There are dreams that feel more real than waking life. Sometimes they come like a whisper from another world, carrying messages no heart is ready to hear. This is the story of a mother whose son, a soldier, disappeared many years ago, leaving behind only a void of unanswered questions. No letters, no reports, no trace – just silence that lasted for decades. She never stopped hoping. Somewhere deep inside, she believed her son was still alive.

One night, everything changed. The mother had a dream so vivid that it felt like she was living it, not sleeping. In the dream, she found herself standing in a desolate, endless field. The sky was heavy and dark, and the air felt thick with despair. Suddenly, she saw him – her son, standing just a few steps away. He looked exactly as he had on the day he left for the army, but his face was pale, his eyes hollow and filled with an unspoken agony.

“MAMI, JSEM NA ZEMI… ŽIJU – POMOC…” (“Mom, I’m on the ground… I’m alive – help…”) he whispered in Czech, a language he learned during his military service. The mother didn’t speak Czech, yet in the dream she understood every single word. It was as if his voice was not reaching her through language but through something deeper – a desperate cry from his very soul.

She woke up screaming. Her heart was pounding as if trying to break out of her chest. Was it just a nightmare? Or was it a real message from somewhere beyond the veil of death and life? She couldn’t shake the feeling that her son was calling to her, trapped somewhere, begging for help.

The next night, the dream returned – but darker, more terrifying. She saw her son again, but this time he was chained to the ground. His mouth was covered in blood, his lips trembling. And then she realized something that froze her blood: his tongue was gone. It was as though someone had deliberately taken his voice, silencing him forever. He tried to speak, but only a guttural sound came out, a horrible mix of pain and despair.

From that moment, her life became unbearable. She could no longer sleep peacefully. She spent hours sitting in the dark, replaying every detail of the dream. She started digging through old documents, calling former military contacts, desperately trying to find any clue about what had happened to her son.

The villagers noticed that she had changed. Her once-bright eyes became shadowed and haunted. She claimed to hear footsteps at night, faint whispers that sounded like her son’s voice. “I can feel his presence,” she said. “He is not gone… he’s out there, waiting for me to help him.”

Her story soon spread beyond the village. Journalists came to interview her, at first thinking it was nothing but the delusion of a grieving mother. But when she described small details – markings on her son’s uniform, old scars, and even places from his service that had never been made public – some of them began to wonder if there was something real behind her visions.

Old rumors resurfaced. People whispered about secret camps hidden deep in the mountains, places where prisoners were kept for decades. The stories were terrifying: torture, mutilation, men who simply vanished from official records but were never truly gone. Could her son be one of them?

Driven by desperation, the mother decided to go there herself. Alone, frail, but fueled by a love that had burned for decades, she walked through abandoned roads and ghostly ruins. She said she felt his presence guiding her, as if invisible hands were leading her to the truth.

Each night she prayed, whispering to the darkness: “Tell me where you are. Show me a sign.” And sometimes, she claimed, the sign came – a shadow moving where it shouldn’t, a voice calling her name, or the faint sound of a man crying for help.

The villagers, once skeptical, began to fear her story. Some said they, too, heard strange noises at night – muffled screams carried by the wind, the creak of unseen footsteps. “Her son is trying to return,” they whispered. “And he won’t rest until she knows the truth.”

Now, every night before sleep, she says his name, hoping to see him again – even in a dream. His broken whisper “MAMI, JSEM NA ZEMI… ŽIJU – POMOC…” echoes in her mind like a wound that never heals.

Was it just the tormented imagination of a grieving mother? Or was it a glimpse into a horror that still lives somewhere, hidden from the world? No one knows for sure. But one thing is certain: her love and belief are stronger than fear. She is ready to face anything, even death itself, to uncover what happened to her son.