A False Awakening

Dark clouds gathered ominously in the sky as an impending storm brewed over a deserted train station. The clock ticked relentlessly, and he, aware of the looming tempest, stood on the platform, anxiously awaiting the last train. Time seemed to stretch into an eternity, each moment dragging its feet as the minutes crawled toward the midnight hour. 

At the far end of the platform, beneath the flickering light of a lamppost, a peculiar sight caught his eye. A man in his late 50s sat there, seemingly unfazed by the impending storm, engrossed in reading a newspaper at this unconventional hour. Intrigued and slightly unnerved, he decided to approach the lone reader. 

As he walked toward the man, he couldn't help but wonder about the odd choice of location. The stranger sat far away from the typical station benches, tucked beneath the lamppost's dim glow. An air of mystery surrounded the man, amplified by the solitude of the deserted platform.

"Hey, I'm Paul," he greeted, attempting to break the eerie silence. "I'm waiting for the last train and saw you here. Do you know if the train's late..? it's been... Umm, hello?"

The man remained fixed, his gaze glued to the newspaper, unmoving and unresponsive. Paul's initial confusion turned into the realization that this mysterious man might not be the most sociable of individuals. A sense of awkwardness settled in as Paul contemplated whether he had unknowingly invaded the man's personal space.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted your reading," Paul apologized, deciding to retreat from the man. As he began to distance himself, an unexpected chill ran down his spine. A cold hand, devoid of warmth, touched his shoulder. Paul turned around swiftly, only to be met with a shocking sight—a faceless man stood before him.

Suddenly, Paul jerked awake with a start. He found himself seated on the train, the rhythmic clattering of wheels against tracks signaling the journey's progression. The vivid dream lingered in his mind like a haunting melody, the details etched into his memory.

Shaking off the residual unease from the dream, Paul peered out of the train window. To his surprise, he noticed the same faceless man standing on the platform of the next station they approached. This time, the man was closer, still reading a newspaper, and seemingly unaffected by the chaos of the storm outside.

A chill ran down Paul's spine as he realized at each subsequent station, the faceless man appeared again, each time closer than before. The dream seemed to blur with waking moments, leaving Paul questioning the boundaries between reality and imagination.

As the train neared its destination, he couldn't shake the feeling that the faceless man's gaze lingered on him, even from a distance. He quickly made his way out of the station to his relief, the faceless man was nowhere in sight.

As Paul walked below the street lights, his shadow stretching and shrinking over the pavement, he convinced himself that the strange occurrences were mere mind games due to the previous sleepless nights. A night patrol vehicle cruised past, as Marley's Food Palace was winding down for the evening – Paul's favored spot for home-cooked meals. Navigating bachelorhood in a bustling city was no easy feat, and Paul couldn't help but ponder that if not for the recession stripping him of his job, he would be sleeping better, free from the frantic job search and the unsettling hallucinations.

Upon reaching his home, Paul glanced around cautiously. The street appeared empty, and the night was eerily quiet. With a sigh of relief, he entered his house, locking the door behind him. However, his sense of security was short-lived.

Glancing out of his window a few moments later, he was met with a chilling sight. The faceless man stood across the street, a few meters away from Paul's front door. Panic surged through Paul as the man pointed a bony finger toward his room upstairs.

Without a second thought, Paul sprinted into his room, slamming the door shut and locking it. He peered through the curtains, only to find the faceless man gone. The dread that had been building within him now reached its peak. What did the man want? Why was he pointing towards my room? 

That night, Paul tried to push the strange events out of his mind. What other option did he have? Lodge a complaint with the police? About being followed by a faceless figure? And then bear the stigma of being labeled a madman? Absolutely not. Exhausted from the day's bizarre encounters, he decided to sleep early, knowing that he had an important interview the next morning.

Just before drifting into sleep, he suddenly realized that the bathroom door was ajar, and the light spilled into the hallway. Paul distinctly remembered closing the door and turning off the switch before going to bed. Anxiety crept over him as he approached the bathroom.

Swallowing hard, he pushed the door open and found no one inside. A wave of relief washed over him momentarily. But as he turned to leave, his eyes were drawn to the bathroom mirror. Paul gasped as he saw his reflection – he was faceless!

The next morning, Paul awoke with a start. He had overslept and, in a panic, rushed to get ready for his interview. As he glanced at himself in the mirror, a wave of relief washed over him – his face was once again intact. Perhaps it was all just a vivid nightmare, a strange dream that had wormed its way into his waking hours.

Paul made his way into the station, doing his best to put the bizarre events of the previous night out of his mind. Yet, as he hopped into the coach, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a figure in the distance, holding a newspaper under the same lamppost. This time, staring right back at him. 

The realization dawned on Paul – the nightmare was far from over.