A shadow loomed over you, its form indistinct yet undeniably present. You couldn't see its face, but its shape was beginning to emerge—arms, legs, the faint outline of a body becoming more real with each passing second. You tried to move, to scream, but the weight of the dream held you down.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, you woke up—gasping, drenched in sweat, the fear still clinging to you like a second skin. But it was just a dream. Nothing more.

Months passed. You almost forgot about it. Almost.

Then one evening, as you unlocked your door, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Good evening," a smooth voice greeted. You turned—and there he stood.

A man, dressed neatly, holding a bouquet of roses. "I’m your new neighbor," he introduced himself, smiling.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You had never met him before. Yet, somehow, you knew him.

Your palms grew clammy, a cold sweat forming at the back of your neck. The dream you had long dismissed as nothing suddenly felt real again. Because standing before you, with the same hands, the same presence, was the shadow that once hovered over you in your sleep.