lucid

There once was a family that had been struggling to reconnect. Arguments, silence, resentment—they had drifted apart, each locked in their own little world of pain. Hoping to mend their fractured bond, they decided to go away on a short holiday. A chance to reset. To be a family again.

But even before they were set to leave, the signs were there—ominous, subtle warnings, as if the universe itself was whispering: **Stay where you are.**

A crow slammed into the window early that morning. The mother awoke from a nightmare, drenched in sweat and unable to speak. The youngest fell ill with a sudden fever that vanished as quickly as it came.

Still, they didn’t listen.

They loaded up the car with bags and false optimism and set off on a sunny Friday.

They were headed far away. Deep into the countryside, the road stretched out endlessly beneath the setting sun. Dusk was just beginning to fall when it happened.

Without warning, a tornado emerged from the fields to their left—impossibly sudden, unnaturally close.

In a panicked haze, the car screeched to a stop. Doors flew open. They scrambled out and ran toward the ditch on the side of the road, desperate for cover.

But the tornado turned. Sharply. Abruptly.

And terrifyingly—it **chased her.**

The oldest daughter’s breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be. Tornadoes didn’t move like that. But this one… it was coming for her. Hunting her.

The wind whipped at her body, tugging, pulling, trying to draw her in. Still, she ran, feet pounding the now-dark road, lungs burning with exertion and terror.

Then—another one.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a second tornado materialize, as if summoned from thin air. Her fear deepened. The unnatural wind howled louder, and suddenly she was knocked off her feet.

She hit the road hard.

Pushing herself up with shaking arms, she dared one last glance behind her—and froze.

The tornado… **opened**.

A hole formed at its center, revealing her family through the swirling chaos—calling out for her, eyes wide with panic.

Then, the hole snapped shut.

Reality slammed back into her chest. She turned and fled again, now noticing a thick mist creeping over the road ahead and blanketing the surrounding fields.

She plunged into it, but something was wrong. Her feet slipped. The ground gave way beneath her.

A moment later, her head slammed into something hard—stone, gravel—and everything went black.

---

When she came to, she knew immediately: **something was terribly wrong.**

It was still dark. She was still in the field. But the mist now surrounded the area like a dome, encasing the space and clinging to the grass like a thick, unnatural fog.

Then she saw them.

People.

Dozens of them. Rising slowly from the mist, dazed and disoriented. At least a hundred, maybe more. None looked familiar.

She turned to look back for the road—but all she could see was that dense, eerie wall of fog.

**Where is my family?**

She couldn’t stay there. She approached the mist, expecting it to part—but when she tried to pass through, it was like hitting concrete.

**The mist was solid.**

Stunned, she touched it. It was cold. Firm. Real.

Panic gripped her chest. She turned back toward the others—when she heard it.

A scream.

Pure, blood-curdling terror.

She whipped her head around and saw a woman, several feet away, staring at her own hands in horror.

Curious—and terrified—the daughter slowly approached.

The woman held her palms out, shaking.

There, gaping in the center of each hand, were **mouths**.

Yes—**open, raw mouths** where palms should be. The skin around them looked torn and freshly wounded. They looked like mouths from which the lips had been violently and savagely removed,

The daughter recoiled, her stomach turning. In a panic, she looked at her own hands—clear. Fine. Relief.

Until she hugged her arms around herself to breathe—

And felt something.

Something wrong.

She slowly lifted her shirt.

On the right side of her stomach, two **mouths** gaped back at her.

Wide. Open. Sighing.

She screamed.

Tears streamed down her face as the others began checking themselves. Within seconds, the field filled with the sound of anguished cries.

Every person had them—on their hands, arms, legs, backs, necks. No two were the same. But they were everywhere.

She fell to her knees.

**This had to be a dream.**

Or a coma. Or maybe… maybe this was hell.

***

This short story is in no way shape or form based on anything. I've always had really vivid dreams and nightmares most of my life and I've always had a great imagination with a deep desire to write. After my most recent nightmare I decided why not turn them into short stories and share them... so here goes nothing. Please remember most of the things I will be writing about will be absolutely absurd and highly unlikely to ever be based on real life events... they are fictional events that I literally dreamt up while being fast asleep.