"The Nightmare" by Arushi Kashyap is a spooky tale of a dream gone wrong. It is told in eight parts, with each part whisking the reader into a new dreamscape. This is Chapter Two.
*Content Warning: Blood, death, rot, some violence.
"The Nightmare" by Arushi Kashyap
Chapter Two: The Woman in White
I woke up with a strangled gasp.
My bedsheet was tangled around my legs. My shirt clung to my skin, soaked in sweat. And the pain—my ankle throbbed like something had sunk its teeth deep and refused to let go.
“It was just a nightmare,” I whispered. But it just didn’t feel right. The ache in my ribs, the sting under my nails, the metallic taste in my mouth—none of it faded. I dragged myself to the sink. Cold water. Splash. Again. Again.
In the mirror, my reflection twitched. Her eyes didn’t blink with mine. Her lips... curled.
A smirk. A secret. I blinked. It was me again. Don’t think. Don’t feed it. I turned to the window and yanked the curtain open, chasing morning light. I needed normal.
Image Description: A woman with a skeletal face and shoulder-length dark hair stands in a dark forest. She wears a lacey, white dress and veil. Her dress is cinched with a white corset.
Credit: nejatpixels / Pexels
Instead -- I saw her.
A woman.
Standing at the far end of the narrow street, under the flickering lamppost. A white gown flowed around her, its hem soaked in crimson. Her skin—bluish. Her arms cradled her swollen belly. Blood dripped steadily, forming a growing stain at her bare feet.
She didn’t move. She just stared. At me. Her eyes weren’t eyes. They were voids—ink spilled across porcelain. Her mouth moved, shaping words I couldn’t hear. Then—her arms rose, slow, shaking—reaching.
For help.
I didn't think.
I ran.
Down the stairs. Barefoot. Heart racing.
The world turned sideways as I sprinted into the street. The light above her flickered violently.
Then -- she collapsed.
I dropped beside her. Her breath came in short, jerky gasps—like someone choking on air.
“Ma’am, are you okay? I’m here, I—”
I reached out. My fingers touched her shoulder. She was ice cold.
I turned her over. And stopped breathing. It was me. My face. My body. My bloodied hands splayed across the pavement. My lifeless eyes staring upward. My own stomach—swollen, ruptured, leaking warmth into the street. I recoiled, scrambling back, limbs shaking, bile rising in my throat.
"No...no...this isn't real..."
A car horn screamed.
White light.
Impact.
Silence.
To Be Continued...
About the Author
Arushi Kashyap is a fiction writer from India who loves exploring different genres—from haunting thrillers to tender tales of love and loss. She finds inspiration in the blurred lines between dream and reality, often weaving emotion and imagination into every story she writes.
Add comment
Comments