I should've read the fine print.
It was just a website at first. Nothing special. "SleepWell.com," that's what popped up when my phone glitched.
No ads, no popups. Just a blank white page with one button: Start Sleep Therapy Now. I clicked it. Why not? I hadn't slept in three nights. My eyes burned, my head pulsed, and every shadow in my apartment looked like it was moving when I wasn't looking.
The screen blinked. Then it asked for my name, date of birth, and a single promise: "I agree to the terms and conditions." There was no link to read them. Just a checkbox. I tapped it. What harm could it do?
It worked too well.
That night, I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. No tossing. No thoughts. Just black. And when I woke up, I felt… reset. Like someone scrubbed my brain. I even smiled in the mirror.
And it happened again. Night after night. Perfect sleep. But each morning, I noticed little things. My reflection blinked a second too late. My coffee tasted like metal. And the clock, my old wall clock, the one I inherited from my grandmother, it started acting weird.
It's an analog clock. Heavy wood. Ticks loud enough to hear across the room. One night, I woke up from a dream I couldn't remember, heart spiking, sweat soaking my shirt. The clock read 12:59.
I watched it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then thud, the minute hand jumped straight to 1. No 12:59 to 1:00 transition. It just… moved. And then the hour hand leapt forward.
To 13.
I sat up. My breath stopped. I rubbed my eyes. The clock read 13. I counted the numbers around the face. One, two, three… up to twelve. But the hour hand pointed past twelve, into empty space, like there was a thirteenth hour.
I unplugged it. I pulled it off the wall. I shook it. Nothing. The hands froze. But when I hung it back up the next day, it worked fine, until the next night.
Same thing. 12:59. Jump. 13.
And each time, I'd wake up feeling… wrong. Like something had crawled inside me while I slept and stayed.
I went online. Looked up the website. SleepWell.com, gone. Just an error message: Page Not Found. I tried my search history. Deleted. My phone wouldn't let me screenshot anything near midnight. It just froze.
I started writing notes. On paper. Left them on the table. Next morning, gone. Not torn. Not burned. Just… gone. Like they were never there.
Not long after, I found the Terms and Conditions.
Printed on the back of a receipt from a gas station I didn't visit. I nearly threw it away. Then I saw the small print. At the bottom, typed in thin ink:
By accepting these terms, you agree to the following:
If the clock strikes 13 in your presence, you are obligated to re-enter sleep. Failure to comply will result in the withdrawal of all prior rest benefits, compounded with added penalties.
Penalties include, but are not limited to: - Loss of dream recall - Physical degradation - Permanent time dislocation - Reassignment of consciousness
This agreement is binding across all known and unknown states of being.
I laughed. Who writes this? A madman? A prank?
But the clock struck 13 again that night.
And when it did, I felt it, a pull in my chest, like a hook behind my ribs. My eyes got heavy. My limbs turned to wet sand. I fought it. I bit my tongue. I scratched my arms until they bled. But the weight won. I fell back into bed.
And I dreamed.
I was in a long hallway. Stone walls. No doors. Just a ceiling too high to see. At the end, a clock. Floating. No wires. No support. Just hanging in the air. It had thirteen numbers. And it was ticking backward.
A figure stood under it. Tall. Thin. No face. Just a smooth stretch of skin. It wore a black coat that didn't move, even though wind howled down the hall.
It spoke without moving its head.
"You came back."
I tried to scream. Couldn't.
"You broke the rule," it said. "You saw the clock. You stayed awake."
"I fought it!" I yelled. "I didn't want to fall asleep!"
The figure turned its head. "The obligation is not optional. You agreed. You checked the box."
"I didn't even read it!"
"That does not void the contract."
It stepped forward. One step. But it was suddenly right in front of me. Its hand, long fingers, too many joints, touched my chest.
I felt cold. Not on my skin. Inside. In my bones.
"You have three more chances," it whispered. "Next time, you will enter faster. And each time, you leave less of yourself behind."
"Leave? Leave what?"
"The parts we take. The pieces that keep the clock running."
Then I woke up.
I didn't scream. I just sat there. My room was cold. The clock read 1:00. Normal. But my hands… they looked paler. Thinner. Veins darker, like ink under paper.
