Fiction: The Sleepwalker, a short story

The Sleepwalker

A short story, by Erik Engström, 2026-05-08

The alarm went off, an energic sharp sound, it cut deeply into the subconscious. Pulling the man out of another night of disturbed sleep. 

He had had the dreams again. The forest. The stone. The runic carvings.

When he first moved out to the countryside it was not only to escape the stressful city life as he had told his family, but there was something else. An magnetic attraction guiding him just like a compass pointing in a specific direction.

At the time he did not know what it was, he explained it away with the regular reasons, that fresh air and the connection to nature is close at heart for any human being.

But things started happening almost after the first week. His belongings started going missing from the wooden cabin, everything from tools to food. Strange dreams would plague his nights. Voices low as a whisper would be carried by the breeze.

The area was supposed to be sparsely populated and the nearest neighbors were far away, at least a good fifteen minutes of walking. He had bought the simple home for a bargain not even a month ago from an old lady destined for a nursing home. A plaque with the name Eunice Crants stamped into it was still nailed to the wall next to the door. Apparently Mrs. Crants’ health had deteriorated rapidly the last year and the family could no longer take care of her in her remote residence falling deeper into a deteriorating state.

One day, in order to clear his foggy mind, he decided to have a walk though the forest as it was still early afternoon, and he told himself he would remove the plaque with her name later as well so he could put up one with his own name, Loris Stedman.

As he was walking in the forest his mind quieted down. He focused on the surroundings and let himself forget his troubles for a while. His boots threaded onwards seemingly carelessly, but as with anyone that doesn’t heed their next step he ended up on a path he hadn’t seen before. It led deeper into the forest. The change in the air was subtle, barely noticeable by the conscious mind, but rather something that the primal instincts would pick up on. The trees grew taller, the light grew dimmer and the air grew thicker as if it had stood still for some time.

When he realized his predicament he had already arrived at an opening in the forest, where the treetops almost weaved together, forming a ceiling of sorts. Roots, thorns and small rocks covered the path, but it was as if his feet knew every obstacle, guiding him towards a large stone rising up in the middle of the clearing. A runic stone that made Loris shudder as it towered above him as his stood in front of it. 

 

As if something pulled his arm, his hand moved towards the gray obelisk and touched the surface, which was colder than he expected. His finger traced the roughly carved runes and it was as if the stone itself slowly fed off of his body heat. He stood in the high grass around the stone and as he moved his feet he heard a crunching sound. Looking down he could see pale bones strewn around. Some had been there for a long time and others still had traces of dried blood, indicating that whatever was going on here, had been going on for a long time and still to this day.

Disturbed by this finding, Loris turned around and quickly headed back to his new home. Heartbeats deafening and his breathing almost burning. 

He got home before the evening and it was first as he stood on the porch that he spoke the first words out loud. “What the hell was that?”. Even as he tried to make himself busy with the new name sign outside the door, he could not shake the feeling that he had been in the presence of something dark and evil. Trying to smooth out a bit of the surface of the wall where the new plaque would hang, he looked for his chisel, but despite emptying the toolbox on the porch, it was nowhere to be found. Under normal circumstances he would have just gotten angry but eventually gotten a new one, but something about this felt unusual. Ever since he had moved here, things had disappeared. Just the other week a hammer got lost and before that his favorite knife. Once is misfortune, twice is coincidence but three times, at least? Something was at play and it made Loris feel uneasy, so much so that he begrudgingly accepted a slight tilt on the sign with his name and returned indoors for the evening.

He lit a fire in the fireplace, washed his hands and headed for the sofa in the small living room. Facing the fire he felt calm return to his body, a sigh of satisfaction escaped and he leaned back eyes staring into the ever chaotic dancing of the flames. The flames that had brought protection and safety for humans since it’s first discovery, before the words to describe its comfort even came into existence, now kept him company.

He zoned out for a few seconds and found himself staring into the bright light, almost in a hypnotic state. For him there was no past, no future, not even the present. It was as if the fire spoke to him directly and he could only listen.

And at the edge of what is audible, a voice spoke, as if it was part of the background noise of the forest surrounding the cabin or coming from the walls themselves.

Shadows moved independent from the wild movements of the fire and he heard the voice of something ancient speak.

“I know you can hear me. You have bridged the abyss. They took her away from me before the work was complete and now you are chosen to fulfill the prophecy. You have done a good job so far. There is one last thing you need to finish before I can return from the other side.”

Hearing this Loris just nodded. Everything made sense to him now. The destination had revealed itself and so had the path leading there.

Night eventually came and this time he didn’t bother locking the door or setting the alarm.