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Seongje had spent his entire life used to monsters — and he didn’t mean the kind from childhood imagination, the ones you thought you saw in the closet and your parents would scare them away. Seongje dealt with real monsters; his mind, his genetics, were so fucked that, by bad luck or good — depending on how you chose to see those kinds of things — he had the ability to pull things out of his head. He discovered it at eight years old, when he woke up paralyzed, with a black cat sleeping on his chest.
They called them dreamers. Yeah, what a load of bullshit. His mother had the gene; he never met his father, so he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t a total freak like them too. After the first time he pulled Panther out of his dreams, his mother devoted herself to teaching him, though she wasn’t very good at it — no one had ever taught her, so it was like the blind leading the blind.
He managed to control it halfway — never completely — and his control got worse when his mother died overnight, black liquid pouring from her nose, mouth, and eyes; quite an image for a twelve year old. So he was left orphaned: a kid against the world, a kid with a fucked up ability that could kill him at any moment.
He tries to go unnoticed. He’s heard stories about hunters who hunts people like him, and even though Seongje finds his life fucked up and is full of trauma, he doesn’t want to die. So he hides in faraway cities, where forests grow vast and oceans stretch beyond what he can see. He never stays too long in one place; he learned to move before anyone could look at him for too long, before the questions started. He learned to survive on his own, Panther always with him.
He tried, as much as he could, to live a quiet life. At nineteen, he had met several people along the way, though never enough to stay. Baekjin was the first he could call, in some way, a “friend”; an orphan like him, brilliant, with an irritating facility when it came to understanding the world. But their relationship was short, like all the others. Seongje didn’t know how to stay, and he didn’t try very hard either. Even so, they texted from time to time; Baekjin told him he had managed to get into a very prestigious university, and Seongje replied with a simple “congrats.” There was no need for anything more.
He managed to survive by selling strange items he pulled from his dreams. Small things, useful, harmless enough not to raise suspicion: night lights that turned on instantly if they sensed fear — mothers loved them — a glass that kept any drink cold no matter the heat outside, a ball that never missed the hoop. To move around without leaving a trace, he came up with a fake name: Wolf. In the black market, that name was known; his items sold out in seconds. At least there was some use in waking up unable to move for hours.
He had been living for two months in a remote village tucked between mountains. It was perfect for going unnoticed. He never cared how isolated it was; years ago, he had dreamed up a phone that never lost signal and a computer that worked flawlessly anywhere. In those godforsaken places, no one asked questions. People kept to themselves, wary of strangers. It suited him just fine. Seongje had always been an outcast; he would never pretend to fit in.
He settled into a cabin far from the village, surrounded by trees that gave him a false sense of security. Every now and then, he would go down to buy what he needed, just enough not to draw attention.
On days as slow as those, he couldn’t help but remember all the people he had met and lost along the way. Baekjin was one of them. Go Hyuntak was the one who had left the deepest mark. Another dreamer — the first he met after his mother. Unlike Seongje, Hyuntak was a good kid, he had friends, he had a bright future ahead of him. He had taught him how to control the dreams, at least a little — or at least not to let them consume him completely. But, like everything in Seongje’s life, that didn’t last either.
The hunters came after Hyuntak. Apparently, the rumors about a “magical” boy capable of healing almost any wound and injury had spread too far. Seongje fought tooth and nail. He wasn’t going to let them kill him. And he succeeded — Hyuntak escaped. But he also disappeared from his life.
That time, he and Panther were almost killed, but it was worth it. Even so, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hyuntak bleeding on the ground, one knee completely broken. He wondered if he had managed to heal himself with those creams and ointments he pulled from his dreams. He wanted to believe he had. After that, he stayed even farther away from big cities. He avoided any kind of attachment. The nightmares came back, worse than before, taking the shape of creatures that tore apart boys in blue hoodies. He spent an entire year trying to deal with the monsters in his mind, with little success. Now he drank more than before. Way more.
That night, he was lying in bed, surrounded by empty bottles of tequila and beer. Panther had abandoned him with an annoyed growl, leaving him alone facing a ceiling that offered nothing, trapped in memories he never asked for. The change was gradual, almost imperceptible — like a pressure at the back of his neck, as if something had settled into his mind and he had simply chosen to ignore it.
Thinking about it sent chills down his spine. He told himself everything was fine, that he could control it, like he had other times, and cut the thought short before it could take root. He had no other choice. So he forced himself to sleep.
He knew it the moment he closed his eyes: that night, he would have a nightmare.
He tried to stay calm. It was his mind. It had always been his mind. He could control it.
