Brian grunted and repositioned himself. I tried waking him but he got grumpy and annoyed.
“Go back to sleep; it’s just a dream, damn it,“ he said without even turning to look at me.
Friday, 10/16/2009
I had completely forgotten about the previous night’s dream after recording it into my journal. As I did my housework, I felt a dull pain in my arm, but didn’t think much about it. At one point, I banged my arm on a shelving unit in the garage and it caused a flash of pain. Later that night, when I was stepping out of the shower, I noticed the bruise on the back of my upper arm in the mirror. It was dark blue with evenly spaced red puncture wounds in a semi-circle. Remembering the dream, my breath caught in my throat. I felt panic sweep over me and I called Brian in to look at it the wound.
“Yeah, it’s a bruise,” he said. “You told me you banged your arm, it’s no big deal, really.“
He couldn’t understand my alarm over the wound. I didn’t tell him about the dream. He thought dreams were something to be forgotten the moment you awakened and had no importance in real life. I was lucky he didn’t complain about my weekly visit with Dr. Strauss.
It took me several hours to fall asleep that night. I laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hyper-alert to any noises in the house. When I finally drifted into sleep I was plagued with nightmare visions. I can’t recall any of them. At one point, I woke and sat up in bed screaming, “Leave me alone! Get out of my house!” Brian jumped up, startled, and asked what was wrong. He even got out of bed and looked around the room, in the hall, and outside the window. I was comforted by the fact that he wanted to make sure I was safe, but he turned angry when he realized all was well.
“For cryin-out-loud, what the hell is your problem?” he said.
He returned to bed, punching his pillow into shape and tossing his body into sleep position. I was so tired; I slipped right back into sleep. The dreams continued, tormenting me until morning.
Saturday, 10/17/2009
Dream is gone, I’m alive, another night survived…
I stood in the kitchen looking out the window, wearing nothing more than my silk teddy. I could see my reflection in the glass, despite the dark. My eyes were wide and my left hand clutched the top button and collar of my teddy. Outside the window, I saw the silhouette of a man. The figure was unmoving. I backed up to the entryway without taking my eyes from the window. I reached for the light switch and flicked on the kitchen light. It flashed bright as the bulb blew out. A skull-like face darted away from the light. Then I felt like someone was directly behind me. Before I could act, a coal-black hand reached out from behind and clamped down upon my mouth. Another large hand gripped my hair and yanked me backward. I fell back and when I landed, I was on my bed in the bedroom with the black shape sitting upon my chest. I tried to wriggle and buck it off, but it didn't budge. Brian rolled over to see the commotion. His face stopped right up against mine, but it was not Brian. It was the skull face I had seen outside the kitchen window.
I woke with a scream, covered in sweat with my heart pounding beneath my ribs. Brian let out a grunt and repositioned himself.
“Go back to sleep, damn it,“ he said.
I attempted to return to sleep but laid awake for over an hour. I got out of bed, threw on my robe and fuzzy-dog slippers. I made tea, then went into the living room and curled up on the couch. Sipping tea, I watched the sunrise.
Monday 10/19/2009
Dr. Strauss agreed that I could be experiencing sleep paralysis. However, he didn’t offer any recommendations, testing or remedy. He wouldn’t entertain some of the other information I had researched. He shrugged it off as meaningless. Mostly, he just let me talk and nodded his head. At one point, I had to look close at his face to see if he was actually awake. He asked me, “What are you doing?” I told him nothing and continued to talk. I don’t even know why I’m seeing this man. I could have told him anything and he would have nodded. I was tempted to tell him I plan on committing suicide, just to see if he’d nod his head in agreement. I resisted. I didn’t want to give him any more reason to label me the crazy lady.
Tuesday, 10/20/2009
Dream is gone, alive, another night survived…
I couldn’t fall asleep for the longest time. I wanted to wake Brian, to talk, to dispel the uneasy feeling I had, but we had not been getting along lately. He was angry about this whole situation, fed-up with my nightly disturbances. The accusations I had thrown at him about the intern didn’t help. So I wanted to let him sleep. If I could just make it until morning, the daylight made everything feel less threatening. Eventually, sleep came.
The dream started at a carnival. I was a child, standing in line with my father, to ride the roller-coaster. Holding my hand, my dad occasionally looked down and smiled at me. He had the warmest smile. There was boisterous merriment, people screaming and laughing, and music coming from different areas in the park. The smell of cotton candy was palpable. The loud grind of the coaster wheels shattered the air and vibrated the platform. It was thrilling, but I was not afraid because I was with my father. The ride attendant dropped the chain. With a big grin and a twinkle in his eyes my dad asked, “You ready?”
Next, we were on the coaster racing down the tracks. He had his arm around me and I buried my face in his side every time we entered a scary hairpin turn. The coaster entered a dark tunnel. I felt a thump and my father’s body jerked. We came out of the dark and I looked up. My dad’s head was gone. He was decapitated and blood was spurting out all over me. Whipped by the wind it drenched my face and dress. A black figure rose in the car ahead and turned to look at me. It was faceless with bluish squirming lines where the eyes should’ve been. I woke with a jolt and felt a heavy heartache.
