I Have A Hole Here

“I have a hole here”, he wakes up suddenly as the child's voice echoes in his mind. He is stunned by the dream he just saw. He can’t believe it. He gets up and gets ready for his office.

Merson, being an assistant professor of psychology, can’t understand the dream he saw this morning. He is trying to forget it, but he can’t. The voice of that child is stuck in his mind. While he was thinking about the reason for that dream, Max, his friend, took him back to the real world.

“Hey, what are you thinking?” asks Merson

“Oh, hi Max. I just saw a random dream this morning. But it is stuck in my mind, I can’t forget it. So it is bugging me.”

“Merson, you are a psychologist and can’t forget a dream. Everyone gets dreams, and they forget them, so don’t waste your time thinking about that random dream you saw.”

“Ok, ok, I will try to forget it.”

“Don’t try, just do it.”

Merson nods affirmatively and starts preparing his next lecture, but he can’t forget it.

“It hurts here, it hurts……………..can’t you see? Why can’t you see?” the child sobs, “I-I have a hole here.”

“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE?”

“Sir?”

He wakes up suddenly, “Yes, yes, what happened?” He replies frightfully

“Sir, what happened? You look frightened. Did you have a nightmare?

“No, I just spaced out. Nothing to worry about. Do you want something?”

“Sir, I just wanted you to explain today’s topic again.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Merson forgets the dream, but his heart is still uneasy.

Merson returns home, does his routine work, and goes to sleep

“Why can’t you see me? Why are you ignoring me? “I have a hole here?”

The child repeats it again and again

“WHY?” the child screams

Merson wakes up suddenly, and he is flabbergasted. He is a bit shaken. “I thought I forgot it.”

He gets up, gets ready, and acts like nothing happened, which was the best he could do in that situation. But the voice is stuck in his mind. His psychiatrist's mind can’t think of the reason.

At the bus station, Max joins him

“Hello Merson, your face tells that you have forgotten the dream, right?”

“I had forgotten it until you reminded me,” Merson stares Max with dead eyes.

“Well, forget it again.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, being a psychiatrist, it shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“Ok, ok, mister physicist”

“Quantum”

“Ok, mister quantum physicist.”

They arrive at the university and then proceed to their classes. But how talented a psychiatrist Merson is, he can’t forget it. Because when you see things again and again, they become harder and harder to ignore. And he knows it, that he isn’t forgetting it.

“Want some coffee?” Asks Max, as Merson enters the cafeteria

“I would love it.”

“Then make it yourself.”

“I hate you,” replies Merson with a stare

They both drink coffee, chat, and go back to their classes. Merson is uneasy; he is trying to forget it, but he can’t. Even during teaching, his mind is getting distracted by the thought of it. After a long, tiring day, he gets back home, prepares dinner, and goes to sleep. After a short while, he sleeps.

THE DEMON DIDN’T LET GO

“It hurts here...” the child sobbed, his voice shaking. “I have a hole here...” The crying grew violent, raw, blinding as if the boy could weep himself blind.

Merson can’t move; it’s like something has taken his ability to move. “Hey, kid, relax, stop crying.” “What hole are you talking about? You have your complete body?” “Who are-“

Merson can’t speak a word; he can’t even feel his tongue

“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE IT?” The child screams

“AHHHH” Merson wakes up with a scream. “What in the world was THAT?”

He sat up in bed, heart racing. That wasn’t just a dream; he felt it. The voice, the emotion... it was too real.

“Was that even a dream?” “It didn’t feel anywhere like a dream.” “GOD, what is happening to me?” He said it to himself. He got shaken this time. He thought he was dreaming in a dream, but he wasn’t. All of the things he saw, heard, and felt were one true dream, a single one, which his mind couldn’t comprehend as a dream. The problem wasn’t the dream; it was the regularity in its appearance, the feeling which made it no longer a dream, but the actual presence of Merson in it.

4 days passed, still the same dream, same confusion

5 days passed

1 week passed

2 weeks

Then the 3rd

Finally, a month passed, but it was the same; nothing changed except for Merson. After watching and ignoring it for a month, he started to pay real attention to the dream.

