Something Something Nightmares

            I’m finally getting used to using a Kindle to do my reading and I’ve been reading the first book I’ve ever downloaded, Doctor Sleep. It’s a Stephen King book that’s a sequel to The Shining of sorts. There was a part in this newer story that seemed directly ripped from my own life experiences. And it actually gave me a nightmare.

             Mr. King wrote a little bit about the main character waking from a dream only to find himself in bed with a small dead boy. The boy’s head was bashed in and there was a bloody gory mess in the bed. The main character freaked out and leapt from his bed. The main character then woke again from the dream within a dream to find the bed was empty, but knowing somehow that he had been visited by the dead boy. This small part in the story got to me since I actually had a similar experience.

             I’ll preface this bit with a little background. I’m not terribly superstitious by nature. I’m actually a pretty strong skeptic. I firmly believe that most things can be explained logically and reasonably without any link to the supernatural. However, I have seen a few things in my day that defy logical and reasonable explanation. I’ve seen items moving by themselves. I’ve seen people that weren’t there and heard voices that came from no one. I don’t often speak of it because I think it’s crazy. I’ve seen it but I don’t really believe it. I’m more convinced that it was just my eyes or mind just playing a trick on me. My brain trying to process information, to make sense, of something it didn’t understand or see properly.

             Several years ago, I was in my bed trying to get to sleep. I was having a bit of trouble getting to rest. I was worried about work, money, women, all the usual things that keep me up. I was trying very hard to shut my mind off and go to sleep. I had forced myself to close my eyes but sleep just wasn’t coming. I was lying on my left side, my head nestled firmly into my pillow, but I couldn’t get to sleep. I sighed and opened my eyes. When I opened my eyes, facing me in my own bed, was a small Hispanic looking child lying on the pillow next to me. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy of a girl. The child was very young. Dark black hair, a sort of almond color to the skin, dark eyes, and the clear face of a very young child, right down to the baby shaped lips.  It did not make a sound but looked to be breathing and staring right at me. My heart clenched in my chest and I squeezed my eyes back shut. I repeated to myself, “There’s nothing there, there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there,” and I opened my eyes again.

             The child was gone. The bed was empty except for me. I got up and went into my living room and lit a cigarette. I sat on my couch trying to convince myself that I had fallen asleep for a brief moment and the child was just something my flustered brain whipped up. I smoked and felt the horror subsiding in my chest. After I finished my smoke I steeled myself for the next encounter and went back to bed. There was nothing in my bedroom waiting for me. I eventually calmed down enough and finally fell asleep. The next morning though, the thought was still on my mind.

             I told one of my good friends about it, one with whom I had shared some other strange haunting images with and she reminded me that stuff happened to me all the time. Plus if it was just a kind it probably didn’t mean any harm. Regardless, one night, after a long night of drinking, I banished all spirits and visions from my apartment. I told them they were not welcome and they should leave and leave me alone. Since then, I haven’t had any instances of ghostly children in my bed.

            And then I had to read Stephen King last night, wherein as I described, the main character had a similar experience. It got to me. So as I slept last night I was plagued by nightmares of dead children in my bed, ghosts and formless faces hovering over me. So much so that I woke up several times because of the horror beasts of my imagination strangling me or chasing me. In one instance I dreamed that I too leapt from my bed, fell to my butt and then scooted in terror from my bedroom to my hallway as I pled for my measly life. The fear was intense. I was awash in nightmares.

             Eventually, my dreams quieted after I cursed the wonderful Stephen King several times. I fell into a full and deep sleep sometime around four o’clock this morning. Yet, those images from my nightmares persist in my waking thoughts and I only pray they leave me alone tonight.

             It’s a good thing it’s Zulu night at my local pub. That should calm things down.

             Sleep well.