It was supposed to be over.

Art the Clown was dead—Sienna had seen it with her own eyes. Miles County was finally quiet again, and life, fragile as it was, had begun to return to normal.

But then came the dreams.

It started subtly: flashes of color, laughter echoing faintly in her sleep, a smear of white against the dark. Then one night, Sienna woke up shaking, heart hammering, because she had seen you standing in front of her—wearing Art’s face.

She didn’t tell you at first. Every time you visited, she’d look at you like she was searching for something wrong. Her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. You noticed.

“You’ve been… distant,” you said one evening, setting down your coffee mug.

She hesitated, fingers twitching against the table. “It’s nothing. Just… nightmares.”

But you didn’t believe her. And she didn’t sleep that night.

When she finally confessed, her voice broke on the words. “It’s you,” she whispered. “In my dreams—you’re him. Same face. Same eyes. But you talk to me. You laugh.”

You froze. “Sienna, that’s not—”

“I know it’s not you!” she snapped, tears glinting in her eyes. “But it feels real. Every night, I see you standing there, smiling that awful smile.”