The elevator doors ding open as Luna and I step in, and I almost drop my bag.
From the opposite elevator, a woman in a crisp white coat steps out, her posture poised, confident, and unmistakably professional. I immediately recognize her as a doctor before even seeing her name tag.
Luna's face lights up, her excitement obvious.
"Dr. Collins!" she exclaims.
Dr. Margareth's eyes twinkle as she smiles. "Luna! How are you? It's been a while."
I shift awkwardly to the side, unsure where to look.
Dr. Margareth glances at me. "And you must be Emma?"
I nod, giving a small smile.
"So, what brings you here this early?" she asks Luna. Luna explains quickly.
Dr. Margareth raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you two in a surgery rotation? At what time should you be on Level 5?"
"There's a haemorrhoidectomy at 9:00 a.m.," Luna replies. "We're supposed to be there 30 minutes before to change into scrubs."
Dr. Margareth nods thoughtfully. "Still plenty of time. Let's grab breakfast at the canteen and have a little chat about your sleep problem."
The elevator feels colder than usual. The light flickers faintly, casting long, thin shadows across the walls. I hate my overactive imagination. Why does everything have to feel like a horror scene?
"Ah, the light again," Dr. Margareth says with a laugh. "Sorry you two have to experience this. Sometimes it flickers, gives a horror movie vibe, haha." She presses G with a perfect smile, cherry-red lipstick gleaming.
We step out and head to the canteen. People bustle past, but something about the scene feels oddly familiar, like déjà vu.
The expressions of those entering the building, the rhythm of arrivals from the parking lot.
I notice an elderly lady outside with grey curly hair and glasses, a black lace blouse, calf-length skirt, and a grey square-patterned scarf, carefully walking with her black rollator. I study her for a moment, then shake it off.
We sit near the service counter for convenience. Luna and I order hot chocolates and cheese toasted sandwiches. Dr. Margareth opts for a black coffee, the perfect start to a morning in the sleep medicine department.
"What a lovely morning, isn't it?" Dr. Margareth says, smiling, though there's a slight awkwardness in her tone.
"Yeah… it is," I murmur, smiling a little too stiffly. Luna chirps her agreement cheerfully.
"So, shall we discuss your sleep paralysis?" Dr. Margareth leans forward, her eyes sharp but kind. "I want to make sure we're on the same page."
She begins, patiently explaining:
"Sleep paralysis is a transient inability to initiate voluntary movement during the transition between REM sleep and wakefulness. I'm sure you remember the stages of sleep. During REM, the brain induces REM atonia, a physiological paralysis of skeletal muscles to prevent acting out dreams. In sleep paralysis, cortical arousal happens before the atonia resolves. The patient is conscious but paralyzed, often experiencing hypnagogic or hypnopompic hallucinations. Predisposing factors include sleep deprivation, irregular sleep schedules, sleeping on the back, and stress. It's benign and usually self-limited, lasting seconds to a few minutes."
I nod, mentally reviewing. Yes, I remember. Non-REM and REM. Non-REM has three stages: N1, light sleep and transition; N2, deeper sleep with sleep spindles; N3, deep restorative sleep with growth hormone release. REM is high brain activity, dreaming, and REM atonia prevents acting out dreams.
While Luna listens, completely captivated, I can't help but feel a strange pull, a quiet tension at the edges of my awareness, the same subtle unease from yesterday.
But for now, Dr. Margareth's voice is grounding, her words clear and methodical, the calm authority of a doctor filling the space.
Yet the canteen atmosphere starts to shift.
The hum of chatter feels too hollow, too slow, like a recording played back at half speed.
The staff smile at us, but their grins are off, stretched too wide, eyes glinting just a little too sharp.
The customers around us move, but they don't seem alive, just shells, faces blank, hollow. I shake my head, willing myself to dismiss it. It has to be my imagination.
Dr. Margareth turns her head toward me, her gaze steady.
"Emma," she says, and there's something in her tone that makes me stiffen, a subtle weight behind her words.
"Yes?" I manage, my throat suddenly tight.
"You've been having these… episodes, yes?"
Her eyes don't blink. There's an intensity there that feels like it pierces past my defenses, straight into the tension in my chest.
I nod, forcing a calm I don't feel. "Yes… sleep paralysis."
She leans a fraction closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me what you see."
I glance at Luna, who is completely absorbed, unaware, and then back at Dr. Margareth.
My fingers tighten around my mug.
"I… I see shadows. Sometimes I hear whispers. I feel like… like someone is watching me, even when I know I'm alone."
"Oh, yeah it's usually like that. Try to sleep earlier, have a cup of hot milk before bed, and try not to sleep in a supine position. I bet you've been thinking about many things lately?" She says in a concerned, caring way. I tell myself I'm imagining it, nothing is scary.
"Thanks, doc. I'll follow your suggestions. Also, yeah, there have been many things going on, life. I've made an appointment tomorrow so I can talk about that," I say, laughing awkwardly.
"Oh perfect," she says. "We'll talk about that tomorrow morning at eight in my office. We'll see if you need medication or not, but usually we start with preventive things like I said." She says firmly.
I nod and smile, saying thank you.
Luna joins the conversation, her voice hurried. "It's 8:20. I think we need to go upstairs before the changing room fills with people, Em."
I stand up and smile while nodding my head to Luna. But something catches my attention.
Dr. Margareth nods slowly, but there's a flash of something unreadable in her eyes.
The air between us feels charged.
The canteen around us seems to darken, the light flickering in subtle, uneven bursts.
A faint metallic smell wafts past, though nothing is cooking near us.
"You're not imagining it," she says, her voice lower now, almost a whisper.
"And it's closer than you think."
The hair on my arms stands up.
My stomach twists.
I glance around.
The staff smiles now seem sharper, the customers' blank expressions more unnerving, and even the clinking of cutlery echoes strangely, like a distorted percussion in a hall of mirrors.
Luna leans over, whispering a question, but her voice seems muffled, swallowed by the tense silence pressing against my ears. My pulse races.
Something brushes past my shoulder, cold, fleeting, but unmistakable.
Dr. Margareth straightens, smiling again, but it's too perfect, too wide, and it feels like the edges of the room are watching with her.
"We'll talk more, but remember," she says, leaning back, voice calm again, "some things only reveal themselves when you least expect them."
A chill slides down my spine.
I force a sip of my hot chocolate, but it tastes like ash. I glance at Luna, who is oblivious, and then back at Dr. Margareth.
Her eyes, so warm and professional a moment ago, seem to flicker just slightly, like shadows behind them are moving.
Suddenly, a heavy pressure settles on my chest.
My arms and legs feel like lead. I try to move, but my body refuses to obey.
Sweat beads across my forehead, my heart thumping erratically.
The canteen around me warps. The floor seems to tilt, voices stretching and bending like they are underwater.
A whisper curls in my ear, soft but urgent. "Emma…"
Panic coils in my stomach.
I force my eyes open, but the world is dark, silent, empty.
The metallic smell rises again, suffocating.
I struggle, gasping, but my body remains frozen.
Then, abruptly, I snap awake. I'm in my own bed.
Morning sunlight spills across the room, warm and ordinary.
My chest still aches slightly, my palms damp with sweat.
I glance at my phone on the bedside table. It's 5:03 a.m.
I exhale shakily. It was just a dream. Or was it?