When night takes over.
When the night takes humanity into its embrace and the world, for a few short hours, halts its endless rush into the unknown, dreams take control over mankind.
Some of them sprinkle our souls with visions of a beautiful future, or of a world shaped according to our deepest desires.
The rest, however, rise to confront us — filling our minds with visions so twisted and horrifying that they follow us even into the comforting light of day.But the night — let’s not forget — is also the time when many creatures begin their day.
Countless predators emerge from their dens to hunt their prey.
The darkness that comes so naturally to them perfectly hides every horror they commit within it.
And it’s not only animals that should beware what hides beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.
Humans, too, should fear what lurks in the shadows — or waits for them among dreams.Not every nightmare is simply a byproduct of a quarrel between our sleepy minds and ever-alert bodies.
Some are real — living beings that feed on human fear, hiding within a world unreachable to most.
Sometimes, without realizing it, we wander into that reality, unable to distinguish those moments from ordinary dreams.
In most cases, such incidents end without consequence — we simply wake up in the morning with a faint vision of what we experienced, one that quickly fades with the first breath of day.But the less fortunate… during those brief moments of presence in the dream world, they might encounter predators lying in wait.
These beings, commonly known as Baku, feed on human dreams.
They devour the positive visions we experience through the night.
The more aggressive ones can induce nightmares and sip the fear that forms in our hearts.
The most cruel, however, are those for whom feeding on emotions alone is no longer enough.
They lurk in the darkest corners of their domain, waiting for lost souls to stumble into their reach.
When an unaware victim comes close, they strike without hesitation, draining the life force straight from their target — until they are satisfied.
Some wake up weakened, feverish, lucky to have escaped.
Others… remain forever trapped in the realm of dreams.The wind rolled silently through the alley.
The only sign of its presence was the chill it left upon the skin.
No sound was kind enough to announce its arrival.
That, however, was nothing unusual — the world of dreams was a quiet place.
Nothing here made a sound by itself: doors didn’t creak when opened, leaves didn’t rustle when stepped on, wheels made no noise against the cobblestones.The sun shared this same peculiarity.
It couldn’t be seen in the sky, and yet everything was cloaked in shadow — as if the world merely assumed that somewhere, there must exist a ball of fire, perhaps hidden by clouds that didn’t exist in this place.
The sky was always a flat, uniform gray — as were all colors smothered beneath its shade.
Though the entire world seemed to constantly lean toward darkness, true night never arrived, and beauty never truly appeared.Even in such a bleak and sorrowful land, however, there were moments that broke its monotony.
In the dream world, those moments came in the form of “travelers” — people who had lost their way and ended up here straight from one of their dreams or nightmares.
The vivid colors of their clothes and skin were untouched by shadow; the sound of their footsteps and breathing carried freely through the silent air.
But being the only sparks of life in a dead world made them perfect targets for the true kin of the dark — nightmares themselves.Kurt was now staring at one such unfortunate traveler.
Her once-beautiful blue dress was being swallowed by shadow, second by second.
Her eyes, which surely had been beautiful once, now stared lifelessly at some undefined point in space.
The only sign that she did not belong to this place was the deep red pool in which her body lay.
By some inexplicable rule, only blood managed to retain its color here, no matter how much time passed.Kurt calmly crouched beside her and touched her skin.
“Still warm,” he muttered to himself, standing up and scanning his surroundings. “It couldn’t have gone far.”Despite their cunning, Baku were simple creatures at heart.
After an attack, like most predators, they sought a safe place to digest their prey — never straying far from the scene.Kurt looked around once more, absorbing every detail of the narrow street.
He was surrounded by rows of identical three-story houses with slanted roofs on both sides.
Simple wooden doors, four-pane windows, and wide sidewalks lined with evenly spaced young trees.
Mailboxes by every entrance, their numbers increasing predictably from one side to the next.
A few small alleys led between the buildings, probably toward hidden back gardens.
Nothing, at first glance, stood out.He began walking slowly, carefully observing every corner and every house, searching for even the smallest inconsistency in this sterile world — a broken branch, a tilted mailbox, an open door, a shattered window.
After several cautious steps, he finally noticed something unusual: scratches on the side wall of one house at the corner of a slightly wider street.
Five long, faint marks, stretched downward.
Normally, no one would pay them any attention, but here they stood out starkly against the monotony.Kurt moved closer and examined the damage. The marks looked like those left by a large animal — something with a paw the size of a human head, and claws shaped like knives.
“This time, a bear,” he whispered quietly.Since nightmares had no access to the human world, the only window into it was through our dreams.
But dreams are unreliable reflections of reality, so the forms Baku take rarely resemble real animals.
They are distorted both by human imagination and by the nightmares’ own inability to accurately depict the creatures they imitate.
Their reason for doing so, however, is simple — to inspire as much fear as possible.
Fear made their meal richer.
In this case, the unfortunate woman must have feared bears, or perhaps had just fled a nightmare involving one.Fighting Baku in their chosen forms was always treacherous.
Because they only vaguely understood their own appearances, their behavior could be unpredictable — a wolf-like Baku might, instead of biting, stretch its neck unnaturally and snap from an impossible angle.Knowing that, Kurt turned his gaze from the scratches toward the shadowed alley ahead.
Two stone walls closed it off beyond the row of houses.
