The Case Files of Sweven

Chapter 1: Nightmares
Detective Sam Stafford stepped out of his unmarked police car and gazed up at the suburban home bathed in the squad cars' flashing blue and red lights. He strode purposefully up the front walk, senses on high alert. Through the open door, muffled voices indicated his colleagues had already arrived on the scene. Pushing inside, Sam took in the details with a practiced eye.
Forensics techs photographed a trail of droplets staining the hardwood floor, leading down the hall. He followed their path to a bedroom at the end, where a huddled form lay on the bed. His sergeant, Alvares, glanced over. "The victim's name is Professor Jane Harlington. A neighbor heard screams coming from the house and called." Sam stared down to see that her eyes were wide and her face of sheer fear. 
Overturned furniture lay strewn about - a desk chair on its side, a nightstand toppled over. Family photos, once hanging on the wall, now lay shattered on the hardwood floor below. But most unsettling were the smears of blood along the baseboards, as if someone had crawled along the floor, leaving a gruesome trail. Sam photographed each detail meticulously, mentally reconstructing the scene.
A struggle was clear - but of what nature, he could not yet say. Sam crouched low, examining droplets of blood under the bed that seemed out of place.
As he photographed the smears continuing out into the hall and into a room filled with small Roman artifacts, an idea took shape in Sam's mind. If only there were a way to see inside the victim's mind, to bear witness to the threats that stalked her every sleep.
All Sam could do for now was bag and tag the final samples with a weary sigh. As he straightened, his gaze fell upon a family photo on the nightstand, untouched amid the chaos. A young girl smiled out from the frame, carefree and innocent. In an instant, Sam was transported ...
He stood once more in a familiar bedroom. Police lights flashed red outside as Sam knelt beside the small, lifeless form on the floor. Try as he might, no pulse could be found, no breath drawn back into empty lungs.
His hands trembled as he closed the girl's sightless eyes, a final farewell to a life cut far too short. If only he had been faster, smarter. Maybe then the outcome would be different, and this family would be spared the grief.
Even a year later, the memory was seared into Sam's mind with perfect clarity. His failure to save that little girl had left scars that had not easily healed, a wound that continued bleeding guilt with every beat of his heart.
A forensics tech stumbles into Sam, knocking him into a cabinet and jerking him back to the present. The crash, as it collides with the wall, thunders through the house, and the cabinet settles back down into place. "HEY! Watch it, will ya!" "Sorry, sir." 
Shaking himself free from the ghosts of the past, Sam turned from the photo with a shuddering breath. No more victims, not if he could help it. This time would be different - he had to find a way to see what the victim could not say, and prevent further nightmares from becoming a grim reality. Sam refocused on the scene before him. That was then, this is now, and it demanded his full attention.
For now, Sam had a full crime scene to process and a witness to debrief once more. Answers would have to wait. With his final sweep complete, Sam stepped back into the night, one mystery now leading to another, as this case grew ever more perplexing. 
***
Another night came, and Sam was called. This time, the victim wasn't killed. He drove as hard and fast as the car could go.
It was a few days after the murder of the professor, and he hoped to get some answers to this case of murders. Making his way inside, Sam took in the details.
He locked on a huddled form sobbing on the living room couch. His sergeant, Miller, glanced over. "Victim's name is Sarah Johnson. A neighbor said she's been having nightmares. But this time she heard her screams and came in to see what was going on."
"How did the neighbor get in?" Sam bewildered, 
"She had a spare key, and they made a deal for Ms.Cole, the neighbor, to come over and check up on her."
Sarah's bedroom told a story of its own, just like all the others.
Sam found Sarah settled, wrapped in a blanket as she recounted the night's events to another officer. Sam slowly approached the couch, not wanting to frighten Sarah further. Her eyes were swollen and red, grabbing his attention as soon as she saw him. Her face was pale as she looked up at him. 
"I'm Detective Stafford. Can you tell me what happened?" 
Sarah took a shaky breath. "It's the same every time. I'm in this dark place, can't see anything, and I hear...things. Scraping, clicking noises, coming from every direction. Then I feel it - this cold presence behind me. I don't have to turn around to know it's there."
"What is there? What do you see?"
She hugged herself tighter. "It's like a shadow, given form, this tall, faceless thing. It doesn't do anything, just watches. But its eyes...I can feel its eyes on me like, it's memorizing me before..."
Sarah trailed off with a shudder. Sam prompted gently, "Before what?"
"Before it kills me. I always wake up right before that part. But it feels so real! Like it's only a matter of time before it finds a way into my room for real."
He spoke in low, soothing tones, coaxing her story free, a piece at a time, and sticking to the procedure.
Later, he spoke to Ms.Cole. 
By the end, Sam had a picture taking shape in his mind. But the details Sarah provided about her dreams unsettled him, hinting at clues beyond normal nightmares. If he could find a way inside her mind, more truths might be revealed. For now, all he could do was promise to catch the threat stalking her sleep. Sam turned his attention to surveying the crime scene.