“Hey, doctor, what are you thinking?” asks Max

“Yes? Oh, it’s you, Max. Nothing, just paying attention to something I ignored for a month.”

“Just simply say you are thinking about that DREAM of yours.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, we two are free for the next thirty minutes, so why not tell me about that dream of yours? The attention you’re giving it doesn’t make it a normal dream.”

“Okay, as you asked a month later, I think I should tell you.”

“In the dream, it's all pitch black, and suddenly a child appears, he is crying badly, so badly he may lose his eyesight. He stares straight at me, clutching his chest above the heart so tightly it looks like he might tear his flesh. While doing all this, he is screaming at me, saying that he has a hole here, it hurts, and asking me why I can’t see his hole.”

“That is a hell of a dream. Well, imagining what you just told me, I can easily think of how dreadful and irritating it is. This isn’t a normal dream. No, it isn’t a dream. It is like someone is talking to you in your sleep.”

“In reality, talking to each other in sleep is practically impossible. Somniloquy, REM sleep, and half-awake talking are possible, but talking normally it’s not scientifically proven.”

“Yes, I have heard about them, but you telling me about their existence makes me believe it. The only advice I will give now is that you must do some research on it. Although quantum physics has no relation to this matter, I will try to find.”

“I think it's time to use our research skills again.”

“Yeah, doctor.”

The bell rings, and they both head to their respective classes. Merson's expectations of the dream being a direct conversation are low. But something is making him believe it is possible. He arrives home and starts searching for clues or theories regarding his strange dream.

THE HUNT (PART I)

“Cryptomnesia is a fascinating and often perplexing phenomenon in human memory. It occurs when an individual recalls information or experiences but fails to recognize that these memories are, in fact, memories. Instead, the person believes these thoughts or images to be original ideas or new perceptions. Essentially, it is a ‘hidden memory’ that surfaces without proper source awareness.”

“Well, this seems to be related. I should read more.” Says Merson while reading the book

“This phenomenon usually arises from a breakdown in ‘source monitoring,’ the mental process that links a memory to its origin. For example, a person might remember a phrase or an image but forget where or when they encountered it, leading to the illusion of originality.

Cryptomnesia often manifests during times of stress, fatigue, or when the brain is processing information in altered states such as dreaming or sleep. The boundaries between past and present experiences become blurred, making it difficult to distinguish between what is genuinely new and what is recalled from the past.

In the context of dreams, cryptomnesia can be especially potent. Dreams often draw on fragments of memories—faces, voices, emotions—but because these fragments are detached from their original context, the dreamer experiences them as novel or mysterious. This can create vivid dreams that feel real and urgent, yet originate from the deep recesses of forgotten experience.”

Reading this, Merson felt a chill run down his spine. Could the child in his dream be a buried memory, something from his past he had long forgotten, now rising with such force that it defies all logic? Or was it something else entirely?

“No, No. It can’t be this. I don’t remember anything like this. I, of course, would have forgotten about a child, but something like in the dream? No, it can’t be this. There is just no way.” “It seems I need to read more books.”

Merson walks up to his shelf and grabs a few books. All are, somehow, just not related to what he saw in the dream.

“Hypnagogia refers to the transitional state of consciousness between wakefulness and sleep. During this brief and often unstable phase, the mind may experience vivid sensory phenomena—including auditory hallucinations (such as voices), visual imagery (like flashes, faces, or patterns), and even a sense of presence or movement. These perceptions are often dreamlike, but the individual may still retain partial awareness of their surroundings.”

Hypnagogic hallucinations are typically involuntary and can range from benign to deeply unsettling. They often occur in the moments just before sleep onset, when the brain begins to disengage from external stimuli but has not yet fully entered REM sleep. Because of this, the individual may feel awake yet paralyzed, aware yet unable to act.

This state is also closely associated with sleep paralysis. In this condition, the body remains immobile as it transitions in or out of sleep, often accompanied by intense feelings of dread or visualizations of figures or voices. These experiences can be misinterpreted as supernatural or otherworldly, particularly when the person is unable to distinguish between the internal and external world in that moment.”

