I realize already that I am going to be killed.
My eyelids, twin gates that have kept my mind safe from the world, slide open. My eyes are like spotlights; they scan my bedroom, the dark abyss where predators may lay hidden underneath my bed or inside the closet, waiting to attack.
I peel the covers off of my body. The cool sting of the swinging fan reminds me that I am completely vulnerable. I swing my legs over the bed’s threshold. They dangle like worms beneath the ocean’s waters, writhing, taunting the beast that lurks below.
I know how this dream goes, and yet I can’t force myself awake. This path is linear and unchanging. I’m to be killed if I ever wish to pass on into reality.
My feet drop to the floor. A rustle emerges from inside the closet. Usually I’m pulled under the bed, but I guess it likes to keep me on my toes. This was always the scariest version anyway.
Yes, I’m going to die, but every night it seems like that door to the hallway is my freedom. If only I could open it up rush down the stairs, I would be okay. I would have outsmarted it.
And yet, I’ve never outsmarted it.
One step forward. The floorboards creak. The closet door swings open a bit. It peers through, it’s black eyes hidden within the shadows. It is the shadows, smothering the entire room, poisoning the good air I attempt to breath.
Another step. Creeeaaakkk. I can feel it now. With every unholy intake of oxygen I am consumed with anxiety. A hand, no, a claw emerges from the closet, it’s jagged nails cracking against the door. It whispers my name. I look around, though I know where it came from. I know it’s coming, and yet I remain oblivious.
I break into a run, but it’s faster than me. It smashes through the closet and throws me to the ground. It wraps it’s claws around my throat and I struggle to push it off but in a matter of seconds it throws it’s head back and let’s out a guttural howl. It has no teeth, and that always scared me; it’s just an empty void. The pitch of the scream rows higher and higher and why can’t my parents hear the scream and then it squeezes my head and snaps it around in a 360 spin and
I jolt awake in bed (though I used to think it was my coffin when I was little). Sweat runs down my face and I realize that not only had I let it kill me again, I had let it scare me again.
If it were any other night, I would’ve dropped my head back onto the pillow to dream of Kaitlyn Summers appearing at my windowsill (naked), but this is close to the 100th time I’ve had this dream. It sucks knowing that I’m going to die every night, but what sucks the most is that I’m unable to control it.
It’s been 10 years now, and I’ve let it kill me for far too long. I have an idea, one that I’ve been formulating for the past week now. It’s a risky one, but if I succeed, my dreams will forever be cleansed.
I close the gates. My mind urges me to lock them shut forever, to let things remain as they are. I know better than my mind. It’s time to face
The beast. It’s nearby. I can feel its wickedness growing like a weed in my room.
There’s something that I want to do, but my mind is so hazy…I peel the covers off, cold air draping my body…
I blink. The blades of the fan are the spinning rays of a dormant sun, a sun that has refused to shine through it’s heartlessness. I know exactly what needs to be done.
I stand up in bed and pull the string, drowning the room in a brilliant sunshine. I march over to the closet and throw open the door. Out falls a giant teddy bear with a blue vest, it’s paws covering up it’s eyes, cringing in pain.
“Hey, what the heck jerk…” the bear cries. Its voice is surprisingly pathetic.
“What the hell are you doing in there?”
“I was, um…” It looks around the room, as if excuses existed as solid objects in my bedroom. “Just visiting…?”
“This is bullshit! I’m sick of you jumping out and screaming and snapping my neck and shit! Just stop it!”
It backs up against the wall, it’s lower lip trembling. A tear made of stuffing falls out of it’s button eye. I had finally defeated my arch nemesis…but I didn’t want to make it cry.
“Hey,” I say, knelling down next to it. “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”
“This always happens!” It cries, throwing it’s paws up in the air. “Whenever I try to make friends I just snap their necks! They don’t even give me a chance!”
“I’m sorry I never gave you a chance, buddy.”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” someone asks from the windowsill. In crawls Kaitlyn Summers (naked). “I was passing by and I heard crying.”
“I was yelling at the monster in my closet.”
“Oh, don’t mind Choo-Choo Bear, he’s just shy,” she says (sexily, I might add).
“Well, gee, Choo-Choo Bear, I’m awful sorry I made you cry.”
“It’s okay,” it says with a cute little sniffle, wiping the fluff off of it’s eyes. “Does this means we’re friends now?”
“Well…” I look over at Kaitlin and she nods in sexy approval. “Sure we can.”
Kaitlin and Choo-Choo Bear hip-hip-horray, and I can only smile. And to think for this long my greatest fear had been a feeble little bear.
“So Kaitlin, now that that’s all settled, you wanna do something?”
Kaitlin struts toward me, giving me a tiny wink. “Nope, I actually came here to pick up…Choo-Choo Bear.”
Choo-Choo Bear elbows my arm and gives me a wink. They leave hand-and-hand out my window, where a flying eagle swoops them up and they fly towards a beautiful horizon.
Thankfully, it was all just a dream.
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