Rarely do I have a dream so terrifying, so utterly, mind-bogglingly scary that I am kept awake by them. My dreams have featured falling, being chased and/or eaten by dinosaurs, creepy dolls from dimension X, Djiin, singing and much more (I’ll post those eventually). While all of these things were, on some level, scary, none of them actually imparted such vivid terror that I couldn’t convince my body to rest.
But last night I had a dream that was more of a REM-cycle possession. There was a sense of otherness about the dream, like it didn’t belong to me, but I was having it anyway.
I don’t think I can do it justice with just words. It would be better to simply put you in my mind, to see what I saw, feel what I felt. Unfortunately that’s not possible (yet). So instead, as you try to picture this, feel a terror of your own. Your breath is coming fast, your heart is beating wildly, there’s no sound in the darkness but the killer is somewhere close. Picture possessed Katee Sackhoff in Oculus, or the most frightening image you can conjure. Whatever you do, don’t open your soul to the things that make their home in the darkness.
[It should be noted that in my dreams I am rarely myself. It’s like watching a movie in first person. This one is no exception.]
Need a little more explanation? Check out the post.
The Possession: dream date 4/21/2014
Our bus was dark and overcrowded, the air salted with the sweat and stink of too many people. In the front compartment the driver and security sat in straight-back seats, but in the back we were crammed together, laying three deep on cots designed to fit one body – and by body I mean a dead one.
I was crammed between my brother and someone else, trying to breathe out of my mouth. The rags that clung to me were sticky with combined sweat. Hushed, frightened whispers crashed through the compartment in waves. The bus was slowing down. We were being stopped, and we would never make it out of the zone.
Eyes wide I tried to see the outline of my brother, to see if he was scared, but the blackness was complete and I saw nothing. We knew it was a long shot – that escaping the contaminated zone was nearly impossible. The security on the routes out was too complete, and once they stopped your vehicle… well, that’s all she wrote.
I started to shake. Images flashed in my mind of other groups that had tried to escape. Bloody, gory scenes that belonged locked away in police folders, not in my head. Once they stopped you, you died. They would murder us all. I wasn’t the only one who knew – around us, people started shifting and rocking, some tried to get up and run, only to trip and fall, trampled by others. There was nowhere to go. We would be tested, and then we would be killed. If we were lucky they would shoot us in the head.
The security force came on board, decked out in layers of protective gear and helmets with re-breathers, so they couldn’t be contaminated. I didn’t feel sick. I didn’t think I was sick. But there was a sickness in our zone, and anyone could get it. Their weapons were clean and black. They held small capsules, one side red, the other blue. Death came swiftly to anyone who held one. It didn’t matter if your capsule turned blue, if one person near you had a red one the whole group would die. That’s how it worked. They took no chances.
The security filed us out of the bus and into a castle on a ridge. The whole building was made of stone and glass. Inside a long hall there sat one chair at the end, partially hidden by a small, white medical curtain suspended on a steel frame. One by one our group shuffled into that seat to be interviewed.
I lost my brother in the madness, I didn’t know where he was, but once you were interviewed you were killed. There was no escaping it – they’d brought us here to die. I was alone and terrified, shaking to the core, my chest felt tight, the panic nearly splitting me at the seams. I didn’t feel sick, I was fine. This was wrong. The security guards kept us in order, pacing along our line.
I could hear the gunshots in the other room. Someone sat down, they were asked questions, they were sent to the other room, a gun went off. Over and over and over again, until it was my turn.
Shaking, my breath coming in heaves, I sat in the chair. The interviewer asked for my capsule. It was blue, but it didn’t matter. They were killing people, so someone had a red one. I tried to smile as I answered her questions. I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t feel sick. I didn’t understand.
Her questions done, she sent me to the other room, but as I walked over there a commotion came from the back of the room. Someone was seizing and all the guards ran in that direction. Recognizing this as my only escape, I joined a group of 3 or 4 other people and we ran, bare feet pounding on the cold stone, down dark corridors until we came to a rusted iron grate. One by one we slipped in, hearts pounding, hearing footsteps on our heels. Guards dissolving into shadows.