Even though my father had died many years ago, I sobbed like it had just happened. Brian stirred as my body quaked with sadness. I got up and went into the living room, not wanting to disturb him. I cried for hours, peeling tissues from a box of Kleenex to catch my tears.
Wednesday, Oct. 21
When Brian came home, I tried to talk to him about my night terrors but he didn't want to hear about it. His mind seemed so preoccupied. He asked, isn't there some kind of pill you can take? And that was about the extent of it. When I tried to change the subject, he didn't want to talk about anything else either. He just wanted me and my problem to go away. I cleared the dinner dishes with teary eyes and tried to swallow my feelings. Brian had to go back to the office after dinner. He told me not to wait up.
Thursday 10/22/2009
I spent some of my day at the library researching the history of my home and found some disturbing facts.
In the early 1900’s, the home was owned by a wealthy business owner and land baron named, William Scott Byron. He had half the town working for him and treated them like dirt, paying them barely enough to get by and having them fall into debt to him. Eventually they would become indentured servants. No one would stand up to him - those that did were often found dead. In 1907, it was rumored that his wife had caught him cheating and confronted him. She was found dead a week later. The death certificate listed cause of death as heart failure, though no medical examination was performed.
He remarried within a few weeks of his first wife‘s death. It is said that he never wanted children and within a year both of his children died under mysterious circumstances. When his new wife became pregnant he must have become furious. They had a fight which ended in gunshots. He tried to have the town doctor, Joseph Wingate, change the death certificate, offering him large sums of money, but Wingate wouldn’t have any part of it. The very night that the town’s deputy was sent to arrest W. Scott Byron, Byron was at Dr. Wingate’s home, where he strangled the man with his bare hands. The town revolted against Byron, trapping him in a barn on his property and burning it to the ground. Even as he was pinned beneath the heavy wooden beams and burning, Byron railed at the townspeople. He cursed at them and professed his hate towards everyone he knew. W
hen the fire subsided the next morning, they dragged his burnt remains from the rubble and buried the man in an unmarked grave on the property.
What I had to ask myself is, did I really believe in ghosts? If I did, could the shadow-man that torments me be the spirit of W. Scott Byron? And did he make me dream bad things about my father to torment me?
Friday, 10/23
I don’t know if the dream is gone… or if I will survive…
The dream started with me waking and feeling a tremendous weight upon my chest. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed and the weight compressed my lungs, making my efforts to inhale difficult. A black shape sat upon my chest but faced away from me. I became aware of other entities in the room, those other shadow figures, tall and skinny with wiry frames with triangular heads. They crisscrossed the room as if searching for something specific. I tried to scream, but I couldn't draw enough breath. I could not identify what sat upon my chest, but I was sure it was the shadow-man. I slowly gathered air, inhaling more than I exhaled until my lungs were near capacity. With one big exhale, I enunciated as much of the Lord's Prayer as I could. Our father, who art in heaven, hollowed be thy name, thy kingdom come... That was as far as I got. The great weight lifted off my chest. It was the shadow-man. He turned to me angered by my action and slashed his sharp-nailed claw at me. I rolled away and I felt his nails scrape across my back like hot knives. The lanky figures in the room retracted upon themselves and receded into the dark spaces of the room. The shadow-man tore through the room, knocking over a lamp, clearing a shelf of photos with the swipe of an invisible hand, and finally crashed through the bedroom door with a loud bang. I sat up trying to catch my breath. I looked at the clock and it was 12:30 AM. Brian was not home yet. I straighten the toppled lamp and photos. I didn’t want to think about the obvious -- I was not asleep. This had not been a dream.
Saturday, 10/24/09
“Damn it Andi, you have to do this now, when I landed this big account? I have to see this through; the firm is counting on me.” This is what my husband said to me. Like I was doing this on purpose, having night terrors just to sabotage his new account. We fought all day, especially when he told me that he had to fly to St. Louis next week. I needed him as much as the firm needed him. I couldn’t believe that he would plan this trip while I was so vulnerable. But perhaps I was being selfish. I’ve had bouts of night terrors before and they do go away after a time. I couldn’t let this stop Brian from doing his job, could I?
I just wanted him to acknowledge that I was having difficulty right now. I needed his comfort but I got nothing. He thought I was doing this for attention. Like I had some control over what was happening. I didn’t know what to say to him. I was scared and he just didn’t want to hear it…
Later that night, standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, I twisted my head as far as I could, to see my back. Three red scratch lines were gouged across my back from under my left shoulder blade, down toward my right hip. The stinging had subsided, but I still felt lines of heat in my tender flesh. I dressed in my nightclothes and went to bed. I didn’t say anything to Brian about the scratches - he would just blame them on me anyway.
