In 200-300 words, write about the moment when your nightmare becomes a reality.

Detective Mackenzie looked at the papers spread across his desk and tacked to the bulletin board on the wall beside it. Pieces of red string linked various pictures and files to indicate a correlation between them. In the center of the bulletin board was a single photo. The image was grainy and out of focus, but it was the only picture they'd managed to catch of the killer.

For three months, the mysterious figure in the hood had been hunting down people at will, seemingly appearing and disappearing at will with no trace left behind. No fingerprints, fibers, DNA, nothing. More than a few detectives thought Mackenzie was crazy as no one person could've committed so many crimes without either being caught or seen.

He leaned on the top of his desk, staring hard at the picture. He thought it might have been his tired eyes, but he could've sworn the image had moved. Suddenly, a pale white hand reached out from the picture as if through a window. Resembling an octopus slipping through an impossibly small hole, the killer pushed its way out of the photo and into Mackenzie's office.

Draped head to toe in a white hood and cloak, only the claw-like fingers protruding from the front were visible. The face was concealed in shadow, making the hood appear an empty void.

"Hello, Detective," the killer said in a raspy voice. "I understand you've been looking for me."The phone ringing woke Mackenzie, and he took several steadying breaths before answering, trying to brush away the nightmare.

"Mackenzie," he answered. His blood went cold as a familiar voice spoke.

"Hello, Detective," whispered the killer through the phone. "I found you, and this time, you won't be able to escape me by waking up."

The phone line went dead.

Scritch, scratch.

There it was again, the sound of nails scratching along her hallway. When she first bought this place, she wasn't aware of the grotesque incidents that happened behind its closed doors just years earlier. By the time she found out, it was already too late. She was left with no choice but to move in.

Ru shivers under the sheets, reminding herself that she was too old to be scared of ghosts. That ghosts weren't real. That it would be daytime soon. But no matter how hard she tried not to notice, she could still hear the soft rustling of fabric against flooring. It reminded her of footsteps. Except... she lived alone.

The incessant scratching noise stops at the end of her bed.

Suppressing the urge to throw off her blanket, Ru tries to regulate her breath, listening carefully for any sign of movement.

Nothing. Silence.

It's thick and damp under her sheets, her hot breath suffocating against the flannel. The cold draft tickles the bottom of her feet and she draws her knees up to her chest. A sudden chill runs down her spine. Slowly, she looks toward the other end of the bed.

Her bedsheets were being lifted, inch by inch.

Ru lets out a bloodcurdling scream, throwing off the sheets and leaping out of the bed like a madwoman. She dashes across the room, slamming her palm into the main switch.Click.Bright light chases away the shadows, leaving only her fear resting heavy in her throat.She surveys the room. Nothing seemed out of place.

See? No such thing as ghosts. It looked like she was still sleeping soundly in the bed.

Wait. Looking at the bed, her blood freezes in her veins. She wasn't in bed.

So what was that human shaped bulge under the covers?

I love my daughter so much I dream about her almost every night.

Spiders. Murderers. Sharks. Plane crashes. Terrorists. Drowning. Suicide. It's amazing how many ways there are to die. Patricia, my beautiful little girl, has suffered a thousand cruel lapses of luck. Every time, I wake up screaming. Often, I wake up in her room. Something in my subconscious draws me to her. To help her, to protect her, as a mother should. As a mother must.

I knew something was wrong the night I woke up swatting at her face. There were so many ants you see. Fire ants. That many ants can kill a person. But when my eyes opened for real, Patricia's face was red for an entirely different reason.

That night, her screams matched mine.

I tried to get help. Doctor after doctor. Technique after technique. Counseling, pills, restraints. Nothing worked. Every night, I continued to watch my daughter die.

And that night, that night was the worst. The war had come to Canada. These foreign soldiers, they had come for my daughter. They were hurting her. And I knew how it would end. So I went to the shed. I got our axe. And I swung it until they all fell down. I could have lived in that moment forever. The bodies on the floor. I had done it. I had finally fought back. For the first time, Patricia was not going to suffer. For the first time, Patricia would live.