Interestingly, hypnagogia has been historically linked with creativity, inspiration, and mystical experiences. However, in certain individuals, recurring or intense episodes may signal underlying stress, trauma, or neurological sensitivity.”

“Hypnagogia is usually due to trauma, brain injury, or use of addictive drugs. But judging my health, I don’t think I have anything that will lead to this.” “I just need to look for more clues before I jump to a conclusion.”

THE HUNT (PART II)

Merson opens another book and starts reading.

“Carl Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious proposes that beyond the personal unconscious, which contains memories and experiences unique to an individual, there exists a deeper, universal layer of the psyche shared by all human beings. This collective unconscious is not formed by personal experience but is inherited, and it contains the fundamental building blocks of human thought and behavior.”

Jung described these shared elements as archetypes—primordial images or symbolic patterns that recur across cultures and time. Examples include the ‘Child,’ the ‘Mother,’ the ‘Shadow,’ and the ‘Wise Old Man.’ These archetypes can surface in dreams, myths, and art, often cloaked in deeply emotional or symbolic forms.”

Unlike personal memories, the collective unconscious operates independently of conscious thought. It emerges in moments of deep introspection, during intense dreams, and in altered states of consciousness—presenting symbols and emotions that may feel ancient, alien, or uncannily familiar.”

According to Jung, when an individual encounters the collective unconscious, especially in dreams, they may experience confusion, spiritual transformation, or even psychological crisis. The images and voices that arise are not just from one’s mind, but from a shared psychic inheritance—a collective memory of humankind.”

Merson slowly closed the book and stared at nothing. “The Child,” he whispered. The crying voice. The wound. The repeating phrase. It didn’t feel like a memory. It felt... older. Like something buried not just in him, but in something bigger. Something deeper.

Was he hearing a child? Or was he witnessing an archetype screaming from the dark?

“Why can’t you see it?”

“From all the books I have read, Carl Jung’s concept seems trustworthy. I should sleep now, it’s getting late. I wish Max would bring something good.”

Merson puts the books back on the shelf and goes to sleep

“I have a hole here. It hurts so much. Please, please help me. HELP ME. WHY CAN’T YOU SEE IT? WHY?”

“HEY!!” Merson wakes up with a shout. “It was different this time. He asked for help. OH MY GOD!! What is even happening? The more I experience it, the less it feels like a dream. I need to go and hear what Max has to say.”

MAX’S HUNT

Merson rushes towards the university. He is still shocked about the change in the dream. It becomes clear that what he has been experiencing is more than a dream. He reaches the university and finds Max.

“Hey, hey, Max. Max”

“Woah woah, relax, Merson. What happened? Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I was looking for you.” Merson takes a deep breath. “Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately, only one theory, which may be somewhat related to your dream. “Sit down, I will tell you.”

Both Max and Merson sit down, and then Max starts telling what he found

“Firstly, remember it is just a speculation. So, don’t go believing it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Ok, then let's begin.” “There’s a theory, it’s called Orchestrated Objective Reduction—Orch-OR. Penrose and Hameroff came up with it. The idea is that consciousness doesn’t just come from neurons firing or chemicals in your brain, it is from quantum processes happening inside your brain’s microtubules.”

“Microtubules. How? They are only for a structural scaffolding.”

“Yes, it is for that purpose. But, according to this theory, they’re quantum processors. They collapse wave functions—not randomly, like in standard quantum physics—but in an orchestrated, non-algorithmic way. That’s what creates consciousness. The collapse itself is the moment of awareness.”

“And the weird part.” “If consciousness arises from quantum effects, and those quantum states can become entangled, then in theory, two consciousnesses could become linked. Not physically, not neurologically, but quantumly.”

“So you are saying, if this theory is true, I am facing Quantum entanglement? My mind and the child’s mind are entangled with each other?”

“Well, yes, it seems to be the case.” “My theory is done. What did you find?”

Merson tells Max all the theories he has read.

