Moonlight bled through the porthole, casting the crimson silhouettes of alien trees across the blood-red soil. Every branch seemed to drip with menace, as if the wood itself exhaled a low, tortured moan. The air trembled around the gnarled trunks, echoing distant, inhuman roars that rattled through his bones. He stood alone, shotgun trembling in his hands, sensing something monstrous slithering just beyond sight.

He ran. Each footfall sank into the crimson muck, splashing liquid so vivid it resembled fresh blood. Behind him, the creaking howl of branches closing in sounded like bones grinding. A monstrous shape lunged with a guttural shriek—its eyes twin embers glowing in the red gloom. He fired but the shot merely ignited the air, flaring into a burst of malignant sparks.

A tremor raced down his spine as he stumbled over roots that writhed like living things. He slammed into a tree trunk, heart racing in a frenzied rhythm. The world warped: trees loomed taller, the soil pulsed beneath him, and the roars crescendoed into a deafening roar. Panic clawed at his throat. The shotgun dropped and he let out a tortured scream…

He awoke drenched in sweat, pyjamas clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he flicked on the bedside lamp, heart pounding against his ribs like a frantic drum. His cheeks burned with shame when he realised the sheets were wet, evidence of his terror-induced accident. He’d thought the nightmares had ended years ago, yet here he was, an adult sobbing into the darkness of his own bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed against his face, willing the red-tinted visions to evaporate. The cool tile of the floor beneath his feet grounded him, reminding him it was real life, not the hellish moonscape. He stripped off the damp sheets and pyjamas, changed into fresh clothes, and fixed his bed with trembling fingers. The morning light would be moments away.

As he brushed his teeth, he stole glances at the bathroom mirror. His eyes were hollow-ringed, pupils dilated by lingering fear. He tried to summon levity—perhaps a cup of tea would steady his nerves—but even the kettle’s gentle whistle sounded like distant echoes of that red world. He swallowed hard and forced himself to finish his routine, each action deliberate, each breath steadying his resolve.

Dawn seeped into the room, washing the blood-red nightmare from his mind. The red trees, the monstrous roars, the choking terror—they faded like embers dying at first light. Yet in the back of his mind lingered the knowledge that the nightmare would return. For now, though, he faced a new day, determined to banish the red moon’s grip with every ordinary step of his morning routine.