Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

It Wasn’t Real Until I Dragged It From My Dream

A short horror by Matthew Tonks

Andrew wakes drowning in sweat, clutching sheets that feel more like a shroud than a comfort. But when the voice from his dream follows him into waking life, he realises escape is no longer possible—and reality itself may be the cruelest trick.

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Andrew’s eyes shoot open, sweat pouring off him in rivers, the sheets sucking in the salty stench like starving mouths pressed to skin. His hands grip the sheets tightly as he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. 

He gasps, each breath flooding his lungs like he’s drowning in air. 

The world swims around him, and his hands shake as they tighten their grasp on the sheets. 

He gasps, swallows, then gasps again. 

Sweat soaks into the sheets, tracing the outline of his body in a growing puddle. 

He groans, a stammering breath escaping his lips as he releases the sheets, a spasm twisting through his spine and snapping at the base of his skull. 

He arches upward, then drops back to the wet sheets. 

The ceiling throbs above him, aching as if alive. His eyes widen, and he swallows. 

“It’s something remarkable, isn’t it?” a voice whispers, the weight of another body beside him, elbow propping him up. 

Andrew scrambles off the bed and tumbles over the side, crashing to the floor in a heap. 

“A bit overdramatic, even for you, Andrew,” the man says. 

“Y-Y-You can’t be here, y-y-you can’t be real!” Andrew stammers as he clumsily gets to his feet, looking at the man with eyes filled with terror, his face pale. 

“Yet here we are—just as real as each other,” he says as he gracefully rolls off the bed and sits on its edge, a broad smile across his bright red lips. 

“H-H-How?” 

He shrugs, scrunching up his face. “If I knew, I’d know. But I thought it was you.” 

“W-W-Why the fuck would I bring you, of all my dream characters, into the real world?” 

His brow furrows, a playful frown twisting his lips. 

“I am utterly taken aback by your hurtful comments. You know, I have feelings too—especially now that I’m real, like you,” he says, a smile snaking across his lips. 

His eyes, black with paint, narrow—and he winks playfully. 

“Y-Y-You’re not real, I-I-I’m just having an episode, or something, o-o-or—” 

“Or maybe you’re just still asleep?” 

“Y-Y-Yeah, yeah, that’s it, I’m still asleep. T-This is all another one of your stupid fucking games, like always.” 

He nods, and the smile broadens into a menacing grin. 

“Well then, there is only one way for you to open up that door,” he says as he gets to his feet and produces a colourfully painted sledgehammer. 

He spins it around playfully in his hand. 

Andrew’s brow furrows. 

“W-W-Wait, i-i-is this real? A-A-Are you just trying to trick me into k-killing myself?” 

He takes a stunned step back, face flickering between sarcasm and shock. 

“I-I-I don’t know how to take that—h-h-how you could think I would try and trick you into killing yourself. I-I-I mean it would be basically committing suicide, right?” 

Andrew stares for a few moments. His face slackens, his lip trembles, and he raises a wary eyebrow. 

“Y-Y-Yeah, I-I guess.” 

He laughs as he swings the sledgehammer, smashing Andrew in the shoulder and sending him crashing to the floor. 

He raises the sledgehammer again and brings it down on Andrew’s twisted form, smashing bones and tearing flesh. 

Andrew screams, throwing up a hand to shield himself. 

The man brings the sledgehammer down on the hand, breaking fingers. 

Andrew screams in agony while the man laughs. 

“W-W-Why?” Andrew screams. “W-Why?” 

The man smiles as he raises the sledgehammer. 

“Because I wanna know what’ll happen!” he snarls, bringing the sledgehammer down—and again Andrew’s eyes shoot open—his body awash in a cold sea of salty sweat. His face pales as the world vibrates around him, like it’s rewinding back into place. 

His hands grip the sheets tightly as he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. 

“O-O-Oh, t-thank God, t-thank God!” Andrew gasps through stuttered breaths. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” the man says as he lies next to Andrew, still holding the blood-drenched sledgehammer, covered in thick sprays of red—smeared and sickly sweet. 

He smiles broadly, gives Andrew another playful wink, then leaps to his feet and raises the sledgehammer, ready to strike. 

“I wouldn’t be thanking anyone yet,” he roars as he brings the sledgehammer down on Andrew’s skull once more. 

---

💬 Did this one echo?
Tell me—before it forgets your name.

—
Written by Matthew Tonks
→ Read more nightmares at mtonks.com

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