Plurk paste

In the dream, I am always asleep. I think that’s the part that frightens me the most. That I can’t wake myself up, even in the dream. That I know they’re coming every time and that I can’t do a thing to stop it. When I was younger I bought a book on lucid dreaming, thinking I could teach myself to take control and do something, but nothing works. It’s the same exact dream every time.

Like I said, I’m asleep, but in that strange way that’s only possible in dreams, I’m aware of everything going on around me. My mother and little sister are asleep, peacefully in their beds. Even before my father left, it was always just the two of them. The house is quiet and dark, and then in the distance comes the purr of an engine. A large dark car, the kind businessmen get picked up from the airport in, rolls to a stop in front of my house and three figures in black cloaks emerge. They’ve come to take me.

I’ve had the dream for as long as I can remember. When I was little, it was just the car pulling up, but over the last few years it’s gotten a lot more detailed. The shadowy figures have unnaturally long fingers. They seem to glide rather than walk. I’m never sure of how they get into the house, but I hear them on the stairs. A loose floorboard creaks on the landing, the same way every time. And then they’re here. They surround the bed and their long cloaks block out all the light from the windows. I always wake up before they touch me, but they’ve been getting closer for years, arms outstretched.

Over the last few weeks I’ve barely been able to sleep at all. They’ve gotten so close that I can see their eyes. They’re bright, almost glowing, but it’s a cold light. Unfeeling. I wake up drenched in sweat in the middle of nearly every night now. And the lack of sleep is really starting to get to me. My grades have really started slipping lately, but I’m having a hard time bringing myself to care. Every time I close my eyes they’re there. I feel like I’m dreaming nearly all the time, now.
My mother thinks I’m doing drugs. She knows about the dream, of course. I used to crawl into bed with her and my father at night, when it had woken me up, but when he left she decided that I needed to grow up and stop believing in the boogeyman. I guess I don’t blame her. I’d think I was crazy if I were her. And maybe I am.

She has to shake me awake in the morning. I’ve managed to sleep through both my alarms. I’ll be late for school, but I don’t really care. I at least have to try though, for my mother, so I throw on whatever’s closest and doesn’t smell terrible, tie my long, thick hair up into a messy knot, and manage be ready to leave the house in just over fifteen minutes. I’ve missed the bus, so my mother has to drive me in. When I reach the bottom of the stairs she’s tapping her watch impatiently, but I know that she secretly loves driving me to school. And so do I. It’s the only time we ever really get a chance to talk anymore. I consider telling her about the nightmare on the twenty minute drive to the high school, about how much worse it’s gotten, but she’s so cheerful this morning that I can’t do that to her. She’s babbling about something we’re doing this weekend.

“Wait, what’s going on this weekend?” I haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with that lately.

“Honestly, Demi,” my mother clucks disapprovingly. She sniffs the air as if she’ll catch a whiff of whatever it is she thinks I’m on. “Do you ever listen when I speak? Tomorrow is your birthday. Sweet sixteen, remember? We’ve been planning this trip to New York for months. Ring a bell?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I reply lamely. Was it May already? I could have sworn it was just Christmas. I vaguely remember the red and pink decorations that were up in February, now that she mentions it, but May? I try not to sigh heavily. This trip could not have come at a more terrible time. I had been so excited about it when we’d started planning my first big trip to New York City to see a Broadway show, but now I know that there’s no way I’ll be able to enjoy it. I put on a brave face, though, for her. I gush about the show we’ve chosen and the places I want to see. Content, she gives me a kiss on the cheek and sends me off to school.

I spend all of lunch and most of Biology nodding off at a table in the library, but manage to make it to the rest of my classes. I’m not sure whether I turned in any of my homework or not. Things like that don’t seem all that important anymore. That night, after my sister Emily and my mother have finished their weekly screaming fight, I slink off to bed.

Each step up the stairs fills my stomach with a little more dread. They were so close last night, I could hear their breathing, the rustle of the thick cloth of their cloaks. But I need to sleep. My body aches and my eyes burn. I have no choice but to give in. I don’t even bother changing into my pajamas, and I’m asleep almost as soon as I hit the mattress.

When the dream begins, the focus is so sharp that I can see everything in my bedroom, even though it’s the middle of the night. The rumble of the car’s engine is loud and vibrates deep in my stomach like a drum beat. Though I am lying in my bed asleep, I can see that we are missing four shingles on our roof, and that the stars above are bright.

But not all of them. The sky is a blanket of pure blue-black , dotted sparsely with stars. I recognize some of them as constellations. Taurus, my sign, is to the west this time of year, shining brightly.

The cloaked figures find their way into my house and file up the stairs the way they always do, my heart pounding. Something is wrong. This feels wrong. The loose floorboard creaks. I try everything I can think of to wake myself up, but nothing works. I can see and hear everything going on around me, even feel the breeze as the figures stalk into the room and displace the air. And they’re whispering. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it’s low and insistent, and the glow of their eyes is the glow of the stars. I hear myself screaming as long fingers grasp my wrists and ankles. I struggle, thrashing about, but they are too strong. One of them claps his hand over my mouth and stares into my eyes. They’re bright. Too bright. Brighter and brighter and then suddenly it goes black, and I am gone.