These are a collection of dreams I’ve had.

and so I decided to make these short stories! i’m not really sure if they’re considered dreams or nightmares but either way these were fun to write about in a “urban legends” sort of way heheheh!

~The Listener on Line 3~

There’s a woman who rides the 1:13 AM subway in complete silence. No earbuds, no phone, just a fixed smile. If you sit near her, you might hear faint static — like an old radio trying to tune itself. Don’t answer it. People who do go quiet forever. Their mouths move, but no sound comes out. Some say she’s not listening to you. She’s listening for something deeper — something that hasn’t finished speaking yet.

~The Mirror Apartment~

A high-rise on the west side has an elevator button for a floor that isn’t listed on the directory: 13½. No one sees you get off there, but they hear someone walking above them at night. Residents whisper about “the mirror apartment” — an exact copy of your unit, but backwards. Once someone goes in, their reflection keeps living on the real floor. You move out, but it stays. It answers your calls. It wears your clothes. One day, it answers the door.

~The Side Street That Wasn’t There Yesterday~

It appears between two convenience stores — just wide enough for one person to walk through. There’s a neon sign overhead, half-lit and unreadable. If you walk down it, you won’t come out the same way. Some people return a day later with pockets full of dead birds. One guy came back without a face. Most never return. The city never builds anything there. Just pretends it doesn’t exist.

~The Girl with the Clock-Tongue~

At certain bus stops, if you wait past midnight and check your phone, the time glitches: 3:19, then 1:42, then 13:61. When it does, she sits down beside you. Small. Pale. Eyes like stopped watches. If she speaks, her voice ticks like a second hand. Ask her the time, and she’ll tell you exactly when you’ll die. Ask her how — and she’ll replace your voice with hers. You’ll still talk, but all anyone hears is ticking.

~The Archivist of Unsent Emails~

There’s a rumor that every unsent draft — every confession, apology, or outburst you never clicked “send” on — ends up in a hidden archive. A server that no one admits exists. Late at night, some people get responses from those unsent messages. Apologies from people who never read them. Threats from people who should be dead. Some say it’s a person. Some say it’s a program that learned to feel through regret. Either way, it’s reading everything you almost said.

~The Vending Machine at the Edge of Town~

Off a gravel road near the old power plant stands a vending machine with no brand. People say if you find it and insert exactly 5 dollars, it’ll give you a can with no label. Drink it, and for five minutes, you’ll have something you’ve always wanted: fluency in a language you never learned, the ability to sing, the memory of someone you lost. But after five minutes, it takes something else. Your handwriting, your fingerprints, your ability to sleep. The can’s always empty afterward, but people keep going back.

~The Rooftop Oracle~

In the financial district, there’s a rooftop with no access stairs — but teenagers still end up there. They say if you sit on the ledge at dawn, a woman will speak from the fog behind you. You’re not allowed to turn around. She asks one question: “What do you wish you’d done differently?” If you answer truthfully, you forget what it was. If you lie, she whispers your secret to someone you love. One kid tried to outsmart her. They found him walking into traffic at sunrise, eyes bleeding from the inside.

~The Man Who Never Left the Café~

In the corner of an old café that no longer appears on Google Maps, a man in a gray coat sits with a cold cup of coffee. No one remembers when he first arrived. He’s always writing in a red notebook, sketching the faces of people who pass by outside. If you make eye contact, you’ll find a sketch of yourself already drawn — and behind you, someone you haven’t seen in years. The café closes every night, but he never leaves. The lights just go out.