Nightmares
I had a real nightmare last night, for the first time in a very long while. My nightmares normally consist of a perfectly normal dream that goes on for a bit, and then suddenly BAM!, nightmare scenario. And then I wake up, almost instantly. All too often those scenarios are me being suddenly attacked out of the blue, going from happy to sheer terror in a heartbeat, and I freeze. I never have a voice in those dreams. I never scream, I never fight back. I never get to, because my body always wakes me up right away.
Last night, though... last night I played it all out. And it was fascinating.
It was one of those dreams where you're actually pretty sure you haven't fallen asleep yet. Your body segues seamlessly from awake to asleep, the thought you had just before falling following you into your dreams. In this case, I'd been thinking what a haunted night it was. I was alone in the house, alone in my bed. The wind was howling outside the window, and there were constant little creaks and shivers throughout the house. The cats were being obnoxious upstairs, thumping randomly and often. So of course, as soon as I fell asleep, I was in the old farmhouse, the one I grew up in. In the one bedroom I truly hated. I had multiple bedrooms in that house. There were 26 rooms, and the kids side of the house (my parents were smart and separated themselves from us by an entire house) had 4 bedrooms upstairs. Two at the top of the flight of stairs, and two at the other end, looking out over the yard. I have such vivid memories of the hallway between our bedrooms. It had an old maple railing running along the length of the staircase, and we'd often sit out there with our feet stuck through the rails, legs dangling over the stairs, talking to each other or yelling at someone to hurry and dress and come out and play.
The first bedroom I ever had all to myself was the one at the top of the stairs, to the left. It was, BY FAR, the least desirable bedroom. It was almost at the apex of the U shaped interior of the house, so that the window looked out on the other side of the house, along the two walls (the apex of the horseshoe and the other side of it). You could look down into the lawn below, and off to the right to the gravel parking area and the giant red barn. But mostly what you saw when you looked out your window was the wall of the other side of the house. Which was deserted for most of my childhood. The house had been divided into two dwellings before we moved in (I'll call them left and right), and we initially lived in the opposite side of the one I'm describing now, the right. We quickly moved to the left side, and our aunt and uncle moved in to the right. They lived there for about a year, and when they moved, it stayed vacant. And oh, it was creepy. Sagging doors and windows that always seemed to have someone just walking away from them when you looked inside. The lawn in the middle never saw much sun, and was sad and skimpy in comparison to the lush fields and lawn surrounding the outside. We never did much in that area in the middle. We didn't play there, we rarely parked there. My parents often tried to do outdoor projects out there, creating a brick patio, a little garden. But nothing ever lasted, and it would very quickly go back to looking sad, forlorn, and creepy.
So, that was my view. The bedroom itself was L shaped, which was odd and awkward. There was only the one window, directly across from the doorway, and the light never reached back to the end of the L. Why my parents chose to put my bed at that end, I'll never know, because holy shit it was depressing. You couldn't see the door, you couldn't see out the window, and you had no idea what was behind you. There was a bathroom somewhere back there, but one we never, EVER used (there were 3 bathrooms in the house, two of them upstairs and right next to each other geographically. The one behind my room, which never got used, was actually easy to get to, just down a hallway outside my door. But we always passed it by and went through another room and out another door to get to the bathroom outside my parents bedroom). Basically, it was the apex of the most depressing area in the house.
I was 7 or 8 when I first got it, and before that had been sharing a room with my sister. So at first I was thrilled. I felt so grownup. This was going to be MY space, and I was going to hang whatever I damn well wanted on the walls. And NONE of it was going to be blue (my sisters favorite color).
I do have some good memories of that room. I remember lying on the rug in front of the window in a spot of sunshine, falling asleep with the scratchy nap of the carpet on my cheek and watching dust motes dancing in the sunlight. But the good memories are few and far between. For the most part, that bedroom defined my sense of fear. It defined my relationship with ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night, and it exacerbated an already over-active imagination, giving it fright to focus on instead of light. I remember watching the wallpaper ripple and sway all along the line of my bed while I tried to fall asleep. I remember always hiding under the covers at bedtime, with all my lights on, convinced that something was levitating up my second story window and watching me through it. I remember not being able to see the door, but hearing it creak open in the middle of the night. Man. I STILL get shivers thinking about these memories. That room was fucking terrifying, and I was in there for almost 4 years, if not more.
