It was that time of year again, spring, and this year Pat was determined to cut down the apple tree that seemed to attract bees every year that gave him bad dreams. A few minutes with a reciprocating saw, a loud crack and a quick rustle as the branches fell to the ground was followed by the sound from Pats nightmares: thousands of bees bursting from their now grounded nest, attacking Pat in their rage and killing him within minutes.
The lady whose son almost drowned said “of course it was a mother’s worst nightmare”.
As soon as she said it I wondered if she had had that one with the box puppets, the creeping dark and the man rolling the stone across the endless cold marble.
Their camping trip was fun, it’s when they took a wrong turn it became a nightmare. Now their bodies hangs out on laundry line to dry.
Yesterday, my cellphone fell from my hand and into a drainage grate.
This morning, I found it besides me on my bed, all clean and functional with a single message typed on it that read “You’re welcome”.
As I stepped into my empty apartment, I notice an eye peeking at me from the whole on my bedroom wall.
As I got into my bedroom, it was empty with the window open. Immediately, I heard the door outside and, peeking out of the wall hole, I saw myself…stepping into the apartment and noticing me…
Duck, Duck, Duck, Duck. GOOSE!
I dreamt I was killed; not by the ax she struck me with from behind but by the company of my unsound mind.
Fighting to shake the sleep off my skin, I clutched the dream catcher by the lining of the coffin where my headboard once had been.
If you die in this dream you’ll die in real life. You have to trust me and turn around.