Dreams

Dreams

By
John Quinn

1

Everybody dreams. Sometimes we have nightmares. There are times when our nightmares feel real. They seem so real that we can feel, hear and smell everything that is happening. They are so real that it takes several seconds after waking up to realize that you are in bed, that it was just a terrible dream, and that it is over.

Sam had these kind of dreams frequently during his childhood. He had them from as early as he could remember. As a young boy, he would dream about monsters crawling out from under his bed, putting their slimy hands around his neck and squeezing slowly. Their dark red eyes peering down into his face as they strangled him. These dreams were so real for Sam that when he woke up, he could still feel those hands on his neck, and for several seconds he would struggle for breath. Then he would become fully awake and become aware of his surroundings. He would realize that he was alone and that he was having a nightmare. The sensation of those slimy hands around his neck would leave and he would be able to breath again. By that point, he was usually drenched in sweat and had wet the bed.

Sam’s parents were not very understanding or sympathetic people. They were what some might consider to be “old school”. They were the kind of people that believed that “molly coddling” a child would only do them harm. Whenever he had a nightmare and wet the bed, his parents were more likely to yell at him than to comfort him. Sam could still remember the words of his father after one particularly horrifying nightmare when he was just five years old, “Jesus Sam, if you wet the Goddamn bed again you’ll be sleeping in the shed from now on, you hear me, boy?” Sam’s explanation about the nightmares only increased his fathers anger, “When will you get it through your thick skull that they’re just dreams, boy?”

Despite the warnings, Sam didn’t stop having nightmares. He would not have them every night, but they would crop up from time to time. They continued to haunt him right through his childhood. As he got older the dreams began to change. Whereas he once dreamed of monsters killing him, he began to dream of horrifying acts of violence, rape and murder, and in these dreams, he was committing these acts. He was not a violent person by nature. He never got into fights and tried to avoid any kind of confrontation. He didn’t even like the violent Schwarzenegger and Stallone films that all his friends in school talked about. In truth, the sight of blood make him feel a little queasy. That’s what made these nightmares even worse. Whereas his nightmares as a young child made him wet the bed, these much different and violent nightmares as a teenager led him to vomit, usually just as he woke up.

At first he just killed strangers in his dreams. He usually killed them in slow disgusting ways. Cutting their throat, disemboweling them, strangling them with cord, each dream was different but equally violent. Then there were the rape dreams. Only these dreams weren’t just about rape, he was usually strangling the girl, or stabbing her with a butcher knife, as he did it to her. The dreams felt so real that they began to scare Sam. He was afraid that some day he might actually commit one of these acts if the dreams didn’t stop. But when he turned to his parents, he was warned not to talk about “such disgusting perverted things. You better get you’re head screwed on right, boy.”

Eventually he started having nightmares about people he knew. Teachers, friends, parents of his friends, cousins, and in these dreams he always murdered them in increasingly violent ways. The dreams felt so real. He could smell the blood. He could hear the knife stabbing into flesh. Their screams felt so real. As always he would wake up vomiting. He was fifteen and he was scared. The dreams were happening more and more often, and now about people he knew. One day he spoke to his father about it. He knew his father was an angry man, with no time for nonsense dreams, but at fifteen Sam didn’t know who else to go to.

He sat down with his father one Saturday afternoon at the kitchen table. He explained everything about the dreams. He explained how he was becoming afraid that he might actually do something like this for real if the dreams kept coming. His father sat silently in the chair, staring intently at Sam. For a moment Sam thought he saw compassion in his fathers eyes. He thought his father might actually help him. Sam was wrong.
In a sudden movement his father jumped up from the chair and slapped Sam hard across the face, knocking him off his own chair and down to the kitchen floor.

“You listen to me, boy”, he said, “You don’t mention this crazy shit to anyone, you hear, I don’t want people thinking my boy is a psycho. And don’t talk to your mother either, I don’t want her hearing this kind of sick stuff. You hear me, boy? You never speak of this again!”

Sam, who was curled into a ball on the floor, simply answered “Yes”, with a shaky voice, trying his best to fight back tears.

“Yes what?” his father asked.

“Yes, Sir”, Sam replied.

His father then left the room, leaving Sam on the floor, the tears finally getting the better of him and running down his cheeks.