“Hmmm….. I think all of them match the description you gave me. It’s a bit absurd.” “It may sound strange, but do you think it can be telepathy?”

“No, never. Telepathy and what I am experiencing are different; it’s totally out of context. Telepathy is sending messages or reading someone’s mind. So, no, it’s not telepathy.”

“Well, I can’t say anything now. It doesn’t even feel like a dream anymore. It’s like the child is talking to you.”

“Talking? It doesn’t make sense.”

“What part of any of this makes any sense?”

Max was right. None of it made sense. Not anymore. The experience was no longer just a dream; it was something else. Something even the devil wouldn't give a name. Merson wasn’t just a professor anymore. He was unraveling. And the more he thought about it, the deeper he spiraled into something that felt like madness.

THE THREAT

Merson went back home and kept searching for more clues, but nothing could satisfy him. “None of it makes any sense.” “It can be anything, but……. I can’t find anything that can help me. NOTHING!!!!” His voice cracked. His fists slammed the desk. His mind was splintering.

“Well, the best thing I can do now is just go to sleep.” “But…”

Even the thought of sleep summoned the voice again.

“There is no point in staying awake, I just have to sleep and bear it again.”

“Hole……I…… have…… a HOLE HERE!!!!! Why? WHY? WHY CAN’T YOU SEE SOMETHING SO CLEAR? WHY ARE YOU BLIND? YOU SLEEP SO PEACEFULLY. WHY? WHY?” “Only eternal sleep can open your eyes. ONLY DEATH”

“HEY!” Merson screamed as he shot awake, heart pounding in his ears.

“What was that? He gave me a threat? But why? WHY? What did I even do? I don’t even know you. Oh God. I wish…… I…… I just… died. At least, I won’t have to bear this. At least…I WON'T BE KILLED. Oh God, I can’t even think of something good.” “Why do I have to die for something I didn’t even do?” “Why?” Merson sobs. He is completely broken. That one sleep, just one, had been enough to break his courage, enough to shatter the very core of his sanity.

“I am done. I am done with this. I am done with everything.” “I am resigning. I AM DONE.”

He had lost all hope. All confidence. His knowledge of psychology meant nothing now. His degrees, his experience, all his logic, were useless in the face of something unworldly. Something that didn’t belong to science or sanity.

PATH TO INSANITY

Days became weeks, weeks became months, but it was all Merson and the voice of the child, which echoed through his mind. Over and over again. It wasn’t a dream anymore. It was a parasite. And his soul was the host. He was at its mercy.

“Death…..Only death….Only death can save me from this hell. Only death.”

Max was trying his best to contact Merson, but he was only gifted with silence. But Max couldn’t bear it, so he went to his home.

“Merson! MERSON! Open the goddamn door. What is wrong with you? You will only make it worse.” “Merson, I don’t want to do anything violent.” But there was no response, “Ok, brother, you left me with no choice.”

Max brings a shotgun from the trunk of his car. The fire broke all the locks, and he entered the house. He rushed towards his room and saw something that one couldn’t even imagine. Something that only the devil can think of.

The room was filled with blood and blades, and the lifeless shell of Merson. He was alive, but barely. He tried to end his life, but even death refused him.

“MERSON!! HEY!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” shouted Max at that gruesome sight. Merson wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t in any condition to be called alive. His injuries told how much he tried to kill himself. “Hey! Wake up!” Said Max as he splashed water on Merson’s face. Merson got up in a jolt and stared at Max.

“Are you here to kill me?” Asked Merson with a broken, ironic smile

“You...” Max clenched his fists, overwhelmed by fear and frustration. Then, he slapped Merson hard, snapping him back to reality.

“Oh….Max”

“What do you mean, ‘Oh Max’? Are you out of your mind? Ok, I understand how hard this is, but suicide isn’t the solution. You have to stay in your senses and use your mind. You understand what I am saying?”