No passage, no gap — and no signs the creature had climbed or broken through.
That left only one possibility: it went deeper.Kurt tightened his focus and moved forward.
In the real world, beyond those houses, there would’ve been another street, more homes, or perhaps a field or forest.
Here, however, no such logic applied.
The stone walls flanked him for what felt like an eternity.
He walked quickly for what must have been dozens of minutes, the path stretching endlessly before him — yet never changing.The world of dreams imitated reality only at a glance; it often drifted into pure absurdity.
Tiny sheds that revealed palaces inside, glass elevators that rose upward yet somehow ended below the starting floor, roads that appeared short but took hours to cross.
As dreams defy reason, so too did this place.This time, though, the walk didn’t last for hours.
In the distance, Kurt finally saw a small metal garage.
Its presence alone was strange — no car could ever fit through the narrow alley — but even stranger was the slightly raised sliding door.All doors in the dream world were always closed.
If any were open, even slightly, it meant they had been disturbed recently.
Though, of course, “recently” was a relative term here — one of the countless unsolved paradoxes of this place.
Still, this was a clear sign: the Baku was nearby, digesting its prey.No matter how much Kurt longed to face the creature, he had to prepare.
Closing his eyes, he imagined a military knife — twenty centimeters long, five wide — with a polished blade reflecting light and a worn wooden handle.
Then, he imagined it firmly in his hand.When he opened his eyes, the knife rested solidly in his grip.Since his first encounters in the dream world, every experienced “local” had advised him to use simple weapons — a knife, a club — anything uncomplicated.
Firearms, on the other hand, required imagining not just their shape, but every mechanical detail: loading, aiming, firing.
One mistake, and the weapon could turn on its wielder.He looked down at his black cargo pants and plain gray hoodie and shook his head.
Armor wouldn’t help — he didn’t know how strong the creature’s claws or teeth were.
Better to stay light and fast.Taking three deep breaths to steady his racing thoughts, Kurt moved toward the garage door, keeping to the side.
He counted silently to three — one, two, three — then leapt forward, pulling up the door and slipping inside.The interior, as expected, was slightly larger than it appeared outside.
Two metal shelves stood along the right wall, filled with car tools and spare parts.
And in the far corner — the Baku.It was curled up, about the size of a small car, covered in dark brown fur.
Its enormous claws resembled kitchen knives, and its chest rose and fell in awkward, uneven breaths, as if imitating the act of breathing without truly understanding it.Kurt advanced slowly, step by step, positioning himself for the strike.
When he was within reach, he lunged forward and drove the knife straight in, up to the hilt.The reaction was instant.
The ball of fur convulsed, twisting toward him with terrifying speed — but Kurt jumped back just in time.
Here, physical limits didn’t apply; movement was dictated by will alone.The creature shuddered violently, its body writhing like something trying to burst from within.
Slowly, its shape began to form: enormous paws like tree trunks, muscles straining under the skin, a massive torso — a grotesque parody of a grizzly bear.
But its face… that was where the illusion shattered.The eyes were three times too large, with smaller ones above them, the snout misplaced and crammed where the nose should be, its mouth filled with jagged, chaotic teeth.It faced Kurt — and in its lifeless, brown eyes there was no emotion.
No anger. No surprise. Only void.For a few seconds, nothing moved.
Then, it charged.It ran on all fours, but in a way that no real bear ever could — its limbs bending and stretching at unnatural angles to keep balance.Kurt shifted his right leg back, bracing for impact.
The Baku lunged, mouth gaping wide enough to swallow him whole — but Kurt sidestepped, slicing horizontally as he moved.
The blade cut through its twisted fangs and tore through the side of its jaw, emerging cleanly out the other end.They traded places — Kurt unharmed, the beast disoriented.
Then it charged again.This time, Kurt met it halfway, striking downward in one fluid motion, cutting straight through its torso.
Still, the nightmare didn’t fall.
Even creatures torn to pieces could persist here.Kurt tightened his grip and attacked once more — a horizontal slash across the abdomen.
But the Baku struck back, an upward blow that sent him crashing against the garage door with bone-shaking force.
He groaned, sliding to the floor, pain radiating through his ribs — but forced himself up again, knife ready.The creature rose on two legs now, swinging its massive claws like pendulums.
It lunged.
Kurt slipped to the side, spun on one foot, and with both hands brought the blade clean across its neck.The cut was perfect.
The head fell soundlessly to the ground, and the rest of the body went limp.Kurt stood still, waiting for movement that never came.
Only when the corpse began to dissolve into shadow did he exhale.“Finally,” he whispered, letting the knife fade from his hand.He watched as the creature’s form disappeared.
For months, he had hunted this Baku — a shapeshifting predator that killed as a dog, a bird, a bee… even a car.
Tracking it had been like finding a needle in a haystack.
Every victim died in roughly the same area, but with no trace left behind — until today, when it finally made one small mistake: scratching a wall.Then, a chill ran through him.
The woman’s wounds… had he even looked at them properly?The realization struck like lightning.
He hadn’t checked. He’d smelled the blood, assumed the marks, and followed the wrong trail.The soundless bells of warning began to scream inside his skull.Danger.He imagined the knife again and turned sharply.
His blond hair stood on end, heart pounding beyond human limits.
Behind him — darkness. Cold.And in the next moment, the inside of the garage turned a deep, vivid red.