He never mentioned his dreams to his anyone again. But the same night that he had that conversation with his father, he had another nightmare. Again he was killing people he knew in real life. This time it was his parents. In this dream, he cut their throats with a knife and then chopped their bodies into pieces with an axe, burying them in different parts of the garden. This dream began to dominate all other dreams, and before long he was having it every night. It was always the same. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, walk down to the kitchen, take the large carving knife his mother used for Sunday’s roast beef. He’d then walk into his parents bedroom slits his fathers throat, then quickly his mothers. He’d watch struggling in the bed, bleeding to death. When they are finally gone he’d go to the shed, get his fathers axe and return to the bedroom. He’d then chop his parents into pieces.

This dream became more real than any dream he had before. For Sam, until he woke up, this was not a dream but a real event. As real as anything he had ever done in his life. As real as the slap to the face his father had given him. Like the other nightmares, he always woke up vomiting and crying.

One night this dream felt even more real, almost as if he was awake. Like always he walked down to the kitchen to get the carving knife, then back upstairs to his parents bedroom. Only in this dream something different happened. A light suddenly flashed and temporarily blinded him, and he heard a voice. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Then Sam became fully awake. He realized that he wasn’t in his own bed. He was in his parents bedroom with the carving knife gripped tightly in his right hand. The light that blinded him was the lamp on his parents bedside table, and the voice was his fathers.

As Sam looked at his parents he recognized fear in his mothers face, but only anger in his fathers. Before he could say anything his father jumped out of bed, grabbed the knife and punched Sam in the face, knocking him to the ground. Sam’s face exploded in pain, and he suddenly felt very afraid.

“Please Dad, I’m sorry, it was the dreams”, he pleaded in between sobs.

“You and you’re fucking dreams.” His father said, “I warned you about those dreams. Coming to our room with a Goddamn knife. Maybe I can beat those Goddamn dreams out of you.”

Sam’s father then picked his trousers up off the floor and pulled the belt off them in one fluid motion. He walked towards Sam, anger dominating his face. Sam’s mother was screaming in the bed, but Sam’s father didn’t hear her. He began to whip Sam with the belt. Whipping his arms, legs and body. Using all his strength. All the time shouting at Sam “You and you’re Goddamn dreams. No son of mine will be a psycho. No son of mine brings a knife to his parents bedroom. I’ll beat those fucking dreams out of you.”

Sam passed out with the pain, but his father kept whipping him. He eventually stopped when he saw that his son was unconscious. He picked Sam up and brought him back into his room, dropping him onto his bed.
They kept Sam home from school for a full two weeks after that, until the bruises from his fathers belt were finally fading away. They told people that he was sick with the mumps, and they didn’t speak of that night again. They carried on as if nothing had happened.

But that night did change something for Sam. He stopped having nightmares. His father had beaten the nightmares out of him. Sam was now so afraid of his father that the nightmares didn’t return. Not for another ten years. Not until he was twenty five years old and had just moved in with his girlfriend. He had even forgotten about those old nightmares, but now they were back, and they felt more real then ever.

2

The nightmares returned to Sam on the night of his fathers funeral. His father was sixty one and had died from a massive heart attack. Usually it is a sad day for anyone that buries one of their parents, but for Sam this wasn’t the case. Since that night ten years ago he had had a very cold relationship with his parents. His father for whipping him, and his mother for letting it happen. On the day of his father’s funeral he didn’t cry and he didn’t feel sad. The only emotion he felt was relief. It was not something a son is supposed to feel at his father’s funeral, but for Sam he had never really stopped fearing his father since the beating he received as a child. Now that his father was dead, he didn’t have to be afraid of him any more.

After the funeral he went back to his mothers house, but only because it was expected of him. He rarely spoke to her any more. He had moved on with his life and was living with his girlfriend, Sarah. He managed to stay for a whole hour, making small talk with distant relatives and listening to bullshit stories about his father being a great man. Then he made his excuses, gave his mother the briefest of kisses on the cheek, and left the house with Sarah in hand.

