This is a retelling of a dream I had recently. I think it could make a good opening for a short story, perhaps about someone who is dying and subconsciously searching for a reason to continue living.
I took one last sip of water from the glass and set it down on the nightstand. Then, I settled into my bed and carefully placed a pair of air buds in my ears. Pressing play, the soothing tone of a radio voice filled my ears once again. I closed my eyes and let myself relax. As the podcast ended, I waited for the next one to start, but there was nothing. Only silence.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the dark ceiling. The room was completely dark, except for a faint bluish light coming from somewhere unknown. A feeling deep inside told me what this meant. Instinctively, I began to quietly recite a verse I knew by heart:
the time of silence is at hand
the ghosts of the past have chosen
they will haunt me until they find
the things for which they are searching
Where did I learn that verse? What did it mean? My conscious mind didn’t know, but my subconscious did.
I got out of bed and stood there, looking around the room and trying to make sense of everything. It was still my bedroom, but it looked abandoned, as if no one had lived here in years. The room was bare and devoid of any personal touches. All that remained were my bed and nightstand with an empty glass sitting on top. But the eerie blue light and the cold air that seemed to chill to the bone made it clear that something was not right. Fear washed over me as I realized I was not alone in this room. No, it was not just fear that I felt. It was pure terror.