I had this strange dream a couple of nights ago. Before you click away, hear me out: I know talking about your dreams is dreadfully boring in most cases, but this one was pretty crazy.
It was a dark and stormy night. No really: tons of lightning, howling winds, the whole nine yards.
I was wondering the halls of my mothers old country house, but as in all dreams, it was so much more than just the house. It felt like the house was just the tip of the glacier and underneath there was what I can only guess was either a dungeon or some kind of insane asylum. The halls of this place were lined with locked, steel doors and as I ran passed them I could hear the faint screams of tortured souls.
I turned a corner and was in the living room of my mothers old house. The television was on, but all that was on the screen was static. The volume was turned all the way up, and the combination of white noise, thunder, and the murderous howls had me on edge. I turned off the TV, turned around, and saw my mothers side of the family all sitting up on a couch, staring at me. Their eyes were wide open, but there was no life behind them. Their mouths hung slack, gaping. As if their last moment on this planet was one of true terror.
I came to a set of stairs and started running, but every step I took felt like stepping into a bucket of jello. I could see my feet making solid contact with each step, but when I went to pick them up there was a vacuum like suction on my legs. I could feel invisible hands grabbing me by the shoulders, and the breath of some unseen evil on my neck. From somewhere in the distance I heard the whisper, "soon." With whatever strength I had left, I made it to the top of the staircase only to be greeted by another long hallway, with only a solitary door at the end. On the door were giant red letters that read, DO NOT LET OUT.
Being in no position to question authority, I turned to make my way back down the stairs of gelatin doom. When I was halfway down the hall I could hear the door fly open behind me. I turned back towards the staircase and it was gone. All that remained was a black void - like I was a character in a comic book and the artist spilt black ink on the panels behind me. Now my whole reality was this room.
It was at this moment that I became cognizant of the fact that I was dreaming. I have lucid dreams at least once a week. When things start getting too fantastical my consciousness starts to burn cigarette holes in the dream. It's usually only a moment or two before I wake up once the illusion is shattered.
I thought until then, why not see this thing through.
The room in question was unremarkable in a lot of ways. The walls were a painted white. The only furnishings were a small bed and an oak dresser. There were no windows in the room, nor a television or desk.
Then I did something that was strange given the fact that I had regained some agency over my actions. I walked over and shut the door, got into the bed and shut my eyes.
I woke up.
As you can see, it was a pretty by-the-numbers kind of nightmare. There's not really enough here to work with to turn into a particularly interesting short story, so I thought I'd just address it here. Usually my dreams are not such an amalgamation of horror story cliché's
Was I the person that was not suppose to be let out of the bedroom? Was I responsible for the deaths of my family? I've been mulling it over the past couple of days. It's unnerving to see the ones you love dead, even if it is only in a dream. It's the kind of thing that is hard to shake. No matter how cheesy it all seems now.
Then a funny thing happened. Last night I had a dream of an entirely different ilk. This time there were no dead bodies, or howling demons. It was just me driving down a lonely, country rode on a bright and sunny day. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin - all of my skin - because I was completely nude.
I don't what's been going on in my subconscious lately, but it's clearly having a good time.