That world seemed to share something

  with the reality Joseph and his friends recognized. The streets, the

  houses, and the other buildings that filled the place resembled those

  they remembered from the city where they had always lived. That

  familiarity allowed them to react quickly when they decided to lift

  Arthur from the ground and carry him into a nearby house whose door

  appeared to be open.

  Joseph stretched out his hand as far as

  he could to grasp the metal latch, which yielded under the pressure

  of his fingers. The door, which did not seem particularly heavy,

  slowly opened. Even knowing that the building appeared completely

  empty, Joseph could not help feeling the urge to ask if someone was

  inside.

  “Man, there shouldn’t be anyone

  here,” Rogert said, struggling to support Arthur’s weight.

  Joseph lowered his head, directing his

  gaze toward Arthur’s face, which still showed faint signs of

  consciousness through his strained expressions. Joseph’s mind

  carried the confusion of someone who cannot fully understand what he

  is seeing. After all, they themselves knew that things in that world

  did not function the same way they did in reality.

  The pain Arthur seemed to be

  experiencing was something completely unfamiliar to them, and even

  the sense of danger was new.

  “This shouldn’t be happening…”

  “Let’s lay him down here,” Rogert

  said.

  “What could have happened to him?”

  Joseph asked, looking at Rogert with concern.

  Rogert did not answer immediately.

  Instead, he sat beside Arthur’s body, watching as his friend moved

  in an odd, unsettling way. In the minds of the two boys there was

  nothing but the confusion this situation forced upon them. Joseph

  mentioned that Arthur’s movements reminded him of the kind of sleep

  paralysis people sometimes experience while dreaming.

  But that explanation did not seem

  entirely possible.

  After all, this itself was supposed to

  be a dream.

  “I don’t know. This is supposed to

  be a dream. Something like this shouldn’t be happening…” Rogert

  said, pressing his hand lightly against his chin.

  “Maybe we should try waking him up,”

  Joseph suggested.

  Joseph reached out and grabbed Arthur by

  the shoulders. Arthur’s brow tightened even further, and the

  expression on his face shifted into one that clearly reflected pain.

  Rogert noticed it immediately. Before

  Joseph could begin shaking their friend on the ground, Rogert stopped

  him, pulling him slightly aside.

  “There’s something strange about his

  expression,” Rogert said. “We should check his body. See if

  there’s anything unusual.”

  Joseph didn’t seem convinced. Still,

  reluctantly, he began searching Arthur’s arms for any visible

  wound, even though deep down he knew it was unlikely he would find

  anything.

  However, as he passed his hand over

  Arthur’s shirt, near the chest, he felt something that caught his

  attention.

  “There’s something strange here…”

  he whispered, looking at Rogert.

  He slowly withdrew his hand as Rogert

  began lifting Arthur’s shirt, gradually revealing part of his body.

  He froze almost instantly when he noticed a dark stain that seemed to

  be spreading across Arthur’s skin.

  Startled, Rogert pulled his hands away

  and stumbled backward, dropping abruptly to the floor.

  Joseph looked at him and noticed that

  there was something more than uncertainty in his friend’s eyes.

  That look—one being consumed by an unfamiliar fear—was something

  Joseph recognized easily.

  Past experiences had taught him how to

  recognize it.

  “We should try to wake up…” Rogert

  said.

  “And what about Arthur?” Joseph

  asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’ll be fine

  once we do.”

  Those words sounded strange to Joseph’s

  ears, especially coming from Rogert—the bravest of the three. To

  Joseph, it felt like abandoning Arthur to whatever danger they were

  facing.

  He understood that he could do little if

  he did not know exactly what they were dealing with. Ignoring the

  fearful side Rogert was showing, Joseph finally lifted the shirt of

  his friend lying on the ground.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked

  aloud, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s chest.

  “This is bad, man…”

  Rogert’s muffled voice did not stop

  Joseph from stepping closer to examine what was being revealed on

  Arthur’s chest. He almost reached out, stretching his fingers

  carefully toward the anomaly, but his common sense forced him to

  stop. Instead, he simply observed what lay before him.

  It was a hole—and not an ordinary one.

