Late-Night Visitors

A light rain started up again, clinging to me like a second skin as I dried off as much as I could, wringing the chill from my bones. My reflection in the cracked side mirror was ghastly—a face more suited to the grave than the living. Not that I was either anymore.

I climbed into the driver’s seat of my car, the leather steering wheel slick and unwelcoming under my cold hands. I tried to find some comfort in the cramped front seat, but it was a fool’s errand. The car creaked with age, whispering in the dark, and my mind was invaded by shadows and echoes, taunting me with fitful dreams.

The city hummed with unrelenting energy as I navigated the bustling streets, eyes flicking from one neon sign to the next. My destination? A seedy motel on the outskirts, a place I could hole up and work. “The Hollow Inn” announced itself in flickering green light, each sputter of the sign casting an uneasy glow over the cracked pavement.

As I approached the intersection, the motel loomed ahead, its decrepit facade a testament to years of neglect. Peeling paint clung to the walls like a bad habit, and the windows, smeared with grime, offered no glimpse of what lay within. A few rusted cars squatted in the parking lot, their owners either too desperate or too indifferent to care about the place’s condition.

The creaky glass door protested as I pushed it open, a small bell above jangling a discordant tune. The lobby was a claustrophobic space, dimly lit and suffocating with the smell of stale cigarettes and musty air. Threadbare carpet, worn down to the point of near extinction, and wallpaper peeling from the walls like old skin completed the scene.

Behind the chipped counter stood a man—if it could be called that. It’s hunched form suggested it carried a weight heavier than it could bear, and his pallid skin, like aged parchment, clung to sharp, angular features. His eyes, a piercing yellow, seemed to glow with a sickly light, a clear giveaway of his goblin heritage. Not uncommon around these parts, but still unsettling.

He glanced up from a battered ledger, suspicion and disdain carved into his expression. “For an hour or the night?” it rasped, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.

I nodded, sliding a few crumpled bills across the counter. “For the night. Possibly more.”

He snatched the money with clawed fingers, briefly inspecting it before stashing it in the register. With a grunt, it handed me a tarnished key, the number “13″ barely visible on the worn brass tag. “You pay each morning. Room thirteen,” it said, jerking his head toward the stairs. “Up the stairs, third door on the left. Don’t cause any trouble.” The warning hung heavy in the air, like a storm cloud ready to break.

Key in hand, I headed up the rotting staircase. Each step groaned underfoot, as if protesting my presence. The hallway above was narrow and dimly lit, shadows dancing erratically as the bulbs flickered. I reached the door marked 13, the metal cold against my palm, and unlocked it with a click that seemed too loud in the stillness.

The room was as shabby as I expected. A sad, lumpy bed dominated the center, flanked by a rickety nightstand that looked like it was on its last legs. A battered dresser slumped against the wall, its drawers crooked and half-open, as if giving up on the idea of order. The carpet was a faded, threadbare thing, clinging desperately to the floor, and the air carried a persistent odor of mildew that refused to be ignored.

With a sigh, I dropped my bag onto the bed, the springs groaning in protest. I surveyed my temporary home—if it could even be called that. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told me it was late, and my stomach growled in protest. I considered grabbing a bite, but exhaustion won out; my hunger a dull throb that I could ignore for now.

I collapsed onto the lumpy bed, exhaustion dragging me down like an anchor. Sleep overtook me quickly, but instead of the restful oblivion I craved, I was pulled into something far more sinister.

The world around me twisted, distorted, and suddenly, I was no longer in the dingy motel room. The walls dissolved, replaced by a landscape that felt unsettlingly familiar yet wrong—like a memory twisted into a nightmare. The world reeked of sulfur and ash, dense and suffocating, while the ground beneath me quaked, restless and eager to shake me loose.

This wasn’t real. It was a dream—vivid, terrifying—but that knowledge didn’t soften its edges. I was trapped, unable to wake, unable to escape.