Monday, 10/26/09
My husband was cheating on me. It had been quite obvious for some time but I guess I just didn't want to admit it. Long hours at work, extended lunches when I called his office, and now the ‘business’ trip. He had disengaged himself from our marriage. He didn't care to talk with me and he didn't want to spend time with me. I wanted to pretend I was smart and I had figured it out with just these clues, but there was another. I found a credit card bill that was sent to his office, in his suit jacket. I had gone in the pocket during the night, looking for a match to light a candle. He must've stuck it in there by mistake and intended to bring it back to the office in the morning. There were several charges at the Bellport Motel in late afternoon. There were charges at Macy's, Victoria's Secret, and Bloomingdale's. I found a charge for two round-trip tickets on US Airways for this Thursday and a receipt for the tickets -- not to St. Louis -- to the Bahamas. He was taking that young intern, I was sure of it. She was in her twenties, pretty, a perfect body. She was outgoing and full of life. She certainly didn't have bad dreams. She didn't pester Brian with her problems, her insecurities or her feelings of inadequacy. She was quite adequate.
When Brian left for work I cried for hours. I didn't want to lose him. I was scared, terrified, of being alone. I wished I had never looked at that statement. I'm sure this fling wouldn’t last. Perhaps if I ignored it, he would get bored and we could rekindle what we had. I fell asleep on the couch and didn't wake until after 4:00 PM. We barely spoke during dinner. He went into the den to watch Monday Night Football, quite relaxed and comfortable. I was crippled with tension, debating about confronting him with what I had seen. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Wednesday, 10/28/09
Was it possible to enter a dream state without actually falling asleep? I felt the change in the atmosphere. I felt an oppression weigh the room heavy with misery.
I laid in bed staring into space, unable to even shut my eyes. Rain pattered upon the roof of the house and against the windows. Distant lightning flashed through the drawn curtains. A shapeless shadow drifted across the ceiling, then down the far wall of the room where it solidified. It took on a human shape and turned to look at me. It darted across the room and ripped the blankets off of me. I gasped and threw my arms across my chest for protection. I saw my breath, a white mist with each exhale as the temperature in the room plunged. My teeth chattered. I was so frightened I couldn’t think. I tried to recall if I had fallen asleep or not, but I knew I hadn’t. The shadow-man jumped on me and pinned my wrists to the mattress. Its face was featureless; its eyes, empty sockets, infinite blackness. I gasped for air as its mass grew to a crushing weight, compressing my ribs. Its mouth opened and I saw something horrible squirming in there, coming forward from the darkest recesses of hell. Terror gripped me and I threw my head from side to side. I didn't want to see what was there.
Then it stopped. The shadow-man closed his mouth and looked over his shoulder into the room. The other entities were there, gliding around the room, like black ballroom dancers, with their lanky arms hovering before them and their strange shaped heads twisting back and forth, scanning. The weight upon me began to recede and some details began to form on the shadow-man's face. These other entities were distracting the shadow-man and he was unable to keep up his dark facade when his concentration was broken. A black cloud lifted from around his face, exposing what lay beneath. He was a stern and mean looking man, with thick brows and rage in his eyes, bearing a terrible grimace for a mouth. As his facial details became clearer, I could see these other entities made him nervous. Perhaps he even feared them.
“William Byron?” I questioned.
He looked back at me and put a finger to his lips.
“Shush.”
The shadow-man, Byron, climbed off of me and stood at my bedside. The three entities stopped moving and lined up in a row.
Byron was angered by their presence. He turned to me and shouted, "This is my domain! I'm the boss here!"
Then he made an aggressive lunge at the entities, growing in size and veracity. He let out a roar that sent a shockwave through the room, vibrating the picture frames, shelves, and lamps. The entities didn't flinch. They made clicking sounds from their small mouths, some form of communication, I assumed. The one in the center took a step forward. It dug its long sharp claws into its stomach and pulled, ripping a hole in the center of its body. This opened a portal to a swirling vortex with a deafening drone emanating from it. Tentacles shot out of the hole and attacked Byron. Each tentacle had a mouth-like opening on their end with rows of teeth chomping furiously. They attached themselves to Byron and consumed him, absorbing his essence. Byron screamed and writhed in some kind of spiritual pain. In a matter of moments, he was reduced to a few smoky black spots and the tentacles withdrew, one by one,
as they finished their morsels. When the last one finished the last spec of the shadow-man's substance, it was sucked back into the hole and the hole closed up. All became silent. The three entities twisted their insect heads in my direction. For a moment, I could see light reflecting off their large bulbous eyes and antennae. Then they faded into darkness.
The impact of this event began to seep into my mind. Clearly, it was the spirit of W. Scott Byron who had been tormenting me. He had attacked me aggressively this night and intended on hurting me, in ways I didn’t want to imagine. However, these other figures were different. Did these silent sentinels just save me from Byron? Why would they do that? And with Byron gone, what did they want with me?
Journals of Horror: Found Fiction Page 14