  The small cavity seemed to change shape

  as something emerged from within it. Thin strands, almost like liquid

  moving without the influence of gravity, drifted in and out of the

  dark opening that appeared to have no bottom.

  Rogert hesitated before approaching to

  look more closely, until Joseph himself urged him forward. He told

  Rogert that they could not simply wake up and leave Arthur in that

  condition—especially when it had been Rogert who first encouraged

  them to continue exploring what they believed to be a new ability

  they possessed.

  “I don’t know what we could do…

  Arthur looks like he’s asleep, and we don’t even know what caused

  this.”

  Joseph understood that the uncertainty

  Rogert was showing was just as valid as the fact that they could not

  abandon Arthur to his fate. With that in mind, he forced himself to

  remain calm and tried to think of a possible solution.

  He remembered the first time they had

  stepped into that dreamlike city and how, by accident, they

  discovered that a part of their conscious selves could manipulate

  things around them. Perhaps Arthur had managed to alter part of the

  path he had taken, and that might give them the clue they needed.

  Joseph suggested that they leave Arthur

  where he was and try to search together for those clues that must be

  scattered somewhere nearby.

  Rogert’s expression shook Joseph, as

  if a sudden blow of reality had struck him straight in the chest.

  “Are you out of your mind, man? We

  can’t just wander around this entire place hoping to find something

  we’re not even sure exists.”

  Joseph stared at Rogert with wide eyes,

  surprised by the sudden burst of anger his friend had shown. He

  admitted that Rogert was right, and then sat down beside Arthur once

  more, trying to think of a more logical solution.

  Joseph noticed that his hands were as

  tense as the muscles in his arms. He hadn’t realized that those

  sensations felt far more real than anything he had experienced

  before, and that alone stirred the curiosity that was so

  characteristic of him.

  He extended his right hand, stretching

  each finger as far as he could. A tingling sensation ran through

  them, quickly turning into a painful cramp.

  Not as painful as he remembered.

  “Do you remember feeling pain at any

  point, Rogert?”

  Rogert had not grasped the weight of

  those words at first. He simply paused, trying to recall what pain

  itself felt like. Unable to reach any clear conclusion, he raised his

  hand slightly and drove it forward in a clenched fist against the

  floor, which was covered with old, dry wooden boards.

  He pulled his hand back quickly as soon

  as the sound of the blow echoed through the room.

  Joseph noticed how Rogert’s face

  tightened the moment his fist struck the floor, and that was all the

  answer he needed.

  “The first time we jumped off that

  cliff… we didn’t feel anything when we hit the bottom.”

  “I remember. This is something new…”

  Rogert murmured between quiet groans.

  Joseph argued that something must be

  causing their dream bodies—if they could even call them that—to

  experience sensations that belonged to the real world. To him, the

  hole in Arthur’s chest was the key to understanding what was

  happening.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Rogert finally yielded to Joseph’s

  reasoning. Yet as he stared for a moment at Arthur’s motionless

  body, he realized that something else might be happening—something

  they were still overlooking.

  “I think there’s something else

  we’re not seeing, my friend.”

  “What do you mean?” Joseph asked.

  Rogert didn’t know how to explain what

  he meant. That feeling of unease was something he didn’t fully

  understand himself, let alone describe to someone else.

  Joseph noticed Rogert’s gaze moving

  slowly around the room, as if searching for the answer to a question

  neither of them could yet name.

  Joseph tried to calm him, telling him

  there was nothing strange about the place. As far as he could tell,

  the world they were in seemed no different from the one they had

  visited before.

  Rogert tried to accept that thought.

  Aside from what they had just seen on Arthur’s body, he had no real

  reason to doubt what Joseph was saying. He decided not to follow the

  warning his instincts were giving him and kept that feeling to

  himself.

  He stood up and walked toward the base

  of a wooden staircase that led to a second floor. When he reached the

  first step, he rested his hand on the railing, which was also made of

  wood and showed the same signs of decay he had noticed on the floor.

  “Maybe there’s something different

  upstairs…”

  His words were cut short by his own

  silence the moment he noticed what lay at the top of the stairs.

  The sight made his expression stiffen.

