The Dream

It always starts the same way. I'm already running, but from what, I don't know. Every time I look behind me, there’s nothing there. I also don't know why he—she, it, whatever—is chasing me. I am a big guy. 6 feet, 300lbs. I want to stop and find out, or maybe even fight it. But I can't. I'm too scared and when I'm scared, everyone should be. So I’m running. Running through the park first, then the field where everyone plays catch or fetch with the dog, and then through the playground equipment.

As I’m running through the park, I see the football field across the street, with bleachers on either side. One goal post is in front of me and the other is in front of the school. This is odd because if a player kicked a field goal, you might assume that the ball would go through one of the windows at the school.

No time to contemplate the details. I could feel the thing gaining on me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, giving me goosebumps. I try to run faster. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my feet and every time my foot slams against the ground, it’s like someone driving a nail into my head.

Every night, I have The Dream. And each time, I notice something... New. I never spot it until I wake up.

It started with the green shirt, by the teetertotter on the right. At first, I’m not sure if it’s real because it’s the same color as the grass and it’s dark.

The next night I’m sure, because I notice the bloody handprint smeared across the bottom half. It almost looked like someone had tried to clean the blood off their hands and slung the shirt aside. Then, there’s the chef's knife on the merry go round—next to the teetertotter—which is positioned perfectly in the center. The knife is clean. It looks like a pointer, almost like someone is about to spin the merry go round and whoever it stopped on would be next.

To my left is the slide and the monkey bars, which lead to the swing set. It took me three times to make out the rope hanging there, and another night to notice the two bloody fingerprints staining the nylon. At least... I think it’s blood. There’s only one light, and the picnic table shelter casts a shadow over that half of the rope. In between the picnic tables is a black garbage bag, spilling a pool of blood onto the concrete.

I run across the street, onto the football field, where I can’t see anything in either direction on the street. It’s like a thick fog has descended. I lose all sense of my breathlessness and the shrinking distance between myself and it. All I can see is the park, the football field, and the three-story school.

The light in the second window from the left on the first floor gives me hope. If I can just make it to the school, I might be safe, and maybe whatever is chasing me will not get me. I never make it. By the time I reach the 20-yard line I can feel its breath. It’s warm at first, like when your mom used to blow on your cuts and scrapes to make them feel better.

Slowly, it gets hotter and hotter. By the time I reach the forty-yard line, I’m on fire and it almost has me. That’s when I wake up; covered in sweat, my legs still trying to run, and my heart pounding out of my chest. By the time I calm down, the questions start coming... What’s chasing me and why? What started all of this? What am I supposed to do? And, oh my god! There was someone in the window at the school, the one above the light! Who is that? Am I supposed to help them, or are they going to help me?

I lie there in the dark, the questions driving me mad. Too scared to sleep, too curious not to.

What would you do?

Anyway, good night. I hope your dreams make more sense than mine.