Victor jolted awake, lungs straining feeling like he'd surfaced from drowning.
The room was dim, the curtains filtering a grayish morning light. He lay still for a moment, pulse pounding in his throat.
He could feel the sweat clinging to his skin and sliding down the side of his cheeks.
His sheets were kicked off the bed and his pillow had somehow tumbled far across the room.
And his body...his body ached.
Stabilizing his breathing, Victor sat up slowly. All of his muscles felt sore as if he'd been in a car accident. Upon raising his hand to wipe the sweat off of his face he felt a sting.
Pulling back the sleeve of his shirt the sight that greeted him caused him to take in a breath.
Bruises.
Purple, sick blotches littered his forearms and biceps. They almost looked like love bites, only, he didn't have a lover and the pain radiating from them says otherwise.
A long scratch ran across his side up to just below his ribs. Another that looked almost like finger marks gripping into his skin lay at the bottom of it. He blinked hard and leaned closer.
Thinking that he was still dreaming he ran a thumb across the bruise only to be shocked by a searing pain.
This wasn't a bump in the night, a stubbed toe or a bad sleeping position. These bruises were violent. Real.
He stumbled to the mirror, pulled up his shirt and swore softly.
"What the hell...?"
His mind raced. Who could've...? When?
He glanced around the room. The window was locked. The door had been closed and nothing seemed out of place. He pulled the curtains, opened the window and looked outside, only to be greeted by the average bustling neighbourhood, same houses, same scenery, same noise.
No signs of a break in or burglary whatsoever. Shutting the window the room resumed its quiet.
But he was sure, someone had been in his room.
There was no other explanation.
He threw on a hoodie and staggered
into the hallway. Downstairs, voices drifted from the kitchen. Karina's laugh. Their mom's usual morning hum. The clatter of dishes. Normal sounds.
He felt like he was moving in reverse watching the world stay the same while something in him cracked open as if the only abnormal thing here was himself.
"Morning," he mumbled, stepping into the kitchen.
"Hey, sleepyhead." His mom glanced up from the stove. "You okay?"
Victor looked at her. Looked at the sunny kitchen. Then looked at Karina munching cereal like the universe hadn't just flipped inside out.
"Did anyone... come into my room last night?"
Karina raised an eyebrow. "What, like a ghost?"
"I'm serious."
"Dude, no. I was up till two binge-watching that crime show. If a murderer crept in, I'd have heard."
He turned to Mrs Han. "You didn't hear anything? No doors? No footsteps?"
She blinked. "No. Why?"
Victor hesitated. "I think... someone might've been in my room."
That got their attention.
His mom frowned. "Did you see someone?"
"No. But I-I woke up with..." He trailed off, hand moving to the edge of his hoodie. Then he stopped. "I just feel weird."
His mom looked concerned now. "Do you feel sick?"
Karina snorted. "Maybe it's the ghost of your social life. Back for revenge."
Victor didn't laugh. He didn't even blink.
Noticing that she'd hit a sore spot her smile faltered. "...Sorry."
Ignoring her he grabbed a piece of toast and walked out.
"Geez.... can't handle a joke" Karina muttered.
"Stop harassing your brother and explain to me what you mean by staying up all night. Weren't you supposed to be studying?"
He could hear the fading voice of Mrs Han reprimanding Karina. Each sound further highlighted the emptiness he felt in his chest.
---
Back in his room, he slammed the door and leaned against it.
Something wasn't right.
He peeled off the hoodie again and stared at the marks. His mind was racing. Had he left the house? Sleepwalked? That didn't explain the shape of the bruises. These weren't accidental. They were made by hands, squeezing.
He picked up his phone and opened his texts.
Nothing weird.
No drunk calls. No "where were you last night" messages. After all, all of his friends were currently enjoying the Carribbean beaches no one would bother to message him now.
He didn't go anywhere. He knows he didn't.
But then who-?
He checked the window again but it was still locked. No scratches, no footprints outside and no mud on the floor.
Victor sat on the edge of his bed and tried to breathe.
He should be panicking. Should be calling the cops. But what would he say? "Hey, someone beat me up in my sleep and left no sign of entry or exit"?
They'd laugh.
Or worse, they'd think he did it to himself.
But he didn't.
He knew he didn't.
Right?
---
Later that day, Karina peeked into his room. "Hey... you sure you're okay?"
Victor was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah."
"You looked kind of pale at breakfast."
"I said I'm fine."
She lingered, shifting her weight. "It's just... you're acting really weird."
"Thanks."
"I meant-never mind."
She left.
Victor sat up, wiping sweat from his neck.
He'd been cold all morning, but now he felt feverish. His skin tender and his head buzzing.
He looked at the mirror again.
His reflection stared back -
A baggy hoodie, sunken eyes, and an overall pallid complexion. He looked strange, and a bit unfamiliar.
For a second, he thought his reflection was smiling. But when he blinked, it was just him. A straight face and hollow eyes.
"You're losing it," he whispered to himself.
Then paused.
No.
He wasn't going crazy.
He was scared.
And being scared was only normal in a situation as bizzare as this one.
He turned on his phone camera and held it up, recording a short clip. Just in case. Just to document it.
"Victor Han. April 3rd. I woke up with... bruises. Scratches. I think someone got into my room. I don't know how, but this is proof. I'm not imagining it."
He stared at the video for a moment, then hit save. He didn't trust his own memory anymore. He needed something to prove that he wasn't hallucinating everything.
He turned to his desk, pulled out a sticky note and shakily wrote:
"IF SOMETHING CHANGES. WRITE IT DOWN. TRUST YOUR NOTES. NOT YOUR MEMORY."
---
That night, he locked the door, jammed a chair under the knob and closed the curtains.
He left the lamp on, but it flickered every few minutes as if mirroring his internal turmoil.
Thinking again, everything he had just done seemed ridiculous. What burglary? No one would bother to break into a home like theirs. Especially to harm someone like him, forgettable, ordinary and useless.
Feeling conflicted Victor couldn't sleep, his mind was constantly bombarded by stupid, self depreciating thoughts.
But eventually, exhaustion won.
He drifted off with his phone in his hand.
Recording.
Just in case...
---