  His eyes widened, and his trembling mouth—his skin damp with

  sweat—revealed the fear that had been lurking inside him from the

  beginning.

  Joseph quickly stood up and hurried

  toward his friend. He nearly slipped while trying to get to his feet,

  and again as he approached the staircase with the intention of

  climbing the steps.

  But he stopped abruptly when he realized

  something was wrong.

  The opening simply wasn’t there.

  The ceiling continued without

  interruption, sealing off the second floor and leaving the staircase

  incomplete inside the seemingly empty house.

  “Have we ever seen something like this

  before?” Rogert asked nervously as he stepped back.

  “We shouldn’t worry so much. There

  must be some explanation.”

  Joseph knew that world was not real. Yet

  the almost perfect resemblance to the reality they came from made him

  feel that it might be some kind of extension of it, especially

  considering the way they were able to interact within the dream.

  He remembered having read about lucid

  dreams before. There had been nights when he spent hours researching

  how things worked inside places like that house, and that memory

  alone helped calm him when the nervous tension began to form in his

  chest.

  He took a deep breath and concluded that

  what they were experiencing was nothing more than incomplete

  information—something that could destabilize the lucid dream

  itself.

  “We need to stay calm, Rogert.

  Remember, this is a dream.”

  Rogert tried to believe his friend’s

  words. But what he was experiencing felt so real that even knowing he

  had arrived there after falling asleep could not convince his body

  otherwise.

  Joseph explained that now that they had

  realized the structure of that world was unreal and defied any normal

  rule, it would only be a matter of time before they woke up and left

  that place.

  Rogert nodded nervously, trying to focus

  on Joseph’s words, hoping they might convince him that everything

  would be fine.

  Yet something else was happening inside

  that house.

  They could both sense it, but they kept

  searching for ways to convince themselves that nothing more would

  happen.

  “We have to do something about

  Arthur,” Joseph said.

  “I’ll try to wake him up…”

  Rogert’s nervous words immediately

  caught Joseph’s attention. He had never seen his friend so shaken

  before, and it filled him with a deep sense of unease.

  Joseph allowed Rogert to approach

  Arthur’s body. Arthur was still lying on the floor, moving

  erratically.

  Those expressions—the kind shown by

  someone trapped in a nightmare—were enough to leave the other two

  unsure of what to do.

  Rogert dropped to his knees beside him.

  Despite the pain he felt, he showed no sign of it.

  He placed his hands on Arthur’s

  shoulders and began shaking him.

  Joseph watched the scene with tense

  anticipation, standing a short distance away near the staircase.

  “Why aren’t we awake yet…?” he

  asked himself.

  The question was as real as the tension

  that had begun to take hold of his body. Beneath the surface,

  unnoticed by Rogert, the restless movements of Joseph’s fingers

  revealed the insecurity that this experience was slowly instilling in

  him.

  Almost without realizing it, he pressed

  his fingernails into his own fingers, digging into the flesh until a

  few drops of blood spilled and fell onto the wooden floor.

  Joseph noticed it immediately.

  It felt unnatural.

  And in that world, it truly was.

  When he raised his hand to examine his

  fingers, he saw that they were stained with his own blood. The sight

  alarmed him.

  Arthur was now sitting upright,

  supported by Rogert, while his body moved faintly as if he were still

  trapped in a deep sleep. Joseph noticed Rogert’s expression

  suddenly shift into one of pure astonishment, mixed with such

  confusion that he could do nothing but stare for a moment at what was

  happening.

  Arthur said something.

  It was so faint that Rogert had no

  choice but to lean closer, bringing his ear near Arthur’s mouth.

  He heard something.

  Something Joseph wanted to hear as well.

  But when Joseph tried to approach,

  hoping to understand what was happening, Rogert looked at him with

  terror in his eyes and shouted for him to stay back.

  Joseph stopped instantly.

  His eyes widened as he opened his mouth

  to ask why.

  “Don’t come any closer, Joseph!”

  Rogert shouted.

  “What’s happening?” Joseph asked.

  “You have to get out of here…”

  Joseph could not move the way he wanted

  toward his friends. His body froze when he saw the expression Rogert

  held until the very last moment.