When he got home he fixed himself a drink, whiskey and coke, collapsed into the couch. Sarah asked if he was ok. If he wanted to talk about anything. She was very understanding that way. He didn’t. His father was gone, and he decided that he might just forget about him, block him out of his memory, pretend he never existed. Easier said than done, but worth a try. As he looked at his girlfriend, a slim girl with blonde hair, more sexy than pretty, but that was the type of girl that Sam was always attracted to, he decided that he might just forget his whole family and start fresh with her. They could make a family of their own. He would be a good father. He would never raise a hand to one of his children. The only violent acts that Sam had ever committed were restricted to dreams. Those nightmares that seemed so real all those years ago. As he looked at Sarah, he decided to leave that past behind and move to the future with her.

That night Sam had a nightmare, the first since that night ten years ago when he woke up in his parents bedroom clutching the carving knife. In this dream he was murdering again. Like the dreams in his past he was murdering someone he knew. Someone that he knew all his life. Someone that he had buried that very day. In this dream, as he repeatedly slashed and stabbed his father with a knife, he was shouting at him, “You’re not around to beat the dreams out of me any more you son of a bitch. You’re not fucking around!”

He woke up and realized that he was already screaming, a terrible high pitched scream, and he was soaked in sweat. The scream and sudden movement of Sam in the bed woke Sarah too. At first she was shocked and frightened by the screams coming from her bed. She switched the bedside lamp on and looked at Sam. His mouth was open in a scream, but it seemed to be almost impossibly wide, as if his jaw had been pried open with a crow bar. His face was deathly pale, which made him look like his body was devoid of any blood whatsoever. But what shocked Sarah most were his eyes. They were wide and staring, and in those eyes she could see fear.
For a brief second, as Sarah looked at Sam in this state, her own fear almost took over and she almost ran for the door. But just a quickly she pulled herself together, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and started shaking him.
“Sam, it’s ok, it was a dream. Sam, look at me, it was a dream.”

Sam suddenly jerked his head around and stared at her. He stopped that awful high pitched scream but his mouth remained wide open, the fear remained in his eyes, and the sight of this made Sarah shudder. She shook him again, and then she noticed some life come back into his eyes. His mouth slowly closed, and some color started to return to his sweat soaked face. She wished to herself that she would never have to see that awful expression on his face again. There was something so unsettling about his mouth and eyes stretched open so wide, that high scream, the look of terror on his face.

When he came fully around Sam just muttered one thing, “Jesus Christ”, and collapsed back into the bed. He pulled the bed sheets off to let some cool air on his drenched body. Sarah was sitting up in the bed, looking at him, unsure of what to say. She eventually asked rather awkwardly, “Bad dream, huh?”. Sam looked at her and after a short pause answered, “You could say that.” Then they both let out an awkward and relieved kind of laugh.

“Wanna talk about it, baby?” she asked him.

“No, it’s ok, it was just a stupid dream.” Sam answered, “I’m ok now, babe. Lets just go back to sleep.”

“Sure, honey. But if you can’t sleep or have a bad dream again just wake me, ok?”

“Ok I will, but really, I’m fine now, don’t worry, lets just try to sleep.”

“Ok, goodnight babe.”

“’Night.”

Sarah reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. They were both still a little shook up, and it took a while for Sarah to fall back asleep, but eventually she did. Sam, on the other hand, remained wide awake all night, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. All the memories of those dreams during his childhood came rushing back, and they scared him. He had been nightmare free for ten years, but now they were back. It must have been the fear of his father that kept them away, but now he was dead. And he remembered something he said in his dream, You’re not around to beat the dreams out of me any more you son of a bitch. You’re not fucking around!. And now his father was gone.

Sam remembered the last nightmare he had when he was fifteen. The nightmare which led him into his parents bedroom, knife in his hand, and he hoped to God that tonight’s nightmare was a one off occurrence. A nightmare brought on because of the days events, his father’s funeral. He lay awake, praying that the dreams hadn’t returned for good. Beside him, Sarah slept peacefully.

3

To Sam‘s relief, the next few days were nightmare free. He was starting to believe that the nightmare really was just a one off occurrence. He wanted to bury those nightmares in the past along with his father and look forward to a good life with Sarah. After a week, he was already beginning to forget about it. He was happy. Things were going good. Then he had another nightmare. A nightmare that was far worse then the last one. It was more vivid, more real. He could feel, and smell, and touch everything in this dream. What was even more frightening for Sam was that he really felt happy in this dream. He could really feel pleasure.

