Beyond The Wall Of Sleep Lovecraft Novels & Stories

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Clive’s face as he lay beside me. I watched him sleep for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. The world outside felt distant and unimportant in this fleeting moment of tranquility. My fingers traced the contours of his face, memorizing every detail—the strong jawline, the delicate curve of his lips, and those piercing, crimson eyes that had captured my heart. I marveled at the way love had brought together two beings from opposite sides of the supernatural divide.

Not in near future. “Please..." I pleaded, feeling more desperate and scared at the thought that he might feed on me if I fall asleep. “Rest.” he ignored my pleading, fixating his ice blue eyes into my brown ones and I sighed in defeat. I know better than to argue with a vampire. A sob escaped through my lips before my eyelids finally gave in as I drifted off into a deep sleep. *5 days later*

In fact I was a goddamn horror and gore novelist for the freaking sake of voodoo dolls and I was actually planning to be a Funeral Director, yet I found myself screaming my cousin's name every night as I was running towards his room next door. Why? Because I couldn't see my reflection in the mirror whenever the sun sets and that guy's cloak always finds its way on my indoor clothes storage rack. The most disturbing part? His skull mask will appear on the other side of the bed every time I wake up. So there, I begged Briar to sleep next to him because my room became a haunted spot. Of course I hated it too but even if we're at each other's throats most of the time, I still treated him like a

Hundreds of mirrors lined the walls, reflecting not her image, but emptiness— a faint distortion, as though the mirrors themselves were tired of showing faces that no longer cared to look. She whispered, “What happened here?” A voice answered from the shadows. “Feeling happened.” --- The Sleeper A man stepped into the dim light. He was tall, pale, dressed in black. His eyes gleamed like ice. “My name is Solan.” Liora felt the faint pulse of the Flow stir within her chest, but here it was thin, almost suffocated.

The longing for her was unbearable, and I realized that stepping into this room was like reopening a wound that had barely begun to heal. For a moment, I stayed there, crumpled and broken, unsure if I could bear the weight of her absence. But something compelled me to move. Slowly, with trembling legs, I forced myself to stand. My gaze fell on the bookshelf, and I approached it cautiously as if disturbing the stillness might erase what little connection I had left with her. The books were an eclectic mix, their subjects as varied and intriguing as she had been. Titles about supernatural beings, the mysteries of space, and one in particular—a book about an incubus—caught my eye.

I could recognize Aphrodite, Apollo, Cupid, but the others were all unrecognizable. I ran my hands on them, and looked at the crystal orbs on the high shelves, mirroring the light from my candle. Spiderwebs spun around, and it became weirder that only the statues were clean. Grotesque portraits of blood, men murdered in cold blood, and ancient beasts stayed on the wall, but one made me stop to stare at it. In large, red, spiky letters that seemed to be blood, the word CRYOGEN was written at the bottom.

The light illuminated the space, full of old objects and stacked boxes. As she walked, a loose floorboard creaked beneath her feet. She bent down to see what it was and, with some effort, lifted the board. She found an old book, covered in dust, with a leather cover filled with drawings of supernatural creatures. Scarlett’s heart began to race; something about the book drew her in, as if it held secrets waiting to be discovered.

Fear gripped her, but beneath it, a spark of that forbidden curiosity ignited—stories come to life, just like in her books. The doll approached the bed on unsteady legs, its small feet pattering against the wooden floor. Up close, its lifeless face unnerved her, painted lips frozen in a perpetual smile. But those eyes burned with something hungry, something not of this world. A dark spirit, Lila thought wildly, her mind racing to the fantasy tales she loved. The doll climbed onto the bed, its tiny hands reaching out. They were cold, smooth porcelain against her warm skin as it crawled toward her. Lila recoiled, pulling the sheet up like a shield.

Love and fear coexisted, stronger than death’s decree, a fight that must continue, whether by choice or fate. Meanwhile… Lila jolted awake, her scream shattering the night’s stillness. Sweat-drenched sheets twisted around her legs as she kicked them free, gasping for air in the pitch-black room, save for the faint crimson glow seeping from the nightstand drawer. Repairs had been made to keep it shut—a defense against the nightmares it held. The visions felt too real, as past and future collided into a single nightmarish timeline that unraveled her reality.

"Then what's this? True love?" His phone kept ringing, but he shut it off. "Come back with me—just for tonight, so we can really talk," he begged. Maybe it was the night's drama wearing me down, but I suddenly felt exhausted. I agreed, "Alright. Just for tonight." Hope lit up his eyes. We went back to the house that used to be home, where everything looked the same. However, I knew that the familiarity was just an illusion. Matthew filled a glass with water for me and then opened a bottle of whiskey for himself.