I had a dream
I’ve been having dreams somewhat relating to work lately. Most of the time, I forget them the moment I wake up—only a faint, pleasant feeling lingers. But this one… this one stuck with me, for obvious reasons.
Let me be clear: this is a dream. Totally random. It’s not something I’ve done, or about anyone I know—except one person, a workmate I’ll call Sheila. I’ve changed her name for the sake of the story.
In the dream, I arrive at a man’s house—let’s call him John. We met online, and he’d agreed to pay me a generous amount for some services.
As I walk into his living room, I’m surprised to see Sheila sitting there, along with a tall man I don’t recognize. He gives off a strong, serious vibe—definitely security-type energy. Let’s call him Adam.
Before anything can even be said, John casually pulls out his hard cock and says, “Why don’t you come have a taste?”
I’m frozen. Completely confused, not feeling comfortable at all.
That’s when Sheila pulls me aside. Calm and collected, she tells me she was the one messaging me, setting this whole thing up. Adam, apparently, is just here for my protection. She even hands me the money I was promised, and suddenly things feel a bit more legit. I relax.
I walk back into the room and suggest we move to the bedroom. John seems unsure, but he agrees.
The bedroom is split into two sections by a sheer curtain. One side has the bed; the other side, where we are, has two couches facing each other and a small coffee table. There’s also a high interior window connecting to the living room—so Sheila and Adam can hear everything going on.
John leans in and tells me, “Stay low.”
Assuming he wants me to get started, I drop to all fours and crawl toward him, slow and teasing, like a sexy cat.
I stop just inches from him.
Then, something moves.
A figure steps through the curtain.
Thin. Doll-like. Wearing a wedding dress. Her face is pale, plastic-looking, like a haunted porcelain doll. Think Chucky’s bride—but taller, leaner, and filled with violent rage. She sits on the opposite couch, staring at me with eyes full of hatred.
My skin crawls.
I turned slowly to John. “Are you married?”
He hesitated. “…Yes.”
I gestured toward the figure, still on all fours. “Is that your wife?”
His expression turned to pure terror. He didn’t say a word—but he didn’t have to. My heart dropped. That thing wasn’t supposed to be there.
“She looks angry. She’s scaring me,” I whispered.
John didn’t respond. He just repeated, “Stay low.”
But it was too late. I knew I needed to leave. I started to rise—and that’s when it hit.
An invisible force slammed my face into the floor. Hard. I felt blood pour from my nose, warm and sudden. Chaos erupted. Sheila and Adam rushed in. Then the police. They restrained John—but no one could explain what had happened.
The ghost bride had vanished.
Sheila held me tightly as we left, but I couldn’t stop shaking. I kept glancing over my shoulder, convinced that thing was still following me, still watching.
Even after I woke up—safe in bed—the fear didn’t fade. I lay in the dark for hours, heart pounding, unable to shake the feeling that she was still there, just beyond the curtain
Let me be clear: this is a dream. Totally random. It’s not something I’ve done, or about anyone I know—except one person, a workmate I’ll call Sheila. I’ve changed her name for the sake of the story.
In the dream, I arrive at a man’s house—let’s call him John. We met online, and he’d agreed to pay me a generous amount for some services.
As I walk into his living room, I’m surprised to see Sheila sitting there, along with a tall man I don’t recognize. He gives off a strong, serious vibe—definitely security-type energy. Let’s call him Adam.
Before anything can even be said, John casually pulls out his hard cock and says, “Why don’t you come have a taste?”
I’m frozen. Completely confused, not feeling comfortable at all.
That’s when Sheila pulls me aside. Calm and collected, she tells me she was the one messaging me, setting this whole thing up. Adam, apparently, is just here for my protection. She even hands me the money I was promised, and suddenly things feel a bit more legit. I relax.
I walk back into the room and suggest we move to the bedroom. John seems unsure, but he agrees.
The bedroom is split into two sections by a sheer curtain. One side has the bed; the other side, where we are, has two couches facing each other and a small coffee table. There’s also a high interior window connecting to the living room—so Sheila and Adam can hear everything going on.
John leans in and tells me, “Stay low.”
Assuming he wants me to get started, I drop to all fours and crawl toward him, slow and teasing, like a sexy cat.
I stop just inches from him.
Then, something moves.
A figure steps through the curtain.
Thin. Doll-like. Wearing a wedding dress. Her face is pale, plastic-looking, like a haunted porcelain doll. Think Chucky’s bride—but taller, leaner, and filled with violent rage. She sits on the opposite couch, staring at me with eyes full of hatred.
My skin crawls.
I turned slowly to John. “Are you married?”
He hesitated. “…Yes.”
I gestured toward the figure, still on all fours. “Is that your wife?”
His expression turned to pure terror. He didn’t say a word—but he didn’t have to. My heart dropped. That thing wasn’t supposed to be there.
“She looks angry. She’s scaring me,” I whispered.
John didn’t respond. He just repeated, “Stay low.”
But it was too late. I knew I needed to leave. I started to rise—and that’s when it hit.
An invisible force slammed my face into the floor. Hard. I felt blood pour from my nose, warm and sudden. Chaos erupted. Sheila and Adam rushed in. Then the police. They restrained John—but no one could explain what had happened.
The ghost bride had vanished.
Sheila held me tightly as we left, but I couldn’t stop shaking. I kept glancing over my shoulder, convinced that thing was still following me, still watching.
Even after I woke up—safe in bed—the fear didn’t fade. I lay in the dark for hours, heart pounding, unable to shake the feeling that she was still there, just beyond the curtain