Then he heard it.
Clat. Clat. Clat.
The dry sound of claws against wood, of footsteps that didn’t belong to anything that existed outside his chaotic brain. He tried to move. He couldn’t. He never could. The paralysis kept him trapped inside his own body. He squeezed his eyes shut as the cold seeped into his bones; all he wanted was to wake up, to get out of there without dragging anything back with him. Living alone wasn’t freedom — it was a risk, for him and for his companion, Panther.
His heart was beating too fast, slamming violently against his chest. He focused, forcing himself to wake up.
Clat. Clat. Clat.
The sound filled every corner of the room. His rigid body wouldn’t respond. He tried to call Panther, clinging to anything, no matter how absurd. It was a cat, sure — but it could do something. Anything: Scratch its fucking eyes out or something. Desperation clouded his thoughts; he bit down hard on his tongue, tasting copper in his mouth, until…
He woke up with a choked scream tearing at his throat.
Panther was watching him from across the room, motionless, eyes fixed on him. For a second, he thought it was over, that it had just been a shock. He tried to steady his breathing.
Then he felt it: He couldn’t move.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
Panic tore through him all over again.
Clat. Clat. Clat.
This time, it wasn’t an echo from the dream. It was coming from below. Beneath him. Under his bed.
He brought something back with him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—
The sound stopped.
And then his body finally responded.
He shot upright, fear lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to do it, but he needed to check. Slowly, under Panther’s tense gaze, he leaned down to look beneath the bed.
He didn’t manage to see anything before black fingers, tipped with yellowed claws, wrapped around his leg and yanked him violently, pulling him to the floor. The impact was brutal; pain shot through his entire body, settling in his leg where the creature had torn his skin open. His head turned into a thick haze of confusion, desperation, and pain. He had to get away. He couldn’t end like this.
He kicked hard with his other leg, fighting with everything he had, refusing to be dragged under the bed.
With a sharp movement, he managed to break free.
His skin burned, but he didn’t stop. Groping blindly, breath shattered, he searched the nightstand for the knife he always kept there. When he found it, he gripped it tightly and got to his feet, unsteady but firm, ready for the fight he knew was coming.
The creature emerged from the darkness.
“Panther, go. Now.”
His voice came out steadier than he felt. The cat, sensing the danger, didn’t hesitate — he bolted out of the room just as the thing rose to its full height, an impossible, twisted, unnatural shape.
This time, Seongje was ready.
He lunged at it before the thing could react, moving on pure instinct, trying not to get hit. He managed to land a strike on its arm, the knife cutting through, then another slash, higher, near what seemed to be its eyes. He needed any advantage he could get.
The creature struck back, its claws grazing his wrist, and the pain was immediate. A scream tore from his lips as blood began to pour uncontrollably and hot, the coppery smell turning unbearable. But Seongje didn’t back down. He couldn’t. He struck again, blind fury clouding his judgment. He was going to survive.w
Everything turned into a blur of movement and ragged breathing. The knife sank into the monster’s chest. Without thinking, he did it again. And again. The creature let out tearing, unnatural sounds — something that didn’t belong to this world. Seongje knew it in that instant: he was going to hear that sound for months.
But he didn’t stop until the monster stopped moving.
It was a hard fight, but he did it.
Fuck.
The monster collapsed beside him, lifeless, its weight crushing him beneath it. The air left his lungs in a dry gasp. Everything hurts. Every muscle, every bone, every breath. His limbs barely responded; even inhaling took effort.
For a moment, he just wanted to stay there.
He closed his eyes, exhausted.
“Meow.”
The sound came from his left, soft and familiar.
Of course. Panther was still there.
“I know… give me a second,” he muttered, his voice rough. “This shit weighs a ton.”
Carefully, he pushed the creature’s lifeless body off him. When he was finally free, he forced himself upright. His leg hurt the most; when he looked at it, he could make out three deep wounds. He had been lucky not to have been torn open down to the bone. Much luckier than he liked to admit.
That night, he had to bury the creature in the forest, near his cabin.
The ground was cold and heavy, and every movement reminded him of the state of his body. When he finished, he collapsed beside the makeshift grave, too exhausted to head back right away. He stayed there, staring at the moon that had witnessed everything.
He lit a cigarette.
He deserved it.
So yeah, Seongje had spent his entire life used to monsters, and he didn’t think he could ever get rid of them. Not for good. He could do things like that: fight, survive one more night… but not erad
icate them.
After all, they lived in his own mind.
Maybe he would find rest the day he met the same fate as his mother.