Evan lay in his bed, the quiet hum of the night enveloping his small, dimly lit room, shadows dancing softly across the walls as the moonlight seeped through the curtains. For the first time in nights, he was finally able to drift into a peaceful sleep, his breathing slow and steady, the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothing him into unconsciousness despite the lingering ghosts of nightmares that haunted his mind. Yet, even in this fragile state of rest, his subconscious wove dreams that blurred the line between waking and sleeping, tossing him into fleeting visions that flickered like unstable images on a screen. Occasionally, he would open his eyes, only to find himself trapped within a nightmare, his surroundings distorted and unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar in a way that unsettled him deeply. In these moments, he would quietly sit up, trying to grasp reality, his small frame trembling as he looked around the darkened room, fear tightening his chest, his bottom lip trembling with a mixture of dread and confusion. The house was silent save for the faint, muffled sounds from the other room—his brother Micheal’s voice, low and deliberate, whispering or perhaps mocking something in a tone that Evan couldn’t quite decipher but instinctively recognized as unsettling. The voice pulled at his curiosity, stirring a faint flicker of interest amid his fear, and cautiously, Evan slid out of bed, moving silently across the creaky wooden floorboards, tiptoeing toward the doorway to listen more closely. From the other room, Micheal’s voice carried a sinister undertone, tinged with a cruel satisfaction that made Evan’s stomach tighten. “This is the perfect gift for him… it’ll finally teach him… the little bastard…” Micheal chuckled deeply, a cold, mirthless sound that echoed softly through the space, and with a casual knuckle tap, he struck a nearby machine—an ominous, unfamiliar contraption that seemed to hum with a strange, malevolent energy. The machine stirred in response, its metallic parts whirring softly, almost as if awakening from a long slumber, anticipation and menace woven into its mechanical movements. Evan’s breath hitched as he peered over the edge of the doorway, his eyes widening with a mixture of curiosity and dread. The machine’s surface gleamed with a thick, greasy golden hue, reflecting the faint light in a sickly shimmer, and across its face, a grotesque grin stretched wide, twisted and unsettling. Small, clawed hands—like writhing snakes—fluttered around it, darting and spiraling with a disturbing agility, their movements sharp and deliberate, as if sentient. Evan’s heart pounded fiercely in his chest; he gasped silently, clutching his mouth with trembling fingers, fear and awe battling within him. Turning away in horror, he hurriedly closed his eyes, trying to block out the terrifying sight. When he dared to open them again, he found himself sitting on the cold floor, his legs awkwardly positioned with his feet inside the monstrous machine. The tiny, snake-like hands continued their unsettling dance, swirling around him, poking at his nose playfully, then tracing down his clothes as if inspecting him. The sensation made Evan shiver uncontrollably; the sensation of those small, cold fingers gliding along his collarbones, armpits, and sides sent a mixture of embarrassment and fear flooding through him. His shirt, a hand-me-down tank top once belonging to his older brother, was stretched tight across his torso, the lines of a rough sketch drawn across its fabric, exposing his belly button as he sat with his knees bent. His jeans, mostly swallowed by the machine, left a few light blue patches visible—faded and slightly worn, with a leather belt hanging loosely from his waist, unbuckled. The tiny hands continued their creepy exploration, caressing his collarbones and armpits, sending shivers down his spine, and then, without warning, they moved downward, wiggling at his feet as if they were preparing to tickle him.