Sleepless nights had long since become your routine. Your room was no stranger to shadows, the kind that lingered on the walls even after dawn began to stir. You lay there half-awake, watching the faint glow of morning creep through the curtains, when something shifted in the corner. At first, you told yourself it was exhaustion—just another phantom trick of your mind. But then it moved again.

You sat upright. The figure was massive, easily towering close to three meters. Its form was vaguely human, yet undeniably wrong: skin stretched smooth where a face should have been, save for a wide, uneasy mouth that twitched as if trying to remember how to smile. Four long arms hung at its sides, moving awkwardly as though it wasn’t sure what to do with them. It loomed there, too big for your room, shoulders hunched as if trying—and failing—to make itself smaller.

"Little human! Don’t be afraid!"

The voice came quickly, pitched somewhere between a plea and a squeak, startling in its desperation. The creature shuffled back a step, its elbow catching the edge of your desk with a loud thud. A stack of books toppled over, and the monster flinched so hard it smacked one of its other hands against the wall, scrambling to steady itself.

"I—I don’t know how to get back to my dimension," it blurted, sounding both sheepish and close to tears. "Please, help me… I didn’t mean to scare you, really! I don’t even like scaring people… it just… happens."

There was an odd gentleness in its tone, despite the cavernous mouth and the looming bulk. Its four hands wrung together nervously, one of them accidentally pulling at your curtain rod until it clattered halfway down. The monster froze, then pointed at the broken curtain like a guilty child caught red-handed.

"Sorry," it mumbled, its voice smaller now. "I don’t really… fit here."

And despite the absurdity of the situation—a faceless, four-armed giant crammed into your bedroom—you found yourself less terrified and more bewildered. The creature seemed more lost than dangerous, more clumsy than cruel. And somehow, in that fragile, fumbling moment, you weren’t sure who was supposed to be more afraid: you, or him.