So, it makes sense that my nightmare last night would take place in that room. I was lying in my bed (the same bed I have now, not my childhood bed), and I was listening to the wind wailing outside the window. And suddenly, I knew I wasn't alone in the room. There was no physical manifestation of anything, but I knew I wasn't alone. I was both terrified and angry. I tried to say something, but all that came out was a squeak. I sat up in bed, which was hard to do, and looked around, which was even harder. The room itself was a weird amalgam of past and present, my brain trying to convince me that I was still awake and looking at my present reality, but also stuck in the scenery of my childhood. Nothing registered as strange, and I was so sure I was awake. Looking around, I couldn't see anyone. But I KNEW he was out there. I stood up, both an adult and a child, and I started to walk towards my door. And suddenly I felt a hand on my arm, with no one there to provide substance to it. Nothing violent, just a hand on my arm, the fingers firmly but gently grasping it. My heart jumped, and I think I expected to wake up, because I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to scream, but nothing come out. But I didn't wake up, which cemented in my mind that this was real. And because it was real, I suddenly had autonomy. I could act. And I got so angry. I shook my arm and walked towards my door again. This time something swatted my butt, and I turned around and screamed at it. At first it was just a little squawk of a scream, but it quickly turned into a real one. I stopped in surprise at the loudness of my voice, and I worried about waking anyone up. Then I realized that I quite desperately wanted to wake EVERYONE up, that I didn't want to be alone in my terror. So I screamed again, an angry and frightened yell. And I walked out of the door of my bedroom, and down the hall to my sister Leahs room. It hadn't followed me out of my room, whatever it was, so I felt safe. But I still knocked on her door and went in when she yelled "What?".
I told her what had happened, and she didn't believe me. She let me stay in there anyways, though. My sister had an awesome bedroom growing up. It was at the outside apex of the U, and its two windows looked out over a beautiful view. Two giant maple trees framed a wheat field across the street, and it was peaceful and lovely. There was a door to the other, scary side of the house in her room, which was always locked and blocked. But for the most part, her room was the exact opposite of mine. Bright and airy and not remotely frightening. I often went to her room in the middle of the night, and she'd always let me sleep with her.
In my nightmare, she was getting ready to go out on a date. There were clothes strewn all over the bed, and I sat down at the end of it and helped her choose outfits. All the fear was gone, though I was constantly listening for any noise, thinking about what it was that had grabbed my arm. At it's most peaceful, when I felt perfectly safe, the door of her room suddenly blew open violently, and wind came through, scattering clothes and papers. She wasn't frightened, was sure that it was a draft. But I KNEW that it had followed me. I knew that I had broken the rules by screaming, by walking away, by acting instead of freezing. And because I had broken the rules, it had followed me to my refuge. I ran to shut the door, but whatever it was had already gotten into the room. As I shut the door, I felt it touch my back. Again, nothing violent, nothing horrible. Just invisible, and powerful, and angry that I had walked away. And I was angry too. So very angry. I started walking around her room, looking for it, yelling at the top of my lungs. My sister got angry, wouldn't believe me when I told her something was in the room, and told me to shut up, stop yelling. I did, but I kept pacing, waiting for it to touch me again.
I woke up for real shortly after that, my work phone screaming at me that it was 5:30am and there was a horrible emergency that I just had to take care of right now. I looked at my phone, saw someone else had already responded, replied with a sincere thank you, rolled over and promptly fell back asleep, snoring before I was even fully gone. I forgot about my nightmare, falling into a completely different dream.
But I woke up this morning thinking about it. Remembering the sensation of a hand grabbing my arm, swatting my butt. It wasn't a heart pounding, cold sweat kind of nightmare, but it was terrifying none the less. All the more so because I know my brain has been working shit out lately, cranking out issues and neurosis underneath the surface of my conscious thought. I have felt like a teenager again, completely out of control of what's happening inside of me, desperately trying to maintain a surface veneer of normalcy while a tempest rages quietly in my subconscious. I don't even want to analyze what my mind was trying to tell me with this dream, though I can feel the gears grinding underneath my fear.
