Posted in Short Stories

Ceives Horror

My warm breath hits the cold air creating a fog that somewhat obstructs my view of the broken down fishermen’s shack. The snow falls around me in flurries, but to me it is simply a side effect of the bounces of the bus above.
Here I stand in the very deep recesses of my subconscious mind. Yes, I am dreaming.
My dream had started with the normal dream logic. I stand on a frozen lake used for ice fishing, I had “woke up” by crawling out of one of those shivering holes where fishermen fish their poles into. Then I walked for days it seemed, until I came to this shabby broken down fishermen’s shack. My consciousness, I knew, told me to walk away but how could I hear the voice of my consciousness when it is asleep. I cannot, my subconscious is now in control and even though I am a smart boy, the illogical logic of the dream overrides any sensible reason that I would normally have.
I shuffle a bit closer, staring at the half rotten door of the shack. I stop and look around, as if this is the last time ever seeing the ten mile large frozen lake and the snow capped mountains surrounding it.
Then I take a breath and place my hand on the rusted grey handle. The door is frozen shut, but after a few yanks and pulls, it gives way. I guess I should have known what would happen next, but like I said, the illogical logic of the dream overcame me. I did what I knew I shouldn’t do.
I took a few steps into the shack. It seemed empty, but with the shadows everywhere it was hard to tell.
The Shadows!
I turned to run but there is never any escape from these shadowy being, these bad memories, these locked up emotions that are momentarily free.
You see, after days and days, months and even years of suppressing unwanted emotions, the only place where they can be released is through my dreams, through these horrific nightmares I have every time I doze to sleep.
Within seconds, I was tied to a small grey rolling office chair. In real life, I could have escaped easily, but not in a nightmare. The Shadows retreated and took their places on the walls. Then a match was lit in front of me and once again was revealed before me my most uneasily forgotten memory, my repeated nightmare. In front of me was a teen girl at the age of fourteen. She has long brown hair and hazelnut eyes. Pink lips and medium sized ears with a height of four feet and eight inches. She wears blue jeans with a pink sweater that has a capital “A” on it.
The shadows aptly named her the Henderson Horror, I call her Ms. Watson.
Taking the lit match, she lit a lantern that rested on a worn out rope that connected to the low hanging ceiling.
The match burned out, but she didn’t wince at the pain.
She leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees. A sly smile spread across her face as she spoke. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Once again your Emotional Status Reports have left you unprotected in the face of your fears.”
I replied simply. “I only use the Emotional Status Reports to help me forget the pain.”
As she answered, her lukewarm spit hit my face. “But you don’t forget them here, you still remember them in your dreams, in your nightmares.”
“I never forgot you.” I murmured in response.
“But you try to.” She said in a snake like voice. “You spend hours every night creating mazes of fictional stories and characters so as to create a whole new history, so you don’t have to remember the pain, but instead remember me in a sweet way.”
“I only do that so eventually we can be together.”
“Liar!” She yelled with a lion like roar. “You want to remember me in these hell holes? These walls you buil can’t hold me forever! Your pain is to strong for the prison you have built!”
“But I built these walls because…” I paused for a moment, “because I loved you.”
She uttered a sigh and stood up. “You still do.”
“But I can’t…to much…heartache.”
Sadness began to fill her voice also. “To much pain.”
“Lost in my characters.” I looked her deep in the eyes.
“Looking for a way out.”
“Yes.” I said with a nod of my head.
“But don’t you see?” At this point, tears had begun to fill her eyes. “I am your way out.”
“No, I can’t play anymore. I have to forgive and forget.”
Her voice became a scream. “No you don’t!!!”
Then the nightmare began.
Suddenly her mouth opened up into a gaping hole with triangular teeth lining the inside. Slowly her skin was ripped away from her and all her blood was sprayed on me. I screamed and closed my eyes and when I opened them, I was standing at the door of a house in a suburb. Opening the door, I walked into a living room and on the ground was Ms. Watson in a puddle of blood and a knife in her stomach.
I look down at my hands and saw the blood. “Her blood…on my hands.”
Then I turned and saw in the distance a water dam. The dam then burst and all of the water it did hold back came rushing all at once toward me. Moments later, the waves of guilt hit me and once again my surroundings changed.
I was in an airship that was seventy thousand feet above ground. Ten feet in front of me was Ms. Watson in a glass tube. Her hands were pressed against the glass, begging me to stop. Then the glass tube dropped and she fell to her death. I could have saved her, but I didn’t. I looked to see who had pushed the button to make her fall. Turning around I saw myself at a control panel. I lifted the gun that was in my right hand and pulled the trigger. Nanoseconds later, I felt a bullet pierce my skull and all went black, all went quiet.
My eyelids slowly open as I see moving trees. I hear distant voices around me, they belong to the other people on the bus. I am on my way to Missouri to make things right.
But how?


I'm a writer, filmmaker, and Human. I think...

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