It was a rape dream, and as in all his nightmares it was also violent. He was in a bedroom, but the room was empty except for a large bed lying in the middle of the room. The walls were brown with dirt, the original peach coloured paint only showing through in several patches. There was no carpet, leaving the floor boards exposed, which were black, and rotting in several places. The bed itself was large, it had a dirty mattress, but nothing else, no pillows or bed sheets. The room was dirty and seedy and the word dungeon would have been a better description for it than bedroom. In the dream, this turned Sam on. He was naked and the room alone was getting him hard. But the girl on the bed excited him more. She was lying on her stomach so Sam couldn’t see her face, but she was curvy and had blond hair. Sam knew what he was going to do with her. He was going to rape her and kill her as he did it.

Everything felt so real in the dream. He could get the faint smell of perfume from the girl. He even thought he recognized it. He walked towards the bed, playing with himself, a big grin on his face. As he got to the bed he reached out with one hand and smacked her ass hard. She let out a shocked scream. This excited Sam even more and he jumped on her, grabbing her hair and pushing her face down into the bed, forcing himself into her. The cries she let out as he raped her just encouraged him and he went harder. He then turned her over, wanting to choke her as he raped her. He wanted to watch the life leave her eyes as he strangled her, to reach climax just as she died. When he turned her around he recognized the girl he was raping. It was Sarah.

Whereas in reality Sam would have been horrified at what he was doing to the girl he loved, in the dream he was in ecstasy. When he saw that the girl was Sarah he slapped her face hard and laughed. He then began to choke her as he raped her, watching her eyes bulge as he squeezed her neck harder. He then started to mutter something to her, repeating it again and again in between grunts of pleasure. “No one can beat the dreams away now!”

Sarah began to fight back. She tried to slap Sam, but it was difficult to make any meaningful contact. He was on top of her and he was heavy. Eventually she was able to do some damage. She grabbed his face and raked his cheek, leaving four long trails of broken bleeding skin. Sam closed his eyes and screamed out in pain. When he opened his eyes again he was no longer in that dark seedy room. He was no longer on that dirty bare bed. He was back in his own bed. He had woken up.

There was one aspect of the dream that remained the same. Sam didn’t wake up from the nightmare on his side of the bed, sweating and screaming like last time. This time when he woke up he was lying on top of Sarah. He was inside her, and to his horror he had both hands firmly clasped around her throat. He immediately let go, shocked at what was happening. Sarah was almost unconscious. Sam had no idea how long he had been choking her. The rake to his face that Sarah gave him had been real, it had woken him. If she hadn’t done that, he might have killed her. As he let go of her she began to cough and gasp for air, tears were on her cheeks and she looked terrified. Sam was also shocked, but not too shocked to immediately realize what happened. He had begun to dream about killing people he knew, and while asleep he was trying to live out these nightmares, just as he had done ten years ago in his parents bedroom.

4

It took Sam a long time to calm Sarah down. She was curled into a ball on the floor, shaking and sobbing. Whenever Sam tried to approach her to explain what happened she let out a loud moan. Eventually she began to calm a little and Sam could explain. He told her that he was having a nightmare, and that he must have been acting out this nightmare. The same way some people sleep walk. Sarah was scared, and it took a lot of talking before she finally accepted Sam’s explanation. But she did accept it. And after hours had passed, and the sun was coming up in the morning, she started to talk less about that nights incident and more about the possibility of these kind of dreams happening again. Sam was apologetic, shocked, and was offering to do anything for Sarah in way of apology, to show her he loves her more than anything.

“You need to see a psychiatrist about this, Sam,” she said.

“A psychiatrist? Come on baby, I know it was horrible for you, for both of us, but it was just one nightmare. Isn’t a psychiatrist a little much?”

“No way, Sam. It’s not a little much. And if you want me to keep living here with you after what happened last night you just better find one and make an appointment. And another thing, from tonight I am going to sleep in the spare room, and no arguments, I won’t sleep in the same room as you again until you see a professional about that dream. I mean, Jesus Christ Sam, you could have killed me!”

Sam agreed. He had no choice. He loved her and wanted her to stay. He would of agreed to a lot more too, if she had asked.

Later that day he searched the phone book for a psychiatrist. He found one with an address that was close to where he lived and made an appointment. When he went there for the session, he explained everything about that night. He even pointed out the scratch marks that Sarah had left on his cheek to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. But he didn’t mention the dreams he had as a boy, just as he had never told Sarah about them. His father had made sure he never told anybody about them.

