Don't Sleep

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Sleep can be dangerous.
825 words
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1Kiki
1Kiki
36 Followers

My eyes sprang open. Where was I? Why couldn't I catch my breath? Was someone after me? I felt very disoriented, but that was nothing new as of late. My pupils adjusted to the darkness and my ragged gasps of breath began to slow to a more normal pace. I recognized my own bedroom and I rolled over to reach for the clock by my bed.

Pushing the button on top illuminated the numbers that told me it was 3:40am. My heart was still pounding and my ears were keenly aware of the sounds around me as I slid my feet onto the floor. Maybe if I got a drink of water, I could calm down enough to get back to sleep.

Drowsily re-entering my room, I tripped over a suitcase at the foot of my bed. What in the hell? I thought to myself. That wasn't there before! Not only was my foot throbbing from the impact of striking the suitcase, but once again, my breath was catching in my throat as fear seized my heart.

Something isn't right, I thought. Too many nights have been interrupted with these nightmares, each of them different but somehow connected. When I wake from them, something odd takes place in my reality. This time it's the suitcase, last time it was the bottle of mouthwash that mysteriously appeared on the bathroom counter.

Maybe I'm losing my mind. Perhaps all of the stress over the last year has finally taken its toll and I've snapped. Maybe I forget small details like leaving the mouthwash out or packing a suitcase and leaving it at the foot of my bed. But why? Why are the things that seem to manifest out of nowhere in my reality tied to the horrors of my dreams?

Drifting back toward a sleep deprived unconsciousness; my last thought was I'll be sure to call someone for professional help in the morning. Surely someone might be able to tell me if I'm losing my mind and possibly existing in periods of fugue states.

He's chasing me again. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck warning me of danger. I'm running through Union Park in Des Moines, Iowa toward the Heritage Carousel. Maybe there will be a Good Samaritan there who can help me. I can see there are people everywhere.

Parents and grandparents were standing with their children and grandchildren waiting for a chance to pay their 50 cents for a ride on the turn-of-the-century, hand-carved, hand-painted carousel.

As I get closer to the carousel, I notice the people are frozen like mannequins. I desperately need help or he'll catch me. I can't see him behind me yet, but I can feel that he's getting closer. I'm standing among the crowd of people/mannequins screaming for help.

"Someone please help me! Call 911! I've been running for my life and I think I lost my phone. PLEASE!!!"

No one answers me; blank stares are on the faces of everyone. A shadow flits by out of the corner of my eye and I turn and see him. Immediately I know his name is Frank, I don't know how I know, I just do. I also know that he's intent on killing me slowly. His greasy, shoulder length, black hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He's wearing cutoff blue jeans and a green t-shirt that says "I Practice Good Hygiene" written in white across the chest. Oddly, it reminds me of the bottle of mouthwash in my bathroom.

I've turned to stone. I can't will my feet to move or any sound to come out of my mouth. My eyes are fixed on him as he moves toward me like a panther stalking its prey. He has a suitcase in his left hand. A slow grin spreads across his face as he reaches for a handful of my long hair and he jerks my head back hard.

I drop to my knees in pain, another scream stuck in my throat. He kneels and opens his suitcase. It's a veritable horror case of death. He binds my hands and feet with duct tape. He stuffs a dirty rag in my mouth and covers that with duct tape as well.

The sun glints off metal as he pulls something long out of the case. A quick flick of his wrist brings the sharp instrument down from the outer corner of my right eye to my chin. A burst of flame seems to sear my face as the pain registers in my brain. He reaches out a calloused finger to wipe the coruscating blood from my cheek and then he licks his finger clean.

"Time to have some fun, you won't be getting away this time!"

His maniacal laugh sends a chill down my spine as the dread settles in my stomach. I'm stuck in this dream now and I realize this time, I'll never wake up.

1Kiki
1Kiki
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