Fractured Slumber — Where Nightmares Wake

Sleep fractures the moment you enter.

The house does not follow rules. Hallways fold back into themselves. Doors lead to the same room again…and again…and again. You swear you’ve been here before. You have. The dream never finished with you.

Every fear you buried finds a way out. Tight spaces close in until the walls breathe. Eyes watch from places that shouldn’t exist. The dark isn’t empty—it presses back. Spiders crawl where you feel them but never see them. Faces melt when you try to understand them. Nothing stays still long enough to make sense.

The house feeds on phobias. It learns faster than you do. What scares you once will chase you forever. What you survive will return, twisted, louder, closer. Screams echo before they happen. Relief never arrives.

Time loops. Memory glitches. You wake up inside the nightmare and realize you never left it. The things wandering the halls are trapped dreamers—caught in broken cycles of fear, reliving the same moment until they forget why they’re screaming.

You try to wake up.
The house doesn’t let go.

Here, panic is permanent. Logic dies first. And when your mind finally snaps, something else opens its eyes.

Decomposed Haunted House: Fractured Slumber — Where Nightmares Wake