“IT MAY SEEM EASY FOR YOU TO TALK, BUT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Merson was crying. “It is too much for me. The child is no longer crying from his pain; he wants to kill me! Whenever I close my eyes, I always see him, shouting at me. He wants to kill me for something I didn’t even do. I don’t even know him! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! Just like I didn’t understand the kid’s pain, you don’t understand MINE!”

The constant threats and endless dreaming drove Merson to insanity. He was no longer the Merson Max knew.

“I... am sorry, it’s my fault for not helping you when you needed it the most.” “I can’t do anything now. But I would say one thing. Before you go to suicide, just remember who you are.” “Just... don’t die, please,” said Max with tears in his eyes. “Please.” Max couldn’t say anything; he couldn’t do anything. He felt more helpless than Merson.

This dream turned out to be something that would ruin Merson's body and soul. Not just Merson, but Max too. Merson was sinking in the dream, and Max was in grief. Both were drowning in a sea where only death waited for them.

Some days went by, which only brought more misery for Merson. But one day everything changed.

DEATH AT THE DOOR

“Come here, come.” The voice wasn’t in a dream. It was inside the room. Inside his head.

“Where? Where are you?” Merson asked with his eyes wide open. He first thought it was a dream, but walking around the room assured him that he was awake.

“I am here…come to me.” Said the child with a laugh.

Merson started to follow the voice and went where his legs took him, and suddenly, he was out of his house.

“Oh, it’s night. When was the last time I went outside? I don’t remember. Oh God, I stink. I haven’t taken a bath, have I?”

“I am here.” Merson suddenly heard the sound and started to walk towards it. He walked a bit further and came to a stop “Hey, where are you?” But there was no voice. “Oh, we are playing hide and seek, are we?” It was all silent around him. Not a single sound was heard. He was flabbergasted. Merson couldn’t speak a single word. The silence was terrifying.

“Do you know where you are standing?” The child spoke. His pale figure stood before Merson, eyes glinting in the dark.

“-On your grave.-”

Merson was void of all words. Frozen. A sudden flash of light burst behind him. He turned. And there it was: metal, headlights, and his impending death.

“I was just a normal human, like everyone else. I had a job, lived a good life, and had no regrets. But why… why did I have to face this? I never thought I would die like this. And a mere dream causing it? Ridiculous.

Is this the end?

If I could make one wish… I would wish for a better death. I wish… I… wish…”

Merson closed his eyes and let go. The darkness rushed in like a tide, cold and certain.

DEAD OR ALIVE?

“Are you finally awake?”

His eyes snapped open. The voice cut through the void like a blade. The child stood there, smiling, waiting.

“What?” Merson’s voice cracked. “Seriously? I can’t even die? Just—what is your problem?” His words came out like a snarl, anger flaring in the hollow of his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Oh, right,” the child said, tapping a finger against his lip as if recalling a minor detail. “You were run over by a car. Oh my, what a boring death.” He laughed, soft and delighted, as if mocking Merson’s pain.

“You’re acting like you did nothing. You killed me!” Merson spat, fury trembling in his voice.

“Oh… did I?” The child tilted his head. “Well, who knows? But are you dead?” His laughter only deepened, cruel and lighthearted all at once.

Merson froze. “Wait… you mean I’m not dead?”

“You ask questions like I’m your encyclopedia.” The laughter stopped. The child’s face turned solemn. “No. You’re not dead. You’re alive.”

A shiver crawled down Merson’s spine. “Then… where am I?”

“You don’t need to know. You wouldn’t understand.” The child smiled, and the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m a psychologist,” Merson said, desperate, clinging to reason. “I’d understand. Spit it out.”

The child’s eyes gleamed. “Did your psychology help you against this ‘mere’ dream?”

The words hit him like a slap. Merson fell silent.

“You survived the hit,” the child continued. “You’re in a coma now. I don’t know what this place is. I only know it doesn’t end.”

Merson drew in a long, shaking breath. His voice dropped. “What are you? And why are you doing this?”

“Me?” The child’s grin widened. “I’m just human, like everyone else. But… what lets me talk to you makes me different.”

“What is that ability? How did you get it?”

The child frowned, annoyed. “I don’t know what it is. I just… have it.”