Last night, though... last night I played it all out. And it was fascinating.
It was one of those dreams where you're actually pretty sure you haven't fallen asleep yet. Your body segues seamlessly from awake to asleep, the thought you had just before falling following you into your dreams. In this case, I'd been thinking what a haunted night it was. I was alone in the house, alone in my bed. The wind was howling outside the window, and there were constant little creaks and shivers throughout the house. The cats were being obnoxious upstairs, thumping randomly and often. So of course, as soon as I fell asleep, I was in the old farmhouse, the one I grew up in. In the one bedroom I truly hated. I had multiple bedrooms in that house. There were 26 rooms, and the kids side of the house (my parents were smart and separated themselves from us by an entire house) had 4 bedrooms upstairs. Two at the top of the flight of stairs, and two at the other end, looking out over the yard. I have such vivid memories of the hallway between our bedrooms. It had an old maple railing running along the length of the staircase, and we'd often sit out there with our feet stuck through the rails, legs dangling over the stairs, talking to each other or yelling at someone to hurry and dress and come out and play.
The first bedroom I ever had all to myself was the one at the top of the stairs, to the left. It was, BY FAR, the least desirable bedroom. It was almost at the apex of the U shaped interior of the house, so that the window looked out on the other side of the house, along the two walls (the apex of the horseshoe and the other side of it). You could look down into the lawn below, and off to the right to the gravel parking area and the giant red barn. But mostly what you saw when you looked out your window was the wall of the other side of the house. Which was deserted for most of my childhood. The house had been divided into two dwellings before we moved in (I'll call them left and right), and we initially lived in the opposite side of the one I'm describing now, the right. We quickly moved to the left side, and our aunt and uncle moved in to the right. They lived there for about a year, and when they moved, it stayed vacant. And oh, it was creepy. Sagging doors and windows that always seemed to have someone just walking away from them when you looked inside. The lawn in the middle never saw much sun, and was sad and skimpy in comparison to the lush fields and lawn surrounding the outside. We never did much in that area in the middle. We didn't play there, we rarely parked there. My parents often tried to do outdoor projects out there, creating a brick patio, a little garden. But nothing ever lasted, and it would very quickly go back to looking sad, forlorn, and creepy.
So, that was my view. The bedroom itself was L shaped, which was odd and awkward. There was only the one window, directly across from the doorway, and the light never reached back to the end of the L. Why my parents chose to put my bed at that end, I'll never know, because holy shit it was depressing. You couldn't see the door, you couldn't see out the window, and you had no idea what was behind you. There was a bathroom somewhere back there, but one we never, EVER used (there were 3 bathrooms in the house, two of them upstairs and right next to each other geographically. The one behind my room, which never got used, was actually easy to get to, just down a hallway outside my door. But we always passed it by and went through another room and out another door to get to the bathroom outside my parents bedroom). Basically, it was the apex of the most depressing area in the house.
I was 7 or 8 when I first got it, and before that had been sharing a room with my sister. So at first I was thrilled. I felt so grownup. This was going to be MY space, and I was going to hang whatever I damn well wanted on the walls. And NONE of it was going to be blue (my sisters favorite color).
I do have some good memories of that room. I remember lying on the rug in front of the window in a spot of sunshine, falling asleep with the scratchy nap of the carpet on my cheek and watching dust motes dancing in the sunlight. But the good memories are few and far between. For the most part, that bedroom defined my sense of fear. It defined my relationship with ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night, and it exacerbated an already over-active imagination, giving it fright to focus on instead of light. I remember watching the wallpaper ripple and sway all along the line of my bed while I tried to fall asleep. I remember always hiding under the covers at bedtime, with all my lights on, convinced that something was levitating up my second story window and watching me through it. I remember not being able to see the door, but hearing it creak open in the middle of the night. Man. I STILL get shivers thinking about these memories. That room was fucking terrifying, and I was in there for almost 4 years, if not more.