But as I watched those bloodied bodies, their eyes still frozen open in shock, my own eyes began to open. The light of dawn shone through Patricia's curtains.

And as the sunrise illuminated the room, the many bodies consolidated. Into only one body, drenched in blood, lying on the floor.

Patricia's body.

"It all happened so quickly."

His therapist sat there with a clipboard in hand. "Explain it again to me, Daniel."

"It was like the same reoccurring dream. I came home, I was happy too. She greeted me at the door with a kiss and asked me about my day. The next thing I remember is getting into a fight."

"Do you remember now what it was about?"

"No. But I remember grabbing the baseball bat I keep in my room and I-.."

"You what, Daniel?"

"I killed her."

"Can you be more specific?"

"I hit her in the head and I just remember her falling down. It even damaged the carpet. The bat is kept beside my nightstand. I didn't want to do it but I couldn't stop it."

"Daniel, it seems like you're very sick. I've noticed from our recent visitations you've changed. I think for the safety of everyone you should be sent to an institution."

"No, please. I just want to go home. I promise nothing will happen."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Daniel."

The man hit stop on the recording and stood up as he took his clipboard and exited the room. Two policemen entered the interrogation room after, making Daniel stand up. He knew he couldn't do anything to stop it. He didn't want to kill her but he knew they wouldn't understand. He hoped they didn't find the children. Daniel was just glad he didn't tell his therapist about the rest of his dream.

I see it is customary for the narrator to introduce themselves when they begin a story. But I suppose you already know me. If not, you will, someday in the future. Some 'night' to be specific. You will have my acquaintance quite a few nights in your lifetime. But a few people, the ones I find myself interested in, are the ones I never leave. This is about just one of those people.

I clearly remember the time I first met this girl. It was September 24th 2017. And she was weeping over the dead body of her father. She was broken inside, but she tried staying strong for her mother and sister. She wanted to break apart but was keeping it all in. That night, she cooked dinner for her family and relatives, fed her mother and put her and her sister to bed.

That's when I found her interesting. She was a tough one. And I wanted to test her. Observe her. Push her. To her limits. The thought made me smile. Laugh, even. Yes. I'd chosen her, and I won't leave her. I will show her horrors everytime she lays her head on her pillow. And to make things even more interesting, I will make the horrors come true. I want to test her to her limits. And I want to watch her until she breaks apart. Judge me if you will, but this is who I am. This is what I was born to do. And this is what I will do.

So that night when she closed her eyes, I looked down at her and smiled. This girl had no idea what lay ahead of her. I bent closer and touched her head as she drifted off and slowly entered her mind. And we were off. Off to never never land.

"Thank you for shopping at your friendly, hometown grocery! Be sure to come and see us again." The cashier called to her latest customer.

When the doors swung open, she plastered a grin on her face but no one entered. She eyed the door as it closed, a lump forming in her throat. Taking notice of the dark rolling clouds outside, she bit her lip. Shrugging, she busied herself with cleaning the counter. Picking up the sudden drip drip sound in the silence, she turned toward the door and saw him.

There, with water dripping from his black trench coat was a man. His eyes looked black from where she was standing, and her skin pricked in fear. Why the man was dripping wet concerned her, considering the thunderous heavens did not release its tears and wails as of yet.

"Welcome," she told the man, only to receive a curt nod as he moved silently past her and through the store.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back toward her register, only to gasp in alarm at the man standing there. Now that he was close, his eyes were black. Without another word, she rung up his item, a carton of cigarettes, which seemed fitting.

"Your total is five dollars and fifty cents." Almost reluctantly, she took his money, which was the exact amount—thankfully.

Yet when she went to hand the strange man his receipt, he grabbed her arm instead. The receipt now long forgotten, the cashier cried out from fright, her wide eyes locking with the man's eyes of coal. There was a burning sensation in her arm where he held her in his vice grip, and the words that left this things mouth next had ice rushing through her veins.

"You've been marked."