DON'T SLEEP

That night, Aira felt heavy.

Not tired. Just… weighed down. Like something was sitting on her chest that wouldn’t move.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Usually, she could hear the Ink Sister sketching on her side of the room. Soft scratches of pencil on paper, the occasional hum. But tonight, it was silent.

She turned over.

“Hey…” she whispered. No reply.

She sat up, blinking through the dim light. The girl wasn’t moving.

Aira leaned forward. “You okay?”

Still nothing.

She stood, walked over, and gently touched her shoulder. Ice cold.

Her stomach dropped.

Her roommate’s eyes were open, unfocused. Her chest didn’t rise.

Aira’s knees hit the floor as she screamed.

---

Aira woke up somewhere else.

Everything was white and beeping. Tubes were in her arm. A nurse rushed over.

“You’re in the ICU,” she said softly. “You had a panic attack in your sleep. Your breathing stopped. We nearly lost you.”

Aira couldn’t speak.

She looked around, dizzy, and then remembered—the Ink Sister.

“Is… is she here?” she asked.

The nurse paused. “I’m sorry, Aira. She passed away in her sleep.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Passed away?

The girl who was just there? Drawing like always?

Gone?

Aira’s hands shook.

She didn’t remember much after that.

Just soft voices, dim lights, and silence.

---

A few nights later, Aira was back in her room. The other bed was empty now. The nurses hadn’t brought in a new patient yet.

She sat on her bed, sketchpad in her lap, but her hands wouldn’t move. She hadn’t drawn anything since that night.

Every time she picked up a pencil, her fingers froze.

That’s when it started happening again.

At first, it was little things—shadows in the corners, lights flickering for no reason.

Then came the whispers.

At night, when everything was quiet, she could hear her name being called.

And then, she started seeing her.

The Ink Sister.

Not in the way someone sees a memory. Not in dreams.

In the mirror. At the end of the hallway. Behind doors.

Always just standing. Always staring.

---

One night, Aira woke up and couldn’t breathe.

Her chest tightened. Her skin felt cold. She looked around and saw shapes moving on the walls—shadows where there were none.

Her heart raced.

Her vision blurred.

She tried to scream, but no sound came.

Suddenly, everything went dark.

---

She woke up again—strapped to the hospital bed.

Doctors around her. Panic in their voices.

“You’re hurting yourself in your sleep,” someone said.

She looked down and saw the bandages on her arms. She didn’t remember doing that.

They moved her to a quiet room.

No windows. No mirrors.

Still, the voices came.

“You drew this,” they said.

“You let it in.”

Aira shook her head. “No. I didn’t mean to.”

But part of her knew she had.

She had imagined these things. In her drawings. In her dreams.

And now she couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t.

---

That night, she dreamed again.

She saw the Ink Sister sitting on the floor, sketching calmly like nothing had happened.

Aira ran to her. “You’re alive!”

The girl looked up. “Are you?”

Aira blinked. “What?”

“Do you remember how this all started?”

Aira thought back. Her first sketch. The hallway. The thing with no face.

Her nightmares had turned into pages. The pages into something else.

“I didn’t mean to make it real,” Aira whispered.

The Ink Sister smiled sadly. “But you did. And now it’s all inside you.”

Aira backed away.

The room started shaking.

The walls cracked like paper being torn apart.

She turned and saw her reflection—bloody, broken, smiling back at her.

“Wake up,” it whispered.

---

She sat up in bed, gasping.

Everything was normal.

The nurse at the door. Morning light outside.

But something felt wrong.

She looked at her hands.

They were covered in red ink.

Or blood.

She couldn’t tell anymore.

On the wall, her last drawing was stuck.

It was her. Alone. Surrounded by shadows.

And in the corner, a figure stood.

Smiling.

Waiting.

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