So, it makes sense that my nightmare last night would take place in that room. I was lying in my bed (the same bed I have now, not my childhood bed), and I was listening to the wind wailing outside the window. And suddenly, I knew I wasn't alone in the room. There was no physical manifestation of anything, but I knew I wasn't alone. I was both terrified and angry. I tried to say something, but all that came out was a squeak. I sat up in bed, which was hard to do, and looked around, which was even harder. The room itself was a weird amalgam of past and present, my brain trying to convince me that I was still awake and looking at my present reality, but also stuck in the scenery of my childhood. Nothing registered as strange, and I was so sure I was awake. Looking around, I couldn't see anyone. But I KNEW he was out there. I stood up, both an adult and a child, and I started to walk towards my door. And suddenly I felt a hand on my arm, with no one there to provide substance to it. Nothing violent, just a hand on my arm, the fingers firmly but gently grasping it. My heart jumped, and I think I expected to wake up, because I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to scream, but nothing come out. But I didn't wake up, which cemented in my mind that this was real. And because it was real, I suddenly had autonomy. I could act. And I got so angry. I shook my arm and walked towards my door again. This time something swatted my butt, and I turned around and screamed at it. At first it was just a little squawk of a scream, but it quickly turned into a real one. I stopped in surprise at the loudness of my voice, and I worried about waking anyone up. Then I realized that I quite desperately wanted to wake EVERYONE up, that I didn't want to be alone in my terror. So I screamed again, an angry and frightened yell. And I walked out of the door of my bedroom, and down the hall to my sister Leahs room. It hadn't followed me out of my room, whatever it was, so I felt safe. But I still knocked on her door and went in when she yelled "What?".
I told her what had happened, and she didn't believe me. She let me stay in there anyways, though. My sister had an awesome bedroom growing up. It was at the outside apex of the U, and its two windows looked out over a beautiful view. Two giant maple trees framed a wheat field across the street, and it was peaceful and lovely. There was a door to the other, scary side of the house in her room, which was always locked and blocked. But for the most part, her room was the exact opposite of mine. Bright and airy and not remotely frightening. I often went to her room in the middle of the night, and she'd always let me sleep with her.
In my nightmare, she was getting ready to go out on a date. There were clothes strewn all over the bed, and I sat down at the end of it and helped her choose outfits. All the fear was gone, though I was constantly listening for any noise, thinking about what it was that had grabbed my arm. At it's most peaceful, when I felt perfectly safe, the door of her room suddenly blew open violently, and wind came through, scattering clothes and papers. She wasn't frightened, was sure that it was a draft. But I KNEW that it had followed me. I knew that I had broken the rules by screaming, by walking away, by acting instead of freezing. And because I had broken the rules, it had followed me to my refuge. I ran to shut the door, but whatever it was had already gotten into the room. As I shut the door, I felt it touch my back. Again, nothing violent, nothing horrible. Just invisible, and powerful, and angry that I had walked away. And I was angry too. So very angry. I started walking around her room, looking for it, yelling at the top of my lungs. My sister got angry, wouldn't believe me when I told her something was in the room, and told me to shut up, stop yelling. I did, but I kept pacing, waiting for it to touch me again.
I woke up for real shortly after that, my work phone screaming at me that it was 5:30am and there was a horrible emergency that I just had to take care of right now. I looked at my phone, saw someone else had already responded, replied with a sincere thank you, rolled over and promptly fell back asleep, snoring before I was even fully gone. I forgot about my nightmare, falling into a completely different dream.
But I woke up this morning thinking about it. Remembering the sensation of a hand grabbing my arm, swatting my butt. It wasn't a heart pounding, cold sweat kind of nightmare, but it was terrifying none the less. All the more so because I know my brain has been working shit out lately, cranking out issues and neurosis underneath the surface of my conscious thought. I have felt like a teenager again, completely out of control of what's happening inside of me, desperately trying to maintain a surface veneer of normalcy while a tempest rages quietly in my subconscious. I don't even want to analyze what my mind was trying to tell me with this dream, though I can feel the gears grinding underneath my fear.
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