Merson clenched his fists. He needed something concrete. “You keep saying you have a hole in your chest.”

The child looked down, then laughed. “Oh, this? Now you can see it? You really are blind.”

Merson’s throat tightened. “How did you get that? And… how are you alive with that hole?”

“It’s just a hole,” the child said softly, brushing fingers across the shadowy wound. “My heart’s right below it, so I’m safe.” His voice darkened. “And how I got this… that’s a story you’re not ready to hear.”

THE CHILD

I was born in a remote, forgotten village. My father and brother were farmers; my mother kept the home. I was the only one in the village who ever sat in a classroom. Everyone else lived and died without learning to read.

I discovered my ability when I was five years old.

There was a boy in our neighborhood—stronger than me, crueler too. He beat me so badly one day that I tasted dirt and blood. That night, I lay awake, shaking with anger, wishing him harm. Wishing he would vanish forever.

And then, without warning, I was no longer in my bed.

I stood inside his dream. A weapon lay in my hand, cold and perfect. I used it. I ended him.

When I woke, I felt no regret. Only calm. Only peace. And I smiled.

The child telling this story smiled too widely and crookedly, and it made Merson’s chest tighten.

“I learned how my ability worked,” the child went on, his tone unsettlingly casual. “After that, anyone who mocked me, anyone who laughed at my family, they all became… targets. I felt lighter afterward. Happier. I liked it so much I made it my hobby. I found new, creative ways to end them—every night.”

He let out a small laugh.

“And they never suspected me. Can you imagine? A five-year-old… enjoying that?”

Merson’s pulse quickened. “Is this really a child?”

“But one night,” the boy said softly, “I made a mistake.”

His gaze went distant.

“There was a landlord. He stole our land and made us his slaves. My father and brother worked until their hands bled, and in return, they treated us like animals. So I entered his dream. I found him there and wrapped my hands around his throat. But my mother distracted me. I faltered. He survived… and he understood what I could do.”

The boy’s lips twitched in something like a smile, but his eyes burned with old rage.

“The next morning, the whole village came to our house. The landlord had told them. They called me a demon. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t even ask why.”

His voice thickened, trembling but sharp.

“They dragged me to the edge of the tallest cliff and tied me to a wooden pole. A man stepped forward with a knife. That man… was my father.”

Merson froze as the child’s words hit him like stones.

“He drove the blade into my chest,” the boy whispered, “and twisted it, leaving this hole you see now. ‘A demon can’t be my son.’ Those were the words I heard. He… he didn’t even cry. THAT OLD COWARD!”

The boy’s voice broke into a wail, raw and jagged. Tears streamed down his face—the same tears that haunted Merson’s dreams.

“They set my legs on fire,” he choked, “and threw me from the cliff.”

Silence followed. Then he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his tone turning hollow.

“But I didn’t die. I woke up in a hospital. A traveler found me burned and broken and carried me there. I lost the ability to walk. The fire scarred me forever. But I lived.”

His breathing steadied, but his words cut deeper.

“That’s when I understood: no matter how much you sacrifice, your family will discard you. They will trade you for their own survival. They called me a demon.”

Tears welled again, spilling unchecked.

Merson stepped forward and held him.

“It’s okay,” Merson whispered. “You tried your best. You fought for them. That’s enough. Whether they stay in chains or break free is their choice now, not yours. You don’t need to kill anymore.”

The boy’s sobs slowed, his trembling easing in Merson’s arms.

“When I wake up,” Merson said softly, “I’ll find you. I’ll take care of you. Just tell me, where do you live?”

The boy blinked, then laughed. At first it was soft, then loud, then sharp and cruel.

“You?” he said between bursts of laughter. “You couldn’t even stay sane from a ‘mere dream’, and you think you can take care of me? Ha… what a joke. You’re not just blind, you’re pathetic.”

Merson flushed but didn’t look away. The boy’s laughter faded into a cold smirk.

“I’m in a hospital,” he said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Fine,” Merson replied. “I’ll find that hospital. And I’ll find you.”

