It started with the clock.
Not broken—just… wrong.
Marcus first noticed it after moving into his new apartment, a quiet unit tucked above a closed-down convenience store. The digital clock on his bedside table would flicker sometimes, like cheap electronics do.
But every night, without fail, he woke up at exactly 3:07 a.m.
No alarm.
No noise.
Just his eyes snapping open, heart already racing—like something had called him.
The first few nights, he brushed it off. Stress, maybe. New place. New routine.
Until he realized something else.
Every time he woke up…
He was already sitting up.
The fourth night, he stayed awake on purpose.
He lay in bed, staring at the clock as the minutes crawled closer.
3:05.
3:06.
His chest tightened. A strange heaviness pressed down on him, like the air itself was thickening.
3:06… and 50 seconds.
Marcus tried to move his hand.
He couldn’t.
3:06… 55.
His body locked in place. Not paralyzed like sleep paralysis—this was different. His muscles were tense, like they were being held.
3:06… 58.
A whisper brushed against his ear.
“…don’t blink…”
3:07.
The clock clicked.
And Marcus found himself sitting upright.
But he didn’t remember moving.
His breath came in shallow bursts. The room felt wrong—longer than before, the corners stretching slightly into darkness.
Then he noticed the door.
His bedroom door was open.
He always closed it before sleeping.
Always.
“…hello?” he croaked.
No answer.
But something moved in the hallway.
Not footsteps.
Not exactly.
More like… something dragging itself slowly across the floor.
shhkt… shhkt… shhkt…
Marcus wanted to look away.
He couldn’t.
His body leaned forward slightly, like it was interested.
The sound grew louder.
Closer.
Something stopped just outside his door.
Silence.
Then—
A face slid into view.
Upside down.
Peeking from the top of the doorway.
Marcus choked on a scream.
It wasn’t a face—it was a shape trying to be one. Eyes too wide. Mouth stretched too far, like it had learned what a smile looked like but not how to make it stop.
“…you woke up again…”
The voice didn’t come from its mouth.
It came from inside Marcus’s head.
“I—what are you?” he whispered.
The thing twitched.
Then, slowly…
It climbed.
Not like a person—its limbs bent backward, pulling its body across the ceiling as it entered the room.
“…you always wake up…”
Its head snapped upright with a sickening crack.
“…you just never remember.”
Marcus’s vision blurred. “No… no, that’s not—”
The clock flickered.
3:07.
Still 3:07.
“…we have time.”
The thing dropped to the floor with a wet thud.
Marcus finally felt control return to his body.
He bolted from the bed, lunging for the door—but the hallway was gone.
In its place was a long, endless corridor of doors.
All identical.
All slightly open.
“…which one is yours?” the voice whispered behind him.
Marcus ran.
Each door he passed revealed flashes—his apartment, his bed, himself sleeping.
Dozens of him.
Hundreds.
Every version frozen at 3:07.
He slammed into one door and burst through it—
Back into his room.
The clock read 3:06.
“No… no, no—”
The whisper returned.
Closer now.
Right behind him.
“…don’t blink…”
3:06… 58.
Marcus squeezed his eyes shut.
“I won’t look!”
3:06… 59.
Silence.
3:07.
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying in bed.
Flat on his back.
The room normal again.
The door closed.
The clock steady.
Marcus gasped, sitting up—
Relief flooding through him.
“A dream…” he muttered. “Just a dream…”
He laughed shakily and checked the time.
3:08.
He made it.
Finally.
Then he noticed something strange.
His feet were dirty.
Like he’d been running.
And on the wall, just above his bed—
A faint, wet handprint.
Upside down.
The next night, Marcus tried to stay awake again.
But he didn’t make it.
Because at exactly 3:07 a.m., no matter what he did…
He always woke up.
Already sitting.
Already facing the door.
And now—
It was a little more open than before.
Write by : Endomarfa
Well written, kept me reading out of dead sleep at 1:40 AM. I would really be freaking if it were 3:07. Seems you have found (or reawakened) another talent.