bed. He dresses quickly, each movement automatic, his thoughts restless. The smell of breakfast wafts in faintly from the kitchen, but he barely notices.
EXT. MAY'S HOUSE – MORNING
May is already waiting in her uniform as Arven approaches, leaning against the car with a small frown on her face.
May: Morning! You look... serious.
Arven (faint smile): Morning. Just... a weird dream last night.
They climb into her father's car, the engine humming as the radio plays softly in the background. News anchors discuss the phenomenon that has gripped the world.
Radio host: Experts are baffled. Reports say millions across the globe are describing the same dream. While scientists call it a case of "mass suggestion," religious leaders warn of judgment.
May lowers the volume, glancing at Arven with concern.
May: It's all people talk about now.
Arven: Yeah... but mine's not the same.
He stares out the window at the streets passing by, the world bathed in early sunlight. Children walk to school, vendors set up their stalls, and yet the weight of the dream makes everything feel surreal.
INT. SCHOOL – MORNING
The classroom buzzes with whispers. Students huddle in groups, phones glowing in their hands, showing screenshots and posts about the "shared nightmare." Teachers try to calm them, but few listen.
Suzan (to Ray, whispering): Did you see it? Everyone's talking about the same dream!
Ray: Yeah... they're saying it's some kind of sign.
Nico (showing memes): Or maybe just bad pizza. Look—"Nightmare Club 2025."
Some laugh nervously, others sit pale and silent, eyes wide. The teacher claps her hands, frustration creeping into her voice.
Teacher: Phones away! Everyone settle down! This isn't the end of the world—just focus on class!
Her hands shake slightly as she adjusts papers, betraying her own unease. Some students continue laughing, others pray quietly under their desks, and fear has already sunk into their voices.
Arven scrolls through his social media feed. Hashtags trend everywhere: #SameDream, #JudgmentNight, #MassNightmare. Thousands of posts describe the faceless figure, the desperate voice calling for help, the swirling shadows. Each account feels hauntingly similar to the next.
Arven (thinking): But mine wasn't the same... why me? Why was I different?
EXT. SCHOOL GROUNDS – LUNCHTIME
Arven and May sit on a bench beneath a tree, away from the loudest groups. May chews her food quietly, her gaze lingering on him, studying his tense expression.
May: You've been distant since yesterday. Tell me.
Arven (hesitant): Everyone says they saw shadows... voices in the dark. But mine's different.
May (softly): Different how?
Arven (quiet, almost whispering): There was someone there. Faceless. Blinding. Reaching for me. Asking for help.
May's smile falters, her eyes darkening with concern.
May (whispering): That... sounds worse.
The bell rings before she can say more. They head back inside, but the weight of her silence follows him like a shadow.
EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD – AFTERNOON
Classes end, but no one rushes home. Groups of students gather, restless, buzzing with fear and speculation. Some sit in prayer circles. Others laugh too loudly, forcing jokes that feel hollow.
John joins Arven, his face unusually serious.
John: Don't you think it's strange? Not just the dreams... but how they won't stop?
Arven (nodding slowly): Yeah. It's like they're waiting for something.
Suzan and Nico approach, arguing whether the dreams mean anything at all. Ray tries to crack a joke, but it falls flat. The usual warmth of their group feels fragile, stretched thin by the collective fear.
When fear grows too heavy, people cling to what they can—faith, denial, or laughter—but the silence between words always gives them away.
EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREETS – EVENING
Arven walks May home. The streets are busy with chatter, vendors calling out, children playing—but the mood is heavy. Everyone talks about the dream. Everyone is uneasy.
May (quietly, as they walk): If it really is a sign... do you think God's angry at us?
Arven (looking away): I don't know. Maybe it's a warning. Maybe it's nothing.
They stop at her doorstep. For a moment, the world feels still. May squeezes his hand gently before stepping inside.
May: Be careful, okay?
Arven: Always.
She disappears into the house. Arven lingers, staring at the closed door, trying to steady his racing thoughts. Finally, he turns and walks home, the night quiet around him.
INT. ARVEN'S ROOM – NIGHT
The house is quiet. Arven lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep takes him again, heavy and restless. His mind drifts back to last night's dream—the faceless figure, blinding light, reaching toward him. Urgency presses on his chest, shadows swirling as if alive.
He shifts under the sheets, trying to shake the feeling, but it clings to him like a second skin. His heartbeat is uneven, his palms slick with sweat. The figure's plea echoes in his mind, growing louder, desperate, impossible to ignore.
Finally, he throws off the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed. He grabs his phone and scrolls through messages, but the glow of the screen only reminds him of the eerie headlines: #SameDream, #MassNightmare, #JudgmentNight. Nothing brings comfort.
Arven sighs, sliding from the bed. He turns on his console, hoping a game will distract him. The familiar sound of characters leaping, swords clashing, and digital worlds filling the room gives him a momentary reprieve. For a while, he loses himself in the strategy, the thrill of winning and losing, the focus on quick reflexes instead of the faceless figure in his mind.
After an hour, the adrenaline fades, leaving a hollow emptiness. He pauses the game, stretching and letting his muscles loosen. The room feels warmer now, the soft glow of the console and a lamp blending with the night. He heads to the bathroom and fills the bathtub with steaming water, letting the scent of lavender soap fill the air. The warmth soothes his tense shoulders, the water comforting against his skin, each breath slower than the last. He closes his eyes, letting the heat and weight of the water dull the edges of fear.
For a few minutes, the nightmare recedes, replaced by quiet reflection. He thinks of his friends, his family, May—anything to anchor himself. The mundane memories of laughter, jokes, and light teasing swirl in his mind like a protective shield.
But as he lies back on his bed, wrapped in a soft towel and drinking a mug of warm tea, the darkness outside the bathroom seeps back in. He can feel it creeping, the faceless figure lurking just beyond consciousness. He shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around him.
He tries to read, trying to immerse himself in fiction, but the words blur, his thoughts racing back to the dream. Every shadow in the room seems alive, the air thick with anticipation. Despite all attempts to calm his mind, the tension coils tighter.
And then—the nightmare returns. The faceless figure, shrouded in blinding light, reaching for him. The urgency pressing on his chest, shadows swirling, voices whispering in every corner of his mind.
Arven jolts upright, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his face. He grips the sheets, staring into the darkness of his room, heart hammering.
Arven (whispering): What... what is happening to me?
The night presses heavily against him, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Somewhere beyond the darkness, something is stirring—something that isn't just a dream.
To be continued...