In the sewers there was no light, and we stumbled forward, eventually losing each other. A steady whispering eclipsed my hearing, though I couldn’t make out what it was saying. I didn’t understand – why were they killing us? I wasn’t sick. None of us were.
I rounded a corner and a flashbulb went off. I screamed and screamed, seeing the trickle of water I’d been splashing through was a river of cold blood, pouring through the underbelly of the castle like a vein. It was our blood, the blood of my people, and it soaked me from head to toe.
The flashbulb went off again, and a female face grinned at me from the darkness. Made of mist and terror, a grin wide and predatory, her teeth filed to points, thin skin stretched over a skeleton with eyes that spoke of all the vile things people are capable of. The face was gone as quickly as it was there and I felt the mist settle over me.
I couldn’t move. I wanted to scream or run but I was stuck with the smell of coppery blood and the images that raced through my head. They weren’t mine – it wasn’t my knowledge. But now it was, or would be soon. Or maybe my knowledge would be Hers. She was going to take me. This is why they killed us.
I saw without seeing, the picture displayed in my mind, the reason why the guards had quarantined our zone and murdered our people. We were all possible carriers, not for a virus, but for Her. They couldn’t let Her escape. If I’d just let them kill me like a good girl this wouldn’t have happened, but I’d given Her an escape, an in. I was Her way out, and She would take me and escape and the world would burn.
Even as I stood there, body paralyzed as she dug her claws deeply into my soul, I could see Her reaching out to touch others. She wanted as many as She could get. But not all were ideal candidates. Some were too weak, others actually sick. Those who She couldn’t use, She killed. Her liquid form transforming into whatever She willed while still traveling through the victim.
She squealed in delight as She left through the forearms of a young girl, turning into long shards of glass, erupting from the girls veins in a spray of blood and tissue. The girl screamed and screamed, falling to the ground. She cackled as She turned to barbed wire inside another’s intestine, coiling around it and eventually leaving through the throat. The boys eyes boggled as he collapsed, shuddering, incapable of speech. The guards yelled. Image after image, and with them came scents and sounds and the terror each person felt as they died.
And I did it. It was me. It wasn’t, but it was now, or would be. She owned me. I was Hers. Or She was mine. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
I looked up, my head snapping with the quick movement. I was cold, sitting in a stark white nightgown on a sled being drawn by a pack of dogs. The person with me was wrapped in thick furs and leathers, a whip cracking as they urged the dogs to move faster over the ice.
I could feel Her inside me, Her being slimy across my soul. The cold made Her sluggish, and out here in the tundra on the ice there was no one else to possess. Just me. The dogs were safe, and the people with me weren’t really people. They were shadows.
I looked down over the side and saw my reflection in the ice. But it wasn’t me, it was Her. She grinned back at me and my heart skipped a few beats, terror overcoming me as I tried to scream, but She held it in. She couldn’t kill me, I was Her ride. I was Her, or She was me, either way the terror still kept me locked up tight.
The building at the top of the hill had a sunken, carpeted floor. I stood in the center and an image of me was projected against a wall. You could see Her form inside, swirling around. A monitor said 88%. I was 88% Her.
The shadows were speaking. They wanted to get Her out of me. Something about the building would help. I stood, my arms outstretched, shivering and cold and unable to move while I watched Her coil and writhe inside me. All the while she showed me visions of murder and decay and violence and terrible things She had done or would do. With me, because of me.
I bled, then; the blood leaking from between my legs and soaking my thin underwear, the nightshirt soon slick and soaked with it. It coated my legs and the carpet. There was more blood than I knew I had. It was the blood of all the deaths She had caused. I’d caused. I wept because I knew it was my fault and I saw their deaths again, over and over again.
She laughed, a wild, evil bubbling sound that passed through me like a tremor. And then it was gone and I woke up.
[end dream] I woke up terrified, a scream at the back of my throat, my hands racing across the bed in belief that I had actually bled out (I hadn’t). I didn’t sleep after that, afraid that I would be spun back into that dream. And when my body dozed off, my subconscious kicked it awake again, saving my neurons from the nightmare that waited just beyond the edge of sleep.