  Arthur tilted his head slightly to one

  side, pulling Rogert closer, trapping him in an embrace that made no

  sense.

  Joseph lifted his right foot, ready to

  take a step toward them.

  Rogert stopped him again with a warning

  that shook him even more.

  “That’s not Arthur,” Rogert said.

  “If you come any closer, the same thing will happen to you.”

  Joseph finally stopped when he noticed

  Arthur’s face begin to twist.

  At the same time, Arthur’s head

  started turning slowly until it faced Joseph directly.

  The cracking of the bones in his

  friend’s neck sent a violent shudder through Joseph’s body.

  His raised foot slowly returned to the

  floor.

  Without taking a single step closer.

  “Come with us, Joseph…” Arthur

  said, his voice deeper and strangely distorted.

  Joseph swallowed hard as his breathing

  quickened and broke unevenly. He felt the dampness in his hands

  growing worse, and without being able to move, a sharp yet subtle

  pain tightened through his body, holding him in place.

  He remained still, watching the faces of

  the two before him.

  Rogert’s expression had become twisted

  and unnatural, while Arthur’s face grew darker, more sinister with

  every passing second.

  Then Joseph heard a groan.

  Along with it came the sound of bones

  snapping—like dry branches being crushed beneath weight.

  Rogert’s eyes bulged outward. From his

  mouth, nose, and ears, a dark reddish liquid began to spill, almost

  black in color.

  “Rogert…”

  Joseph felt a violent blow strike him

  directly in the chest—not from anything physical, but from the

  terror now flooding uncontrollably through his body.

  A deafening scream reached him, snapping

  him out of his paralysis.

  It was Arthur.

  Or whatever was inside him.

  It told him to come closer.

  Joseph ignored the voice. As soon as he

  noticed the door through which they had entered earlier, he ran

  toward it, shouting in desperation and stumbling as he moved.

  He grabbed the knob and twisted it as

  fast as he could.

  The first attempt failed.

  Behind him, he heard the wood begin to

  creak—as if someone were approaching.

  A second attempt finally opened the

  door.

  On the other side, a dark corridor

  awaited him, resembling the hallway of a hospital.

  He had no choice.

  Joseph rushed through the doorway and

  slammed it shut behind him.

  A heavy thud echoed immediately after.

  Instinctively, Joseph covered his head

  with his hands.

  When he finally turned around—

  the door was gone.

  “What’s happening?” he asked

  himself through quiet sobs.

  Alone in that dark corridor, Joseph

  noticed how worn the walls and the few objects decorating them were.

  The old paint was peeling away in pieces, revealing a structure that

  seemed to have been built a very long time ago.

  Joseph realized that the place reminded

  him of somewhere he had seen before.

  He looked down at his hands, which were

  still trembling, slick with sweat. On one of his fingers, a trace of

  the blood that had flowed earlier was still visible.

  He tried to wipe his hands clean,

  rubbing them against his clothes.

  “I have to get out of here…” he

  whispered.

  He began walking slowly along the

  corridor as the moonlight filtered through a pair of windows on the

  wall to his right. He approached one of them and looked outside.

  There was nothing he could recognize.

  The place was surrounded by a dense

  forest, only partially revealed by the pale reflection of the moon.

  In the end, he had no choice but to

  continue walking carefully until he reached the double doors waiting

  at the far end of the corridor.

  He pushed them open with both hands.

  Beyond them lay a larger room where

  several old-fashioned lamps remained lit.

  It looked like some kind of reception

  hall.

  Joseph’s heart was still pounding as

  he walked toward a chair that seemed almost inviting him to rest.

  He approached it and, before sitting

  down, pressed his hand against the cushion.

  It was surprisingly soft.

  He brushed away the dust that covered

  its surface and finally sat.

  As he looked around the room, the tears

  he had been trying to hold back began to fall.

  There was no thought capable of forming

  in his mind that could explain what had just happened.

  So he decided to remain there for a

  while, in that place that seemed safe.

  And as his body slowly recovered its

  breath, one question continued echoing inside his mind:

  Why hadn’t he woken up from that

  dream?