Reece bolted through the darkened streets, her breaths sharp and uneven, the bag of groceries thudding against her hip with each frantic step. The streetlights flickered faintly, casting long, broad shadows that only deepened her growing dread. She glanced behind her, her pulse quickening as she spotted the hooded figure trailing her every move. It wasn't running—not exactly—but its long, deliberate strides closed the distance with ease.

"This isn't real," she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. "It's just another hallucination. It's not real."

But the cold prickle at the back of her neck said otherwise. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run faster, to seek safety, even as her rational mind warred against the possibility of reality.

The hooded figure was close now, its towering form looming against the dim glow of a flickering streetlight. She could see nothing beneath the shadow of its hood, only the darkness where a face should have been. Panic clawed at her chest as her pace quickened.

A sudden flash of blue and red light cut through the darkness. She finally stopped abruptly, nearly stumbling as a police car pulled up alongside her. Relief surged through her when the officer stepped out, his hand raised in concern.

"Ma'am," he called, his tone steady but cautious. "Are you alright? Is someone chasing you?"

Reece spun around, her heart still hammering. Her wide eyes scanned the empty street behind her. The figure was gone.

"I—I thought..." Her voice faltered. "I thought someone was following me."

The officer's expression softened. "There's no one there, ma'am. You must have imagined it. Do you need help getting home?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, I'm fine. I live close by."

With a hesitant nod, the officer returned to his car. Reece stood frozen for a moment before whispering to herself, "It wasn't real. Just a hallucination. That's all it was."

When she finally reached the safety of her home, the events of the night felt distant, like a half-remembered nightmare. She locked the door, double-checked the windows, and set about cooking dinner in the quiet of her small kitchen. After taking her medication, she sank into the couch, the flickering light of her favorite TV show providing a weak sense of comfort. Sleep claimed her without warning, her exhaustion overpowering her senses.

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Reece's POV

I woke up to the creaking sound again. My chest tightened as I stared at the ceiling, hoping it was just the house settling. Maybe I'd left a window open, and the wind was playing tricks on me. But deep down, I knew better. It wasn't the house.

I didn't want to look, but my eyes betrayed me. They drifted toward the corner of the room, , where the dim glow of the TV flickered against the shadows. There it was.

The hooded figure.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. My body refused to move, pinned as if by invisible chains. I told myself it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Just another hallucination. Just like before. I tried to steady my breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly, but the figure took a step closer.

Oh God.

My pulse roared in my ears as I tried to shut my eyes, but even that felt impossible. I was trapped in my own body, my heart hammering against my ribs like it might explode. It was yet another sleep paralysis attack.

The figure was tall—so much taller than me—and broad, its movements unnervingly slow. Every step it took echoed through the room, as though it wanted me to feel every moment of its approach.

'This isn't real,' I chanted this mantra to myself in my head. ,This isn't real. It's just my mind.'

But it felt real. Too real.

It stopped in front of me, its shadow looming over my paralyzed body. I couldn't see its face; the hood cast a deep, impenetrable shadow over it. I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything—but I was powerless.

The figure knelt slowly beside me.

I could hear its breathing now—low and ragged, each exhale sending chills racing down my spine. My own breathing became erratic, shallow gasps escaping my lips as I struggled against the paralysis.

I felt it before I saw it—its hand reaching out toward me. My skin prickled with dread as its thick, cold fingers grazed a strand of my hair. It twirled the strand between its fingers, almost delicately, as if it were savoring the sensation.

My stomach churned. I wanted to recoil, to scream, to thrash against whatever had taken hold of me, but all I could do was lie there, trembling.

Then it leaned closer.

The figure's breath was warm against my cheek, contrasting the icy terror flooding my veins. I could feel it inhale deeply, its face—or what should have been a face—hovering dangerously close to mine.

No, no. no I wanted to shout, tears blurring my vision. 'This isn't real. You're not real.'

The words felt hollow, desperate. A tear slipped down my cheek, hot against my clammy skin. The figure paused. It reached out again, its thumb brushing against the tear in a disturbingly tender gesture.

I flinched inwardly, my mind screaming in silent protest. Its touch was cold, chillingly wrong, yet it moved with an almost gentle precision. I could feel its gloved thumb linger against my skin for a moment too long before it pulled away.

My breath hitched. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of its presence. The room felt smaller, darker, as if the walls themselves were closing in.

And then, just like that, it was gone.

I blinked rapidly, my chest heaving as I finally sucked in a shaky breath. The paralysis broke, and I shot upright, clutching at my chest. My heart was racing, my skin damp with cold sweat.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't real.

