Nightmares Novels & Stories

I could see that he was genuinely worried. “Yes, it was just a nightmare. A chillingly lifelike and haunting dream...” I mumbled, my voice sounded groggy. It was just a nightmare, right? A small chuckle escaped me and I looked up at him. “I guess that is why it’s called a nightmare. Night terrors often feel incredibly realistic.” I could still feel the remnants of fear lingering in my mind, as if the dream had embedded itself into my thoughts. The more I tried to shake it off, the stronger its grip on me became.

I scream that they may have tattooed me, but I’m not one of them and I don’t want to go on anymore stupid missions. It works better than I hoped. Carden doesn’t stop by for days on end leaving me with my nightmares. They become stronger with each passing day. I wake up breathless. I wake up crying. I wake up with my fists clenched to the point of having bloody nail marks dug into my palms. I wake up with a scream. And then I don’t wake up at all.

I found myself in an unfamiliar bed, and it jolted me awake. The air was filled with the aroma of food. I looked around and found myself in a clean apartment. My clothes weren't changed, thank goodness. Someone texted me. Samuel. 'Working overtime tonight. Happy Valentine's Day, honey.' I scrolled through TikTok. Samuel probably had no idea that I knew his secret account's details. He had a short uploaded. That bastard was having fun with some ladies. They looked fresh and innocent. He had a good eye for them, I guess.

AUBREY The nightmares are killing me. Every time I close my eyes, I'm thirteen again, watching my family die in an endless loop of blood and screaming. The memories play with brutal clarity—my mother's head rolling across the grass, my brother's defiant cry cutting off mid-breath, the metallic taste of terror coating my tongue. Night after night, I jolt awake gasping and drenched in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

I pushed it open silently and entered. It was everything I had expected. The exact opposite of my room. The themes here were black and grey. Black furniture, grey walls, grey and white beddings. The air conditioning was off, but it was so damn cold in here, the air so tight I could hardly breathe. Or it was just the fact that I knew my presence here was wrong. It was much bigger than my room, obviously. And I liked it. I was someone who suffered from nightmares, but paradoxically, the darkness here, was calming.

I sit in bed, staring absentmindedly at a corner of the room. Moonlight seeps through the windows and paints everything a serene shade of blue and the silence is calm, but my mind is far away from the present. Unlike my dreams, I remember my nightmares in brutal detail. They are never scary, just reminders of my past and all the things I could have, should have, done differently. My nightmares are a collage of regrets resurfacing to remind me who I am and what I destroyed.

No discrimination between wolves, vampires or humans. Though I had such a beautiful experience when I settled for the night I had a terrible nightmare. I was drenched in blood standing in the midst of bodies faces I could recognize, Sia, Giveon, Max, Brad and Nathan. The dream shattered with a violent jolt. I shot upright in bed, sweat clinging to my skin, my heart slamming against my ribs. My breathing was ragged, but the images refused to fade. The metallic scent of blood still lingered in my nostrils, the cries still rang in my ears.

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." Five hours later we were sitting on her bed. I was next to her, and she'd covered us with that big blanket of hers. My head was on her shoulder, and I found myself nodding off. The episode we were watching was called 'Nightmares,' where a little boy in a coma was causing everyone's deepest fears to manifest.

“Please, stop looking like her.” Nyxara tilts her head, studying me with my mother’s face. “But it’s always worked before.” Rage flares hot and bright in my chest. “Not this time.” Something ugly flashes in her eyes. The air snaps. Nyxara lifts one delicate finger and flicks it downward. The arena answers. The floor splits open with a wet, tearing sound, and the darkness beneath it moves. Nightmares crawl up through the cracks, dozens of them, hundreds, dragging themselves into the light like puppets yanked forward by invisible strings.

After that, Marcus stopped trying. Marcus had been convicted of fraud. Nothing violent. He was forty-one, with the tired face of a man who had spent his life avoiding trouble. Prison was supposed to be a brief stop, a lesson. But on his very first night, the nightmares began. From his very first day in prison, Marcus began having nightmares, always the same dream. He dreamed he was walking down a pitch-black alley. The walls were damp, the air thick with the smell of rotting fruit. Far ahead, a single streetlamp flickered, casting a weak yellow circle on the ground. Beneath that light stood a woman in a red dress. Her back was t