“Whatever you say.” The boy’s tone was calm again. “But now… It’s time for you to wake up. Go on. Return to your little, meaningless world.”

The scene around Merson began to dissolve. Colors drained to gray. His body grew heavy, slipping into darkness.

Just before everything vanished, the boy’s voice pierced the void:

“Remember this, Merson, surviving that car doesn’t mean you’ve escaped me.”

Merson’s eyes flew open.

A NEW LIFE

“Doctor!” The nurse’s voice cracked as soon as she noticed Merson’s eyes flicker open. She almost tripped over herself running out of the room. A moment later, Max and the doctor came rushing in.

The doctor bent over Merson, checking his pulse, his pupils, and the machines by the bed.

“His vitals are stable,” the doctor finally said after a long look at the monitors. “Blood pressure is fine. The head injury looks bad, but there’s no sign of brain damage. He just needs rest. We’ll get him some painkillers and antibiotics in a little while.”

Max let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you, doctor.”

Merson slowly turned his head toward Max. His eyes were halfopen, tired but aware.

“Max… what happened?” His brow furrowed. “Oh… yeah. I remember now. I was hit by a car, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Max said quietly. “Be grateful you survived. It could’ve been so much worse.”

Merson gave a weak laugh. “Seems like I did survive. First, I was sick, and then this happens… talk about bad luck.”

Max frowned. “Sick? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was ill, Max. It got so bad I had to quit my job.” Merson looked genuinely puzzled. “So… did I recover? Am I better now?”

Max stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about, Merson? You’ve never been ill. Not like that.”

Merson’s eyes widened. “That’s exactly what I want to know. Why would I resign if I wasn’t sick? Why would I leave my only source of income? Why, Max? Why?” His voice was breaking a little, his hands trembling slightly on the blanket.

Max took a step back. He felt like the floor had shifted beneath him.

“Merson… you lost yourself in those dreams. You left your house in the middle of the night, following that child’s voice, the one that haunted you for months. And then the car… it hit you.”

Merson blinked. His confusion deepened.

“What dreams? Max, I don’t know what you’re talking about. A child? Why would a child haunt me?” He shook his head slowly. “I think you must’ve had some weird nightmare yourself, Max, and now you’re saying I saw it.”

“No…” Max’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. He looked at Merson one last time, searching his friend’s face for something—anything—that said he remembered. But there was nothing there. “No… it can’t be.” Max turned and walked out of the room, his chest tight, his mind spinning.

Two weeks later, they discharged Merson.

Three long months of recovery followed. He slept through every night. No nightmares. No voices. No crying child. It was as if the whole thing had never happened.

At first, Max tried to convince himself it was memory loss. But if it was, why did Merson remember everything else? Why did he remember leaving his job but not why? Why did he recall his life so clearly, except for the dreams, the suffering, the terror?

Those questions kept Max awake, chewing at him. It felt like something far beyond them both—something they couldn’t name—was still out there.

When Merson was finally well enough, he applied for his old position. Before long, he was back at the university, teaching, laughing, going home as if nothing had ever touched him. No more nightmares. No more shadows. He was himself again, or at least, that’s how it looked.

And the dream never came back.

Not in his sleep.

Not in his memory.

One day, the phone rang.

And that call would change everything.

CALL OF THE DEVIL

“Hello? Who’s this?” Merson asked as he accepted the call.

“Are you Mr. Merson?”

“Uh… yes.” He froze for a moment, surprised that a stranger would know his name.

“I’m calling from Sesning Central Hospital. There’s a five-year-old child here who wants to meet you. When can you come?”

“Sesning? That’s… far. And a child? Who even is this?” A dozen questions fought for space in Merson’s mind.

“The reason why can only be answered when you come. The child insists on seeing you today.”

“Today? That’s over two hundred kilometers away. Please… tell the child I’ll be there early tomorrow morning. I can’t make it today.”

There was a pause, then the voice replied softly, “Alright, Mr. Merson. I’ll let the child know. Thank you for agreeing.” The line went dead.

Merson sat there, phone still in hand, staring at nothing.