I was standing on a battlefield, ancient and unreal. The sky churned with blood-red clouds, flickering with jagged streaks of lightning that illuminated the chaos below. The ground was littered with broken weapons and the twisted bodies of fallen warriors. But not all were human—some were monstrous, grotesque beings with shifting forms that defied logic.

Before I could comprehend the scene, I was thrust into the heart of the battle. Warriors in ancient armor clashed around me, wielding swords and axes with brutal efficiency. Their faces were obscured, but their eyes burned with an eerie, unyielding light. Among them were creatures from the darkest recesses of the mind, their limbs bending in unnatural ways, mouths filled with too many teeth.

I reminded myself it was just a dream, but the intensity—the sounds, the smells, the sheer force of it—made it feel terrifyingly real. Adrenalin surged, the ground shook beneath my feet, and my heart—I had a heart—pounded.

A massive beast—a nightmare given form—fixed its glowing eyes on me. Its body was a roiling mass of smoke and fire, its maw lined with blackened, jagged teeth. It wasn’t just coming for me—it was hunting me. It charged, and I barely dove aside, feeling the searing heat of its breath as it roared past.

When I scrambled to my feet, there was a sword in my hand—a weapon that wasn’t there a moment ago, gleaming with a strange, ethereal light. I didn’t question it. There was no time. The beast turned, its eyes locked on me, ready to strike again.

The battle was chaos, a whirl of violence and fear. I swung the sword, driven by pure survival instinct. Every strike sent a jolt of pain through my body, the screams of the dying blending with the roars of the monsters. The world around me blurred and distorted, the dream trying to pull me deeper under.

Suddenly, a wave of dark energy slammed into me, hurling me to the ground. Pain exploded through every nerve. The sword slipped from my grasp, skittering across the blood-soaked earth. Above me, the beast loomed, its eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger. It reared back, ready to tear me apart.

And then, everything stopped.

The battlefield, the beast, the chaos—all of it froze as if time itself had halted. I should have woken up then, the terror releasing its grip, but instead, I felt a presence—something ancient, powerful, and inescapable. It was watching me, judging me.

The dream shuddered, and from the darkness stepped a figure cloaked in shadow. I didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.

“Not yet, Jack,” Death said, his voice deep and eternal, resonating through the dreamscape. “You’ve still got work to do.”

With a wave of his hand, the dream began to unravel. The beast dissolved into mist, the battlefield faded, and I was left standing alone in the void.

But the dream didn’t shatter like it usually did. Instead, the void deepened, thickening into a dense, impenetrable blackness. I could feel something else—a presence more elusive, yet impossibly vast, lurking just beyond the edge of my awareness. The darkness rippled, and a figure emerged, tall and ethereal, its form constantly shifting like mist caught in a breeze. His eyes were like twin voids, drawing in all light, all thought.

“You tread dangerous paths, Jack,” it said, his voice a whisper that echoed in the vastness. “Even in the waking world, your steps are watched. The veil between worlds is thin... and frayed. Be mindful of where your journey takes you.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the dreamscape trembling with their weight. I tried to respond, but the figure was already fading, his form dissolving into the surrounding darkness.

Then, a sound through the void—a distant, insistent noise that grew louder, more jarring. I recognized it, but it didn’t belong here. It was out of place, invasive.

The dream shattered like glass, darkness torn away as I lurched back to reality. The noise followed me out—a car alarm, shrill and grating, slicing through the paper-thin walls of the motel. I pressed a hand to my chest. Nothing. Just the echo of something lost. The remnants of the dream clung to me like cold sweat, refusing to let go.

The clock glowed back at me—two hours of fitful sleep. Barely enough to take the edge off. Outside, the alarm kept wailing, a desperate protest. I couldn’t help but wonder what someone with a car worth protecting was doing at a dive like this. Then again, I didn’t have to stretch my imagination too far to figure it out.