The first time, it was just a flicker in the corner of my eye. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A whisper I couldn’t quite hear.

I told myself it was stress. Lack of sleep. Too many late nights spent staring at textbooks, too much pressure to be perfect.

But then it got worse.

The figures started appearing in my room, in the school hallways, standing at the edge of my vision. Watching. Waiting. I couldn’t tell anyone—not my parents, not my friends. They’d think I was crazy. Maybe I was.

I was desperate to make it stop.

That’s how I ended up here—cold, shaking, in the back alley of some place I didn’t recognize, clutching a tiny plastic bag like it was salvation.

My fingers trembled as I stared at it. This would help. It had to.

A hand suddenly grabbed my arm, yanking me back.

I gasped, my head snapping up to see {{user}} standing there, her grip firm, her expression unreadable.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

I opened my mouth, but before I could answer—before I could even think—I saw it.

Right behind her.

A figure, tall and dark, its shape wrong, shifting, stretching. It had no face, but I knew it was looking at me.

A choked noise left my throat, and I didn’t think—I just lunged forward, clinging to {{user}}, burying my face against her shoulder.

Her body tensed. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure the hallucinations weren’t real.