Psychological Thriller Short Story: The Emergency Button on the Nape

Young Mr. F is sixteen years old. Lately, he has been in an exceptionally good mood.

This is because he has acquired a surefire way to escape the "nightmares" that have plagued him for years.
Recently, Mr. F has mastered the technique of lucid dreaming, where he can realize, "Oh, this is a dream," while asleep. And while aware that he is dreaming, he taps his nape three times—tap, tap, tap. By doing this, he can force himself to wake up from the dream.
Having actually woken up many times, thanks to this switch, he has become able to cancel any terrifying nightmare midway through. Mr. F felt completely relieved and had overcome the fear of sleeping at night.

That night, too, Mr. F had a strange dream.
As he stood in the dark living room of his home, he heard a noise. Mr. F instinctively aimed the self-defense gun he had at hand toward the direction of the sound. Even though it was in a dream, the sensation felt strangely real.
Then, a robber holding a gun to his sister's head emerged quietly from the shadows. He was a tall man, about 180 centimeters, with messy hair and a face Mr. F did not recognize at all.
The robber said in a low voice.

"Drop the gun here."

With his sister taken hostage, Mr. F had no choice but to comply. He clicked the safety lock of the gun and slid it across the floor toward the robber.
The robber grinned. Then, he lowered his gaze slightly to pick up Mr. F's gun.
Mr. F did not miss that moment of lowered guard. He quickly lunged to pull his sister away, snatched the other gun from the robber's hand, and aimed it back at the robber.
A brilliant turn of events.
However, the robber did not stop grinning. Instead, with a relaxed attitude, he asked Mr. F.

"Are you going to shoot?"

To end this unpleasant robbery drama, Mr. F pulled the trigger without hesitation.
However, no lead bullet was fired; only a dry click echoed emptily.
The robber held his stomach and laughed loudly. From the beginning, the gun the robber had been holding was a blank.
While laughing, the robber aimed the gun he had picked up—Mr. F's gun—and fired bullets into Mr. F's body without mercy.

Assailed by a burning pain, Mr. F dashed outside.
Mr. F running desperately from the man.
While running down the dark night road, Mr. F was beginning to regain his composure.

"That's right, there's no need to panic. This is a dream."

The man who had been chasing him from behind caught up, and their eyes met. The man looked at Mr. F with a condescending gaze.
Mr. F smiled back triumphantly and tapped his nape three times as usual.

His vision blurred, and Mr. F woke up in his bed in his room.

"Success. I woke up from the dream."

He wiped away cold sweat and let out a sigh of relief.
Just then, a voice came from above his head.

"Did you think you could escape?"

Looking up, the messy-haired man who had been chasing him in the dream was standing there.
Mr. F was still in a dream. It was a clever trap of a double dream.
The man grinned and began to inflict violent abuse on Mr. F, who was on the bed.

While writhing in pain that was no different from reality, Mr. F desperately tapped his nape. Three times, four times, five times.

"Wake up, wake up...!"

With a splitting headache, his vision burst, and Mr. F sat up abruptly.
Dazzling morning light streamed in through the window, and the pleasant smell of his sister frying bacon for breakfast drifted up from downstairs.
This time, it was definitely real reality. The clock hands pointed to seven in the morning.
Mr. F slumped onto the bed and let out a long breath.

"To think that even nightmares would evolve into a double structure. But in the end, I win. As long as I have this 'awakening technique,' I can always escape from any absurdity."

Mr. F grew more confident, finished getting dressed while humming a tune, and went downstairs.

"F! Breakfast is ready!"

His sister's voice came from the kitchen. Mr. F let out a sigh of relief and sank deep into the sofa.
He had finally returned to the familiar, safe reality.
His sister brought over some hot tea.

"You look terribly tired. Did something happen?"

Mr. F replied with a bitter smile.

"I had a strange nightmare. A dream where a burglar broke into the house. He was a tall man with messy hair. You were there too, sister."

"Oh, how scary. And then?"

"He held a gun to me, and we got into a shootout."

As Mr. F said this, his sister began to giggle.

"And then?"

The tone of his sister's voice resonated with an unnatural lowness.

"And then? Did you shoot?"

Mr. F looked at his sister in shock.
The contours of her face warped and began to melt away.
What appeared was the face of that unfamiliar, messy-haired man.
The man grinned and placed "something" on the table instead of tea.
It was the very gun that Mr. F had slid across after engaging the safety lock in his dream.

"Did you think you could escape?"

The man's voice echoed throughout the room.
Mr. F froze in terror and tried to quickly tap the nape of his neck.
However, his arms were as heavy as lead and would not move an inch.
The man picked up the gun and pressed its cold muzzle against the nape of Mr. F's neck.
Then, he tapped it lightly three times—tap, tap, tap—and grinned.

"Now, I wonder if you can wake up from this?"

(End)

This story is included as an episode in the short story collection 'Slumbering Dystopia,' which focuses on sci-fi, psycho-horror, and dark fantasy. I would be happy if you read the other episodes as well.