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His family was watching him, that much he knew. But were they listening?
In his dreams a hooded figure chases him; he knows he cannot escape it.
It always begins in a similar way. He is with his family. They’re all talking and laughing together. It looks so perfect, but he is with them, and no one seems to see him. He can’t speak. It’s as if there is a wall between him and his family or a barrier. A sinister force has his throat squeezed shut. All he can do is look around and barely get enough air in.
They’re leaving. His family is leaving. They don’t see him? Can’t they hear him?
He can’t talk.
He wants to beg them to stay but they’ve already forgotten him. Now that he’s alone, he’s painfully aware that the game is beginning.
It will come for him, the hooded figure. A ghostly aberration that is made of shadow and dust yet flows like fabric, it will carve his soul from his body for his sins. It’s retribution for cursing the town and his family.
He stands up, it’s sluggish and feels like he’s moving through fabric or sand, trying to push through an invisible force. He has to run, hide, escape – it will never be enough but letting himself be caught was never an option.
He turns around and tries to find an escape – his bedroom? Would that be too obvious? He’s moving too fast, or everything around him is, he can’t distinguish himself from the air anymore. Regardless of what is happening to him, he looks up and his door, somehow there already, and sees the light has gone out.
It’s there.
The door opens and it is only a void of black. He has to run. He has to run now, and there is no proper layout of the house anymore. He’s squeezing through hideaways, under stairs, into vents, stumbling upstairs, through doors that lead into rooms he feels like he must have been through already but can’t remember. It’s relentless.
He’s exhausted. He is so so tired. He has to breathe.
That’s when he feels it. There’s the feeling of something behind him. It’s so close. He can feel the warmth radiating off of it, knowing that at any point he will be grabbed, and it will defile him in ways he doesn’t want to think of but are forced into his mind regardless. It’s going to grab him. He curls in on himself and tries to pull away but he can feel the prickling on his skin of hair standing on end.
In a spurt of energy, he swings around to see that there was never anything there.
He whimpers. Oh God. He’s aware now. This is a dream. No. No no no No noNOnonoNO.
Knowing only makes it happen faster.
DOOR. Door. Door! Door.
Need a door. Need escape.
Get out. OUT. Out.
No one here but me. Can’t ask for help. Everyone gone.
A door, one he doesn’t recognize but a door nonetheless.
Peace washes over him and he notices the shadow figure descending stairs, eager to trap him before he can find whatever lays on the other side – something he never has been able to see no matter how many times he’s had this dream.
He runs to grab the handle and his outstretched hand only needs to clasp the handle. It’s hovering over it.
He’s stuck. His body’s paralyzed state has caught up to him in his dream and he’s painfully aware of it. He can’t open his eyes to escape into reality or he’ll hallucinate. He can’t stay here because it feels too real.
He can’t see the being, but he feels it rush up behind him and attempt to consume him in his frozen state.
Bruno wakes up. Paralyzed. Rocking his body, moaning as he can’t even open his mouth. His limbs are heavy, some filled with static. He’s aware of where his body is, a couch in the living room. Bruno must have fallen asleep while he and his mother read.
He rocked again, deciding if it was worth it to let himself fall back asleep as his body refused to let him go. A prisoner, too scared to open his eyes for fear that the demon in his dreams will be there when he opened them. Painfully aware of how his body lay on the couch, almost able to visualize the way he sat in it and where his mother would be.
Rocking, rocking, moaning… Maybe his mother could help. Please shake me awake mami. Please. Help me. He could move his head a bit now but his body was still seized up.
He heard a book being shut in irritation. “Bruno, knock it off.”
His mother got up and left in frustration at his antics.
Bruno lay alone on the couch, trying to rock awake before realizing that it was futile, and tried his best to fall asleep again.
He didn’t dream.