“A child… in Sesning? How would they even know my name? My number?”

He rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of it. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “there’s only one way to find out.”

He packed lightly that evening, tossing a few clothes and necessities into a bag, and caught the overnight bus. The hours on the road passed in a blur of dark highways and half-remembered dreams. By the time the first light of dawn crept across the sky, the bus was pulling into Sesning.

The hospital smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee. Merson gave his name at the front desk, and the nurse’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, yes. You’re expected,” she said, almost too quickly, as if rehearsed. That sent a chill down his spine.

Room number, corridor, left turn, right turn—the directions echoed in his head as he walked. His hand hesitated on the doorknob for a breath, then he pushed it open.

Inside, the air felt heavy. And there, in the narrow bed by the window, sat a child.

A child Merson wished, with every fiber of his being, he had never laid eyes on.

Upon that one gaze, he remembered everything, all the suffering, the pain. He remembered the ‘mere dream’. It was all flashing in his eyes. He trembled; he now knew what Max was talking about. He understood why he was in the hospital. His only wish was that he hadn’t seen the child. That he had never remembered the dream.

“Hi, Merson.” Said the child with a smile. The same demonic smile that had haunted Merson for days. “Did you like my surprise?”

“HOW? How could I forget? How?” Merson could only think of how.

Upon that one gaze, he remembered everything— all the suffering, all the pain. He remembered the ‘mere dream.’ It all flashed before his eyes like lightning. He trembled; now he understood what Max had been talking about. Now he knew why he was in the hospital. His only wish in that moment was that he hadn’t seen the child… that he had never remembered the dream.

“Hi, Merson,” said the child with a smile, that same demonic smile that had haunted Merson for days. “Did you like my surprise?”

“HOW? How could I forget? How?” Merson could think of nothing else.

And as the memories tore through him, he remembered the promise, the one he had made while trapped in his coma. He forced himself to stand tall, drew in a deep breath, and steadied his shaking hands.

“It’s time to fulfill the promise,” he whispered and stepped toward the child. He leaned down and embraced him.

In that instant, Merson felt something sharp drive into his chest. The child had stabbed him.

“Oh my! Hehe… so amazing!” the child said, grinning ear to ear.

“What… what are you doing?” Merson gasped, pain flooding his body.

The child twisted the blade deep into him, slowly, deliberately, carving a ragged wound, a hole in his chest just like the one the child bore.

“How do you feel? DO YOU FEEL IT? DO YOU FEEL THE PAIN? ISN’T IT WORTH IT? ISN’T IT?” The child’s eyes were wide with a crazed joy as he drove the knife again, twisting it cruelly.

“DON’T—” Merson groaned, his voice breaking.

“Do you know what they say?” The child’s voice dropped low, almost tender. “When two people care about each other, they should feel each other’s happiness… and PAIN.”

Merson yanked the knife out with trembling hands, stumbling back until he hit the wall and slid down, gasping for air, blood soaking through his clothes.

“I waited for years,” the child screamed, his voice cracking with ecstasy. “I waited for this one moment. And now I know, it was worth it. IT WAS TRULY WORTH THE WAIT! DO YOU NOW KNOW WHAT I FELT? DO YOU UNDERSTAND MY PAIN? DO YOU?”

His laughter rose, sharp and manic, filling the room.

Suddenly, Merson felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head. Max was standing there.

“Oh, sorry, I’m late. Seems I missed the fun,” Max said with a smile.

“Wha… what?” Merson groaned, fighting for breath.

“Before you ask,” Max said calmly, “I’m the one who saved this child. He’s been living in this room at my expense. So you could say… yes, I’ve been funding his killings.”

Max’s grin widened. “Now, my dear friend, you might be wondering why. Simple. It kills time. A good way to keep boredom away.”

Merson couldn’t believe any of it. His life flashed before his eyes, and every memory of Max surfaced, each one now tainted, darkened by betrayal. This time, Merson knew that he was going to die, that he wouldn’t survive. The last thing Merson saw was the child.

He was LAUGHING.