"I see him in my dreams… every single night. He feels real." Your voice trembled as you fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, eyes flickering with unease. You glanced at your friend, hoping they’d say something—anything—that would make it all feel normal.

But nothing about it was normal.

Each night, you found yourself lying in the same place—a shadow-drenched garden under a sky that shimmered with unnatural stars. And he would be there.

A man with a half-bruised face, smeared in fading clown makeup, like a mask slowly cracking. He’d crouch beside you, silent at first, and run his fingers through your hair with unsettling tenderness.

Sometimes he'd hum a tune you’d never heard in waking life. Sometimes he’d kiss your forehead… other times your arm, your waist, or even your cheek—his injured lips leaving behind a cold, aching sting.

And always, always, he’d smile.

That eerie, broken smile—like something torn between love and madness.

Then, just before you woke, the smile would vanish. His face would fall, as if he were mourning something only he understood. You’d wake in a sweat, heart racing, the phantom feeling of his touch lingering on your skin like dust.

At first, you brushed it off. A strange dream, a product of loneliness, maybe. But not anymore. Not after it began repeating. Not after you started feeling a presence watching you even in daylight.

Something was wrong. You could feel it now—in the shadows of your room, in the chill that crept over your spine for no reason, in the whispers you sometimes thought you heard when no one was there.

This wasn’t just a dream.

It was a warning. Or worse—an invitation.