“Of all the things you choose in life, you don’t get to choose what your nightmares are. You don’t pick them; they pick you.”
This post will conclude my October nightmare series. You may see more nightmare posts pop up in the future, but they will likely be shuffled in-between my other dream journal posts until next October.
I woke up screaming, disoriented, in a pool of my own blood. A cold sweat beaded along my brow as strands of hair clung to the moisture. My eyes darted around the room, desperately trying to regain my bearings. I was at home in my bedroom. The familiar yellow glow of my bedside table lamp partially illuminated the room, casting the rest in shadows. Silence engulfed me in the intermittence between my screams and labored breathing. The air smelled metallic. Terrified, I clutched a fistful of sticky warm bedding in each of my hands. I could hardly move from fear. What had happened? Did I pass out or had I been sleeping? Where was the blood coming from? Was I alone?
I lay alone, struggling to steady my breath without drawing any attention to myself, if by chance an intruder were nearby. When I was confident that I was alone, I tilted my body to rise. I whaled as an agonizing pain shot through my legs. Raw and burning, I was afraid to look. I tried to move them in spite of the pain, but it was clear that part of them were… missing. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel anything but the pain. Gathering my courage, I propped myself on my right arm, positioning myself so I could get a good look at my legs. I began to tremble, trapping a scream in my throat when I saw that both of my legs had been cut off just under the knee. The wounds were still fresh and were still excreting slow streams of blood onto the already soaked bed sheets. The skin around the wounds were fringed and rough, as if they had been sawed off with some kind of serrated blade.
After recovering from the initial shock, I rolled over, placed my hands on the burlap carpet, and began slithering my way onto the floor. Each movement felt like a brand new cut. The pain was almost too much to bear, but I couldn’t just stay where I was waiting for whoever had done this to me to come back. I began to army crawl around my queen sized bed towards the bedroom door. Thankfully, the door had been left partially ajar, so I wouldn’t have to worry about reaching up for the handle. After a cautious glance, I drug myself out into the hallway, leaving a trail of blood along the carpet behind me.
The house was silent and deserted. Shadows cast throughout the space remained still and lifeless. “If I can just make it to the phone on the kitchen counter,” I thought, “everything will be fine.” I slowly drug myself down the hall towards the short narrow staircase leading to the living room below. I wished that I could see if something or someone was luring at the base of the stairs in wait, but without legs, I had no choice but to take the risk. I tried to wiggle down the stairs on my stomach, feeling each new step as it dug into my rib cage. I was already starting to feel the angry irritation of rugburn welling up on my forearms and hips.
I let out a stifled cry as my wiggle turned into a tumble. The floor at the base of the stairs was unforgiving, as I landed hard on my right shoulder. “Shit!” I whispered to myself, half from the pain and half from the fear that someone may have heard me. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I struggled to catch my breath. My legs still felt raw with pain, but I was becoming numb to it. “There’s no point in crying now,” I told myself. “I need to make it to the phone.”
I eased myself down onto my forearms, dragging myself towards the open kitchen to my left. I gasped as the chill linoleum floor sent shivers through my abdomen. Three chrome stools lined the bar to my right. I could see the phone blinking red, low battery, on top of the bar. I had never had much in the realm of upper body strength, but I had to try to reach it. I gripped a stool leg in each hand, feeling the chair tilt slightly as I pulled myself up. Inch by inch, I crept my body up the stool like ivy weaving its way up a garden lattice. Almost there, my right leg scraped across the floor. I screamed out in pain, releasing my grip on the stool and tumbling back down onto the linoleum.
“I have to try something else,” I thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move outside through the sliding glass door to my left. In a fit of desperation, I lifted one of the bar stools in my hands and slung it towards the top of the bar. It was a direct hit, sending my phone skidding down to the floor. It busted open, it’s battery and battery cover sliding across the floor in different directions. I scrambled to recover the pieces when suddenly, I could see the backyard illuminated in fire through the sliding glass door.
Figures moved around the blaze, shrouded on all sides by thick dense trees. I couldn’t see their faces, as they were all cloaked in black hooded capes. There were maybe five or six of them, I couldn’t be sure. I heard their voices chanting in unison, a language I had never heard before. I tucked my body underneath the bar so I wouldn’t be spotted, squinting to evaluate the spectacle happening outside. There wasn’t a neighbor for miles and it had to be well past midnight. How was I going to make it out of this alive? I began to panic, heaving to catch my breath. Sick churned in my stomach, from the pain or from fear, I wasn’t sure.
Smoke rolled in clouds over the fire as the hooded figures stood around it chanting. I smacked my hand over my mouth, gasping as I took in the fire. There, at the base of the flames, I could make out the familiar shape of my foot as the flesh bubbled and melted in the heat. I didn’t know what to do. I was too close to them, only a transparent glass door separating me from them. Anything I did would draw attention. Too beat up to go on, I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Maybe I would get my wish.
Without warning, the chanting stopped. The figures remained still around the fire. After several minutes of waiting, I began to crawl out from under the kitchen counter. I laid on the linoleum, watching the scene in front of me and trying to quiet my breath. I began to slither along the floor, searching for the phone battery. I turned to look over my right shoulder. For only a moment, I was face to face with a hooded man. He had dark hair and crystal blue eyes. Towering over me, he must have been at least six foot tall. A sly grimace crossed his face as he raised a dirt caked shovel over his left shoulder. With all his force, he swung the shovel down towards my head. I tried to let out a scream, but it never left my lips. Everything went black.
Then I woke up….
Do you keep a dream journal? Have you had any spooky dreams lately? I would love to hear from you in the comment section below. If you enjoyed this post, please shoot me a like, comment, or follow.
Love Always, AnxiouslyM