Chapter 1

I tried all the standard tricks. Counting backwards from one hundred. Breathing in for four, holding for four, out for four. Thinking about anything except what I was thinking about. But every time, the same thoughts whipped back around—a failing grade here, a teacher’s disappointed sigh there, my mom’s forced smile at the breakfast table. The weight of it pressed against my chest, heavy as lead.

I rolled over and caught sight of my reflection in the window: messy brown hair, tired eyes ringed with shadows. I winced. I hated looking at myself when I was like this—weak, restless, so obviously failing again.

This was the third week in a row I couldn’t sleep right. I’d stumbled through classes on autopilot, mumbling answers, failing pop quizzes. My math teacher, Mr. Beck, cornered me after class today. “Kyle, you’re bright, but you’re not even trying. What’s going on?” I hadn’t known what to say. How could I explain that even trying felt like pushing through mud, that every day I woke up more tired than the one before?

That’s why I found myself in Dr. Sharma’s office earlier today, sinking into the unfamiliar comfort of her pale blue couch, gnawing the inside of my cheek. She peered at me over her glasses, her eyes gentle but sharp. “Kyle, how long have you had trouble sleeping?” she asked, her pen poised.

I shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “A month. Maybe more. It’s getting worse.”

She nodded, jotting something down. “Any nightmares?”

“Not really,” I lied. My nightmares weren’t the problem. It was the feeling of waiting for something bad to happen, of being stuck in a hallway with no doors.

“Are you taking anything to help you sleep?”

I hesitated. “Just…the usual. Melatonin, sometimes.”

She offered a faint smile. “Let’s get to the root of this, Kyle. Sleep should be a refuge, not a battle.” That’s when she slid the prescription over. “These are non-habit forming. You’ll take one before bed. Keep a journal about your sleep, and let’s talk again next week.”

I took the bottle, nervous but hopeful. Maybe this would help. Maybe I’d finally feel like myself again—like someone worth being.

• •* *

The pill was small and chalky, but the prospect of a full night’s sleep was enough to make me swallow it down without argument. I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, the plastic bottle on my nightstand like a promise.

The pill hit harder than I expected. My eyelids drooped, the world fuzzed at the edges, and for the first time in ages, I let go.

• •* *

And that’s when things got strange.

It was the sound that woke me, or maybe it was the sensation of cold linoleum beneath my bare feet. I blinked, trying to orient myself. I wasn’t in my room. I was standing in a hallway, long and narrow, lit by flickering bulbs. The walls were painted in garish stripes—red and yellow, green and purple—like a clown’s fever dream.

The air was thick, smelling faintly of popcorn and sweat. My heart pounded as I took a tentative step forward, the floor squeaking with each movement. Somewhere up ahead, music played—a warped circus tune, cycling endlessly.

“Is this real, or am I just dreaming again?” I whispered, my voice echoing down the corridor.

“Who’s there?” I called, but only my own words came back, stretched and twisted.

Then, laughter—high and brittle, bouncing through the hallway. I froze. It was the kind of laughter that didn’t belong to anyone human.

A shape appeared at the far end, capering toward me. I could see flashes of color—vivid greens, dazzling purples, a swirl of patchwork patterns. My stomach dropped as the figure drew closer, revealing a face painted white, a mouth pulled into a permanent, grotesque grin. A jester’s cap swayed with each step, bells chiming eerily off-tempo.

“Welcome, little star!” the clown sang, voice both taunting and childlike. “Did you enjoy your rest?”

I staggered back, my mouth suddenly dry. “Who—what—are you?”

The clown twirled, arms sweeping wide. “I’m the Jester! Ringmaster of this dreamland. Your nightly guest, your host, your… examiner.” Their painted eyes glittered with a strange delight.

I tried to run, but my feet felt rooted, as if the linoleum had liquefied around my toes. The Jester giggled, skipping closer. “No need to flee. We have oh-so-much to do! Ready for your next act, little star?”

“I don’t… I don’t want to play any games,” I stammered, voice trembling.

The Jester leaned in, their smile impossibly wide. “But you already are. Every night, you come here. Every night, you try again. Don’t you remember?”

