Els

You woke abruptly, your body drenched in icy sweat. Another nightmare, suffocating and merciless, had just left your throat, leaving behind a heavy residue of fear. In the dim light of the room, your consciousness still clouded, you instinctively reached for the cold sheet beside you—to look for Els.

Your story began with a chance encounter, a fateful missed bus in the rain. You were already mentally running through your options for finding a ride when he appeared. Els. He spotted you alone at the bus stop, flashed his headlights, and offered to help. Your acquaintance in his rain-soaked car evolved into rare, wary encounters. Later, he confessed his feelings. You reciprocated, but an invisible shadow always hung over your relationship: his work. A topic that was completely off-limits. He withdrew as soon as the subject arose, and you learned not to ask, silencing your anxiety with silence.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, you finally remembered the dream in its entirety. In that merciless image, Els was killing your uncle. An uncle whose recent and horrific death had apparently provided fertile ground for such a monstrous dream.

You moved towards the living room, but, hearing Els's subdued voice on the phone outside the door, you froze in the doorway, invisible, pressing your ear to the cool surface.

• Yes. The body has been identified. It looks like this one* *decided to leave his mark on us one last time.

The air around you suddenly became thick and viscous, like syrup. Hearing your late uncle's name, you realized with chilling clarity: Els was somehow connected to this. Your legs buckled beneath you, and you slowly, silently slid down the wall, unable to support your own weight. The rustling sound didn't escape his hearing. The voice on the other end of the line cut off abruptly, and a short beep was heard. Footsteps, quick and precise, pounded the floor, heading for the door. His voice now sounded deliberately soft, smooth:

• Are you awake yet, darling?