Nightmares, unfortunately.

You don’t realize you’re dreaming at first. You’ve never been too good at that sort of thing. So when you find yourself grinning, sitting on the hard earth in front of a campfire with a dozen familiar voices laughing and jeering around you, you don’t see anything wrong with the whole situation.

Michin is to your right, lounging in the sand taking a swig from her bottle, one hand on her chest. She sees you staring and grins, her hands drifting down to her stomach. She gets up on all fours and crawls towards you seductively, top hanging loose and giving you a full view down her shirt that makes your trousers a little tighter.

The others cheer around her as she leans up to you and licks your ear, her breath hot against your skin as she whispers a single word to you:

“Traitor.”

A sharp pain cuts into your back and you scream, falling forward. You scramble around and see the others standing before you, faces you knew were dead now, all staring down into your eyes without light; their smiles and laughs gone. And in front of them all is the old man, his bloodstained knife in his hand and face in shadow; long greying hair caught by the breeze.

“Asesino,” he whispers.

Then they all jump at you, blades and nails at the ready.