I didn't go to work. I called in sick. I told my boss I was coming down with something. He said I sounded "flat." I didn't care.
I spent the day researching. Old myths. Sleep curses. Digital ghosts. Nothing matched. But I found one forum post, deleted, but cached, from someone named "User_0013." Posted ten years ago.
They say if you hear the 13th strike, you have to go back to sleep. Doesn't matter how tired you are. Doesn't matter if you're scared. If you don't… they take something. First your dreams. Then your memories. Then your body. But your mind stays. Trapped. Watching.
They feed on the delay. The resistance.
The clock isn't broken. It's a door.
I read it over and over. Then I heard it. A single chime. I looked at the clock. 12:59.
My heart skipped.
Tick.
Tick.
The hand jumped.
The pull came again. Stronger. Like gravity had doubled. I fell to my knees. My eyes rolled back. I crawled toward the bed, dragging myself like a broken doll.
I didn't want to. I didn't. But my body moved on its own.
I hit the mattress. The blanket wrapped around me like hands. The room faded.
Back in the hallway. Same clock. Same figure.
"I came," I gasped. "I came back."
"You delayed," it said. "You fought. That costs extra."
"What do you want from me?!"
"A balance. You borrowed rest. Now you repay with time. With self."
"I don't understand!"
The figure raised its hand. A small clock appeared, floating. It showed 12:59.
"You have one more failure," it said. "Then you are no longer a guest. You are staff."
"Staff? What does that mean?!"
"You will become the next watcher. The one who ensures others return. You will stand under the clock. You will speak the words. You will take the pieces."
"No. No, I won't!"
"It is already happening."
It pointed at me. I looked down. My feet were fading. Not invisible. Just… not there. Like I was turning into air.
I woke up screaming.
This time, I didn't get out of bed. I stayed under the covers. I gripped my phone. 3:17 AM. Safe. No 13.
But my legs… I couldn't feel them. I pulled back the blanket. Up to my knees, my skin was gray. Lifeless. Like a mannequin. I poked it. No pain. No feeling.
I cried. I prayed. I begged. I promised to never sleep again. But I knew it was useless.
The third night came.
I tried to stay awake. Coffee. Cold showers. Pinching my arms. Yelling at the walls. Anything.
11 PM. 12 AM. 12:30.
My body didn't care. My eyes sank. My thoughts slowed.
12:58.
I stood up. Walked to the window. Slapped my face. Bit my lip until it bled.
12:59.
Tick.
The clock jumped.
The pull wasn't a hook this time. It was a rope. A noose. It yanked me off my feet. I hit the floor. My body dragged itself to the bed. Arms fighting, but weak. Useless.
"No! Not again! I won't go!"
But I did. The hallway. The clock. The figure. I couldn't move. Not even in the dream.
"You failed," it said.
"I didn't want to! I tried!"
"Your desire is irrelevant. The terms are clear."
"Then what happens now?!"
"You are reassigned."
It stepped aside. Behind it, a door appeared. Old wood. Iron handle. It opened.
Inside, another version of me sat on a bed. Younger. Healthier. Eyes wide. He looked at me. He mouthed: Help me.
I realized... that was me. From three nights ago. Before I clicked the button.
The figure spoke. "You are no longer the borrower. You are the collector. Your job is to ensure he checks the box. Then you guide him here. When his time comes, you will replace him. The cycle continues."
"No… no, I won't do it!"
"You already did."
It pointed. I looked at my hands. They were whole. Pink. Living.
But my face… I turned. A mirror stood in the hall. I saw myself. I wore the black coat. My face was smooth. Empty.
"No…" I whispered.
"You are the 13th watcher," it said. "Now go. The next one is already online."
And I stepped forward. Not because I wanted to. But because I had to. Because I had agreed. And now, I'm here.
I see you reading this. You found the website, didn't you?
SleepWell.com.
It's blinking on your screen right now. You're tired. I can tell.
Your eyes are heavy. You want to click. You think it's safe. But I know what you'll do. Because I've done it. And when you check that box…
I'll be waiting.
When the clock strikes 13… I'll make sure you come back. Just like I did. Just like all of us do.
You'll learn the truth soon enough. Rest is not free. And once you take it… You pay forever. Go ahead. Click. I'll be waiting.
The clock is already ticking. 12:59.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.