In a quiet room, an average-looking boy stood in front of a mirror, aggressively brushing his hair like he was late for something.
"I'm late again," he muttered, still brushing.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. As he pulled it out, the screen lit up with messages:
"Bro, we're already here."
"Hurry."
"If you ghost us, you'll see."
He smiled faintly, slipped into his sneakers, grabbed his keys, and locked the apartment door behind him. As he descended the stairs, he began typing a reply.
"I'm... on... my... way."
Send.
Step. Step. Step—Gone.
He looked down. His foot had sunk into the stair like it wasn't solid anymore. Then his whole body followed. He didn't fall. He phased through as if reality had rejected him.
And then darkness.
His fingers touched something just above him. The wood was rough and dry.
He reached up. No room. His palm pressed against it. The scent of dirt clung to the air.
No space. No light. No clue where he was.
He tried to move, but his legs were stuck. His shoulders were pinned. He inhaled, and the air hit him right back.
Then he knew.
"Am I... in a coffin?"
Panic surged. He began banging on the lid, hitting it over and over as if it would help.
"Hey!"
"Somebody, help!"
"Please!!"
Then he stopped. He remembered panicking only made it worse.
"What's going on?"
"How did I even get here? Am I dreaming again?"
He lay still, staring into the darkness, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down.
Every now and then, he'd bang on the lid again, hoping someone might hear him. He reached for his pocket, instinctively checking for his phone, but it was gone. He remembered it falling as he phased through the stairs.
He just lay there for what seemed like hours.
"Help!"
"Somebody, anybody! Please!"
Hunger crept in, and his body grew weaker and weaker. Just as he was about to give up, he heard something: shovels digging through the dirt.
He held his breath.
More digging. The soft scrape of metal.
Then a heavy thud on top of the coffin. Dirt slid off.
Someone was digging him out.
After a few minutes, the coffin shook as if it was being pulled upward, and then everything went quiet.
He heard metal tapping against the lid, maybe a crowbar or hammer, trying to pry it open. Then, the lid began to slide off.
"Oh, thank God," was the only thought in his mind as light poured into the coffin.
He slowly sat up, using what little strength he had, and looked around. Two hooded men stood over him.
"He's alive," one of them gasped.
"No—it's a ghost!" the other said, fear in his voice.
They turned and ran, stumbling away from the grave they had just opened.
"Wait!" he called after them, hoping to ask where he was or what was going on.
He climbed out of the coffin and tried to follow, but his legs were weak. The graveyard stretched around him, filled with crooked headstones and cold night air.
He turned to look at the gravestone above the hole he had been lying in.
It read, "Here lies the one who would not die."
His strength gave out, and he collapsed into darkness.
He woke up after what felt like an eternity.
The grave and the hole he had been lying in were gone.
"What on Earth is going on?" he muttered.
He looked up as the night sky stretched above him, with a full moon glowing cold and clear.
He began walking in the direction the hooded men had run.
He walked and walked until he left the graveyard behind, following a narrow path through the darkness.
Then he saw lights in the distance.
"People. Finally," he breathed, picking up speed and running toward the glow.
As he got closer, he saw a city, not just any city, but a medieval one.
Stone buildings, towers, and cobbled streets stretched before him.
But something was wrong.
The lights looked like modern street lamps, and the city was bustling even though it was the middle of the night.
He tried to approach one of the many people walking through the streets.
"Erm... hello."
Before he could finish, the man turned to him with a look of disgust.
"Get back!" the man snapped, then quickly hurried away.
"What's his problem?" he thought, frowning.
He tried again, walking up to a woman this time, but the result was the same.
"Stay back," she said as she ran away from him.
People turned away, shouted at him, or looked at him like he was filth.
Even children stared and pointed at him as they passed by with their parents, who pulled them away.
"Why is everyone ignoring me?" he muttered as if forgetting that his modern, dirty clothes made him look like a beggar in this medieval city.
His stomach growled. Hunger was creeping in again.
Ahead, he spotted a row of market stalls selling everything—bread, clothes, even books.
He walked up to one with a basket of apples and tried to speak politely.
"Could I get an apple? I'm really hungry."
The stall owner glared at him.
"Get lost, you good-for-nothing!" he barked, waving him away like a stray dog.
Hungry, confused, and embarrassed, he wandered into a nearby alley and sat down, exhausted.
"Why is this happening?"
"I've never been this hungry."
"The guys... they're probably still waiting for me."
His stomach growled again. He clutched it, and tears welled up in his eyes. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Then clink, a sound.
He looked up and saw a coin lying in front of him, left by a man now walking away.
"Thank you mister..." he whispered, quickly grabbing the coin and standing up.
He returned to the stalls and handed it to a bread vendor, who gave him a loaf of old, hard bread.
"Thank you," he said again, holding the bread close as he walked back to his alley.
He took a bite. It tasted awful, but he didn't care.
For the first time, he was truly grateful for something so small.
"What is this place... and how do I get back home?" he thought, taking the last bite of bread.
He let out a long yawn and sank to the cold ground, too tired to stay upright.
The stone beneath him was hard and freezing, but it was all he had.
He curled up, folded his legs, and held his stomach, trying to stay warm.
A single tear slid down his cheek as his eyes closed.
As he drifted into sleep, he had only one thought on his mind,
"I want to go home".
"And no one has even asked for my name? ".