But it felt real.

I glanced around the room, my eyes darting to every shadow, every corner, half-expecting the figure to reappear. When it didn't, I stumbled off the couch, my legs shaky beneath me.

I couldn't stop trembling as I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom. My reflection stared back at me, pale and wide-eyed, as though it belonged to someone else.

"I need to see my psychologist," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. But my next appointment wasn't for days. Shit i need to have an emergency meeting with Mr. White.

I stepped into the shower, the scalding water pouring over me in rivulets. I stood there for what felt like forever, trying to scrub away the memory of its touch, its breath, the way it twirled my hair like I was a toy.

Even as the water soaked through my clothes and washed away the sweat, I couldn't shake the feeling that this hallucination had gone too far. Something about it felt... different.

(3rd person's pov)

Reese's petite figure was barely visible through the frosted glass of the shower. The steaming water dripping down her skin, turning it red and raw as she scrubbed relentlessly, her arms moving with almost mechanical intensity. She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the roar of the water.

"I think I'm losing my sanity..."

A tear slipped down her flushed cheek, merging with the boiling water streaming from her hair. Her eyes squeezed shut, the pressure of her despair coiling tightly in her chest. And then, without warning, an image flashed across her mind—her parents.

Her breath hitched as the fleeting image lingered: her mother's gentle smile, the softness of her eyes, the faint warmth that always surrounded her like a shield against the world. Reese hadn't thought of her parents in weeks, maybe months.

She leaned her forehead against the tiled wall, letting the memory unfurl.

Her father was a shadowy figure in her life, gone even before her first breath. People always said she was the spitting image of her mother, and Reese would nod along because it felt true. Her mother rarely spoke of him, and when she did, sadness would cloud her face like an unstoppable storm. All she ever said was, "It was an accident... my fault." Reece never pressed for details; even as a child, she could sense the weight of that guilt.

When her mother passed, she was only seven. Terminal illness, the doctors had said. Reece didn't fully grasp it then, but she remembered clinging to her foster parents with an emptiness she couldn't explain. They were kind to her, patient, but the warmth of a real family never touched her heart.

As these memories surfaced, a faint crash broke through the haze of her thoughts. Her head jerked up, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs. She turned off the shower, her ears straining against the silence that followed.

What if it was back?

Her breath quickened. "No..." she whispered. "Not again."

And then she heard it—a distinct, almost lazy meow. Reese let out a shaky breath, rolling her eyes at herself. "The stray cat," she muttered. "Again."

She dried herself quickly, wrapping a towel around her as she stepped out of the bathroom. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted the culprit—a sleek black cat perched smugly next to a shattered vase, licking its paw with an air of indifference.

"Oh, great," Reece groaned. "Thanks for that."

The cat barely glanced at her as she shooed it out the window, which was cracked open just enough for the feline to sneak inside. She crouched down, carefully picking up the largest pieces of the vase and wrapping them in a plastic bag.

The smaller shards proved trickier. Reece retrieved a broom and swept the area, muttering curses under her breath about nosy stray animals. But even as she worked, her mind itched with unease. She felt exposed, like the walls of her home weren't as solid as they seemed.

Through the open window, the house across the street had a perfect view inside. Reese didn't notice the curtain shifting, nor did she see the shadowy figure standing there.

The hooded figure watched intently, his tall, broad frame obscured by the dim light of the room. His hands rested casually in his pockets, but his sharp black eyes remained fixed on her every movement.

Reese bent down to retrieve a shard she had missed, and her towel slipped slightly on one side, exposing her. The figure leaned closer, his gaze dark and unwavering, drinking in every detail of her routine.

She winced as her foot found a shard she hadn't noticed. "Dammit," she hissed, sitting down to pull the tiny splinter of glass from her skin. The towel adjusted as she moved, hugging her body, leaving her oblivious to the unseen eyes tracking her every gesture.

The figure remained motionless, his presence heavy yet silent. His head tilted slightly, almost as if considering something. He shifted his weight and turned away briefly, the faintest hint of a satisfied smile playing on his scarred lips.

Outside, the wind brushed against the open window, chilling the air. Reese didn't notice. She was too preoccupied cleaning up the mess and tending to her foot. But the figure did. His gaze lingered one last time before he melted back into the shadows, his retreat so silent it was almost as if he had never been there at all.

Reese stood up, tossing the last of the broken glass into the trash, completely unaware of the eyes that had been watching her every move.