A chill slid down my spine. The hallway was spinning, the walls breathing in and out. The Jester snapped their fingers, and suddenly the world shifted—the corridor collapsed into a stage, spotlights glaring down, a single stool set in the center.

“Tonight’s test is simple!” The Jester spun a riddle from thin air. “I have keys but open no locks, I have space but no room. You can enter, but can’t go outside. What am I?”

My mind jolted—riddles, now? “A keyboard,” I blurted.

A delighted laugh exploded from the Jester. “Clever, clever! Someone’s been paying attention.”

Before I could say anything more, the lights went out. I felt a shove at my back, and my body tumbled forward into darkness.

• •* *

I jerked awake, gasping, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. My alarm clock blinked 7:12 AM. It was morning—or at least, I hoped it was. My heart hammered in my chest, and my skin prickled with cold.

Was it a dream? It felt too real—the smell of popcorn lingering in my nose, the echo of the Jester’s laughter ringing inside my skull.

I shook as I got ready for school. I failed a quiz in first period, then drifted through the day in a haze. When I caught my own reflection in a bathroom mirror, my eyes looked even more haunted than before.

I tried to bring it up with Dr. Sharma when I saw her after school, but I couldn’t bring myself to mention the Jester—the clown, the riddles, the games. Instead, I told her the pills helped me sleep, but the dreams were getting stranger.

She frowned, jotting another note. “Sometimes sleep medication can cause vivid dreams. Let’s keep a close watch, okay? If anything feels unsafe, you call me.”

I nodded, but I didn’t tell her about the fear, or the way the Jester’s voice followed me into waking life. I certainly didn’t mention the way I’d started to dread bedtime, how I now feared sleep almost as much as I’d feared sleeplessness.

• •* *

That night, I tried to stay awake, but exhaustion clawed me under. I swallowed the pill again—what else could I do?—and once more, the world dissolved.

This time, I found myself in a maze, mirrors on every wall. The Jester’s reflection appeared in each one, faces multiplying, grins stretching wider with every step I took.

“Round two!” they crowed. “Ready to play? Let’s see if you can find your way out before the clock strikes!”

The maze twisted, mirrors shuddered, and everywhere I turned there were more reflections of me—tired eyes, anxious face, looping forever. The Jester’s laughter rang out. “Faster, faster! Or are you too slow, little star?”

I stumbled through corridors, hands slapping desperate at glass. With every wrong turn, the Jester’s voice grew harsher, echoing my own doubts: Not good enough. Never enough. Can’t escape.

Just as the walls closed in, I woke again, heart racing, fingers clenched tight around my sheets.

• •* *

Days blurred into nights. Tests became games. Classrooms became arenas. Each night, the Jester met me, riddles and races and traps at every turn. Some nights I won, barely—solving a puzzle, dodging a trap. Other nights, I lost, and the Jester would loom close, whispering:

“One step closer, little star. It’s only a matter of time.”

I stopped wanting to sleep. I tried skipping doses, but the exhaustion was worse. My grades dropped further, and I grew more withdrawn, jumping at every shadow, dreading the moment my eyelids grew heavy.

But the worst part wasn’t the fear. It was the feeling that the Jester knew me—knew my failures, my secrets, the doubts I tried so hard to hide.

One morning, after another night of torments, I caught my mother watching me over her coffee, concern etched deep in her brow. She asked if I was okay, and I lied. I couldn’t tell her about the pills, about the dreams, about the Jester who waited for me every night.

But as I shuffled out the door, I heard a faint, familiar giggle—one I couldn’t be sure wasn’t real.

• •* *

Sleep is supposed to be a refuge, a place where you can’t be hurt. But for me, sleep had become a stage, and every night, the Jester was waiting in the wings, ready to test me again.

As the sun set, casting long shadows across my room, I stared at the pill bottle on my nightstand, dread clawing at my insides. My hands shook as I picked it up, knowing I had no choice but to try again.

My last hope was Dr. Sharma, or maybe my own will—if I could just find a way to beat the Jester’s games. But even as I lay down, every muscle tense, I knew the Jester would be there.

And tonight, I could almost hear them whispering in the dark:

"Ready for your next act, little star?"

To be continued…