Sam's mind raced, piecing together the parallels between Sarah's nightmare stalker and the recent string of murders - all young women, all bearing signs of terror. 
No camera caught anyone going to or from the crime scenes; most had no one hear anything, let alone see anyone. Whoever this was, they were giving Jack the Ripper a run for his money, leaving a bloody scene and no physical trace at any of them, which was the most perplexing thing about them, even to an expert forensic scientist, pathologist, and criminalists of the Indianapolis police force, and to Sam. (work on? add more to it?)
***
Later that evening, Sam stepped through the door of his apartment, took all the things he had in his pockets, and put them all on a metal tray on top of a wall cabinet. Upon checking his coat pocket, he found a ring; he wasn't sure how it got there. It was an old gold ring with a small, green stone with a seven-pointed star in it.
He was unsure what to make of this odd discovery, but certainly, it warranted further study. For now, Sam had a new crime scene to process once more. Answers would have to wait - this ring might provide some fun in the meantime.
After getting a drink from the fridge, Sam sat in a leather chair and laid the ring on the living room coffee table. His eyes scanned the wheeled cork bulletin board with pictures of past crime scenes, colored pins, and red wool thread, but always his attention returned to the ring. The ring was unremarkable at first glance, but as his fingers closed around it, a strange tingling sensation shot up his arm.
He held it up to the light, searching for clues to its origin or purpose amongst the intricate patterns etched along the gold band. Nothing immediately stood out, yet Sam felt drawn to it all the same, as if some unseen energy pulsed just below the surface.
Under the lamplight, he turned it over and over, searching for clues in its patterns. There was only one way to find out. Sam slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his left hand.
At first, nothing happened. But slowly a strange tingling spread from the point of contact, up his arm, and throughout his body. His vision swam, the room dissolving into shadow.
When Sam opened his eyes, he stood in a place beyond imagining. An endless void stretched as far as the eye could see, lit by an unseen source from above and below.
Mist coiled along the ground, rising to shroud twisting shapes in the distance. A skittering and clicking filled the air, coming from all around. Sam spun, senses alert, as an unnatural chill raised the hairs on his neck. Somehow, impossibly, the ring had delivered him straight into a living nightmare. The clicking sounds grew louder, more urgent, accompanied by ragged breathing up ahead. He hurried toward the source.
Emerging from the mist, he found Sarah backed against a jagged rock formation, trembling violently as a dark figure advanced. Only a shadow that was given flesh, as she had described, twisting and contorting in an eerie dance. The air grew heavy with dread as the figure emerged, its eyes glowing with a sinister light. It moved with a deliberate, predatory grace, each movement calculated and precise. There was no mistaking the malice in its gaze, the hunger in its stance. It was as if darkness itself had taken form, and its intentions were anything but benign. He reached to draw his gun by instinct, but found it wasn't there. 
Sam stepped between them, shouting to draw its attention. "Stop! Leave Her Alone!" 
The figure halted, swiveling its featureless head toward this new threat. Two pinpricks of red light burned where eyes should be. Terror rippled through Sam; every cell wanted to flee, but he willed himself to hold his ground, for Sarah’s sake. 
"Back off, freak! Lay a hand on her and I'll beat you senseless!" 
A guttural sound issued from the stalker, halfway between a hiss and a laugh. It lunged without warning, impossibly fast.
Claws raked his vest, flinging him aside. But its attention had shifted - Sarah's footsteps echoed as she darted away, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear, before disappearing into the dark of the void. The sound of her hurried footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only an empty silence in her wake. 
Sam rolled to his feet, racing after them into the misty depths of the nightmare. The hunt was on. He pursued the stalker deeper into the void, following flashes of movement through the mist.
A shadow dropped from above with a hiss, bearing him to the ground in a flurry of claws. Fangs snapped mere inches from his throat as Sam grappled with the nightmare.
It was impossibly strong, yet seemed to occupy an in-between space - at times as solid as any assailant, at other times slipping through his grip like smoke on the wind. He struggled to hold it at bay. 
Sam’s arms began to shake, weakening. The figure leans into him, closer...closer... The figure rears back abruptly, shrieking. It dissolves into the mist, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. 
Sam awakens with a start, spinning around. He stumbles over the coffee table and falls onto the couch, then realizes he’s back in his living room. 
Sam lay gasping, only then noticing the burning pain across his chest and arms. He touches the torn fabric of his vest and peers at the claw marks across his chest. 
Gingerly, Sam touched his injuries, then froze. He withdrew his hand; it was wet with blood. The cuts matched perfectly with those inflicted by the nightmare stalker.
Somehow, the ring had allowed far more than mere observation. He had become a participant in the dreamscape's dangers, and these wounds proved that whatever happened there carried consequences in the real world. But how - and to what end? 
His injuries still burned as vividly as the nightmare, a grim reminder of what had transpired in that other realm. 
Sam examined the cuts marring his skin, mind racing. If the ring could provide a window into the subconscious, who knew what other mysteries it might reveal? 
And if events within dreams carried real consequences, that also meant he could intervene to prevent further threats. 
Resolved, Sam cleaned and dressed his wounds.