I am at my brother’s house, in his basement, sleeping on his couch, which I’ve done numerous times before. It’s been years since I’ve had nightmares, as well. Let me clarify that to me, nightmares are simply intense dreams from which I can still learn so much. I don’t wake up in a cold sweat, I’m not freaking out, if there is any carry over into the real world it is brief and fleeting. The closest thing I’ve been to dreams truly effecting me when I woke up were those about my ex actually being beside me, the ones so real that you half expect to turn over and there she would be. She wasn’t.
Tonight I’m running on around four hours of very broken sleep with some very wicked dreams. I remember all of it, and I want to write it down so I don’t forget.
The first dream I was awesome. Went to the gym to lift weights, was walking through some nightclubs in a Vegas style place, and had meetings. I fell asleep in the dream and had some nightmares about people writing on the walls of my parents’ basement, but my coworker woke me up and took me for a drive. While we were driving to a meeting, I tried telling him I didn’t have my pants, but he wouldn’t listen. While we were there, I went to buy some pants, but it was too late to go into the meeting. Maybe it’s a feeling that I’m unprepared for work. I don’t know, it’s ultimately unimportant.
So I walked through multiple clubs and eventually reached a point where these kids wanted to kill me or have me join them. Either way I was to be a sacrifice. But this was a dream. I was awesome. I beat them down, even a guy with a morning star that had a chain which he commanded. After the beat down on the cultists I woke up. That was weird, but I went upstairs, got some water, took a leak, and came back down. My stomach didn’t hurt, which was unique, and I appreciated it, but that’s all I really noted.
I fall asleep again. I have the dream were cultists between the ages of ten and twenty are trying to kill me, but it’s chilling. There’s something wrong. I start to wake up and I’m in a bed in my parents’ basement, right next to my middle brother. I start crying out for him, eye half open. I see he’s shaking me, trying to wake me up. He’s calling out my name, but I can only see his lips moving. If I don’t wake up something bad will happen. I know it.
Finally he rips me out of it. I’m in the basement. I woke up and I’m out of the nightmare. It doesn’t make sense that I’m in Milwaukee instead of northern Indiana, but we’re here. And there’s writing in crayon on the south wall. It has names on it from our family and under each name is a sin and sentence. Horrible punishments such as burning off the flesh. I can’t remember most of them. Outside of this, there were statements like the end is coming, the Prince of Lies draws near, my flesh would be seared off and my bones would be picked clean. This isn’t the imagery I use. This is old imagery that I’ve ignored in my writing and research simply because it hadn’t applied.
I bolt upstairs as my parents are getting back home. I tell them about the dream and they scoff. They roll their eye while bringing in goods from the van from a shopping trip. Dad didn’t see the writing on the wall. It wasn’t there. Mom didn’t notice any other signs of break in. I found a knife on the floor, with a thick, bent blade. We didn’t have knives like that.
Mom walked to the second floor with me, and when we came back down and entered the kitchen, the dark kitchen as the lights were not on and we didn’t use them if the living room was illuminated, there was a small, naked child glowing. His pink flesh looked burnt in spots, it looked ashen in others, and I started screaming. “Don’t you see it? Do you see him?” She didn’t. She had no idea what I was talking about and started walking away.
“You can’t ignore this,” I shouted, though she was only a few feet away.
“Yes, I can.” She turned and had the same crazed look I imagined I had. “This world is falling apart and I’m already struggling to keep it together. I’m going to ignore this. You should ignore this.” She stormed off into the living room to watch TV. I made my way to the stairs to the second floor.
The smallest boy of the cultists was at the top of the steps, illuminated by a street light that shone through the windows of the house. Otherwise the lights were out. He had no eyes I could discern. Behind him was another one of the kids and I could feel there were more in the shadows. It was as if the rest of the house melted away, that mom wasn’t just talking to me. The boy had that bent knife and something else in his other hand. He extended it towards me, but I refused to near him. So he dropped it and it went tumbling down the stairs. A stake.
I went to stab the kid with it, but he didn’t try to avoid me. He just pointed behind me with such calm it cooled my raging blood. When I looked behind me there was a goat on a platter looking away from me. The boy gave me the knife and nodded. Behind him, a teen grinned, mouth filled with filed teeth, his eyes wide and glowing. I went down to the goat and understood. I tried staking it. My life was on the line for it. But I couldn’t figure out how to do it. The stake was just too big, and my ability with it just too small. So I went to slit its throat, and I woke up, sweaty on the couch in my brother’s basement.
I’m fearful to fall asleep again. I know I missed parts, but what I do remember is filled with imagery and concepts I don’t play with. Why are they playing with me? I’m going to try sleeping again. Hopefully it’s without goats and cultists. I also apologize for errors. I needed to get this out. It’s 5:30 and I’m on very little sleep. Will likely edit later today.