She hadn't been expecting the text from Mia.
It was barely 10 a.m. when her phone buzzed with a message that immediately filled her with dread—not the kind of dread she had been experiencing with the strange happenings around her apartment, but the social kind, the kind that made her want to curl up under her covers and disappear.
So... guess what? You're going on a double date tonight!
Her eyes widened in disbelief. A double date? She hadn't agreed to anything, and she could already feel the reluctance settling in.
Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed her response.
I literally have no idea what you're talking about.
Mia's reply was instantaneous, almost as if she'd been waiting.
Well, you didn't say no when I brought it up last week, and Greg's friend is perfect for you! Be at the restaurant by 7. No excuses!
She groaned aloud, slumping back into her chair. This is the last thing I need right now. Between the weird dreams, the shifting shadows, and the growing sense that something was very wrong with her life, getting trapped in an awkward dinner with a stranger wasn't on her list of coping mechanisms.
But Mia wouldn't take no for an answer.
The rest of the day was a blur. The looming double date weighed on her mind, distracting her from the very real, very strange occurrences that had started to escalate around her. Objects seemed to be moving on their own more frequently now—she'd find her keys in places she was sure she hadn't left them, her phone upside down when she swore she'd put it screen up.
But it was the dreams that disturbed her most.
They were becoming more vivid, more detailed, and they followed her even when she was awake. The dark kingdom, the shadowy figure, the crumbling throne—it all felt too real, as if she was there, living in a parallel world just beyond her reach.
She shook it off as best she could. After all, she had more pressing concerns.
By the time 7 p.m. rolled around, she found herself sitting awkwardly in a dimly lit restaurant, directly across from a man who, while perfectly nice, clearly wasn't her type. Mia was talking animatedly next to her, trying to fill the conversation gaps with her usual high-energy commentary.
The night seemed normal enough—Mia and Greg were gushing over each other, and the guy across from her, Kevin (was it Kevin?), was talking about his job as an investment banker, which she tried to pretend was interesting.
And yet, even in the light of the restaurant, the shadows seemed off. It wasn't anything obvious—just the way the candles flickered a little too erratically, casting strange shapes on the walls, or how she kept catching glimpses of something shifting just outside her vision.
Focus, she told herself, forcing a smile as Kevin/Kyle talked about stock markets or something equally riveting.
"So, what do you do for fun?" he asked, his voice pleasant but with that awkward edge that made it clear he wasn't totally comfortable either.
"Oh, you know, the usual," she said, trying to play along. "Games. Books. Weirdly vivid nightmares that haunt me during the day."
The last part slipped out before she could stop herself.
Mia's eyes widened from across the table, and Kevin/Kyle laughed nervously, clearly unsure if she was joking.
"Uh, yeah, nightmares can be pretty weird sometimes," he said, trying to brush it off.
Great, she thought. Perfect time to mention your supernatural dream life, genius.
She caught Mia giving her a look—the kind that said, Seriously?—but before anyone could comment further, something happened.
The glass of water in front of her slid across the table.
Not a nudge. Not a subtle tilt. It slid. Straight toward the edge, as if pushed by invisible hands.
She froze, her heart racing, eyes glued to the glass as it moved. No one else seemed to notice. Kevin/Kyle was still talking, Mia was still gesturing wildly about her latest yoga class, and Greg was glued to his phone. No one saw it.
No one but her.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. She tried to ignore it, to focus on the conversation, but the glass—the glass had moved. She hadn't imagined it. Her mind raced as she faked her way through the double date, laughing at the appropriate moments, nodding when required. But inside, her thoughts were spiraling.
By the time she got home, her fear had reached a boiling point.
Her dreams were getting worse. The objects in her apartment—now even in public—were shifting, moving on their own. And no matter how much she tried to tell herself it was nothing, that she was imagining it, the fear was becoming impossible to push aside.
What was happening to her? Was she losing her mind? Or was something else going on, something darker, something she couldn't yet understand?
That night, as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she felt it again.
The shadows shifted. Just a little. Just enough.
And this time, she knew for certain—she wasn't imagining it.