He didn’t really think the session helped. They just talked about the dream and then the usual stuff that psychiatrists ask about, his relationship with his parents, with Sarah, and so on.

Later that night, it became clear that seeing a psychiatrist had not helped the situation at all. Sam had another nightmare. In this one he was again raping and murdering Sarah. Again the dream felt so real. But this time Sam could not harm Sarah in reality. She was sleeping in the spare room, and she had locked the door from the inside. Although Sam couldn’t get into the room, Sarah still had to sit in the bed, hugging her knees, and listen to Sam scream things through the door at her, I’m going to rape you and cut your throat, you cunt! Let me in bitch!, and all the time she could only hope that as he banged the door he wouldn’t actually break the lock and get to her. Eventually Sam stopped screaming and stopped pounding on the door, and wandered back to bed.

The next morning she told Sam what had happened. He remembered the dream, but he didn’t remember trying to break into Sarah’s room. Sarah again told him to see the psychiatrist, preferably as soon as possible. He called the office, explained what happened this time, and that he needed help urgently. He managed to get an appointment for that day. As he sat in the office, again talking about the dream, his parents, his girlfriend, he realized what he needed - drugs. He needed something to send him into a deep sleep. A sleep so deep that the nightmares wouldn’t find him there. At the end of the session he asked the psychiatrist if he could prescribe something. To his relief the psychiatrist said that he could, but only if Sam came in for therapy two times a week. Sam happily agreed to the terms and on the way home he stopped by the drugstore, prescription in hand.
That night he didn’t have any nightmares. He didn’t even have any dreams that he could remember. His sleep was deep and long, and when he woke up in the morning he felt great. He went straight to the spare room to wake Sarah and tell her the good news. She was equally delighted. Not delighted enough to promise to move back into the bedroom with him that night, but delighted enough to promise to do it in a week if the nightmares didn’t return.

Sam continued to take the prescribed medication and attend his two therapy sessions a week. Things were returning to normal. He slept well at night and felt good during the day. Things between him and Sarah were better than ever. The fact that they were going through such a difficult experience together only seemed to strengthen their relationship. Eventually weeks passed and Sam had still not had a nightmare. He didn’t really think the therapy sessions were helping him, but he thanked God every day for the creation of the miracle drug, as Sarah had started calling it.

One Saturday afternoon Sam was sitting at the kitchen table watching Sarah making two cups of coffee. He was thinking about how happy he was, how happy they both were. As he watched her, he realized how shapely her body looked in the tight jeans and blue sleeveless t-shirt that she was wearing. Noticing her body like this stirred something inside him, and he began to feel horny. A smile crept onto his face and he slowly got up from his chair and started walking towards her. She smiled at him, but as he watched her he saw the expression changed, the smile quickly faded away, and a look of fear took over her. She saw his grin, the look in his eyes, and she knew what he wanted to do.

She turned and tried to run, but he grabbed her hair and roughly pulled her down to the floor. He then started to rip her clothes off in between powerful punches to her face, all the time grinning, enjoying himself. When he had her naked he began to rape her. She was almost unconscious from the punches to her face so she didn’t put up any struggle. When Sam felt he was getting close to climax he began to strangle her. It felt good.
“Sam, your coffee.” Sam looked up. Sarah was standing in front of him, holding out a mug. He was back in the chair at the kitchen table. The last few minutes hadn’t been real. They felt real, but they weren’t. “Oh Jesus”, was all Sam could say. He knew what had happened. He was keeping the nightmares away with drugs while he slept. So now the nightmares came when he was awake. It wasn’t quite like a daydream, it was much stronger than that. Sam really believed he was there, doing those things and enjoying it. The dreams were back, that was certain, and Sam began to weep.

5

Over the next few days, the daydreams began to come more and more often for Sam. He spoke to Sarah about them, and spoke to his psychiatrist about them, but they kept coming. Eventually they began to come with such frequency that at times he wasn’t sure if what was happening was real or just his imagination. Each daydream remained the same. He would attack and rape Sarah, always attempting to kill her. Thankfully for both of them he hadn’t tried to act any of these illusions out, as he had done with the nightmare. In these daydreams he simply blacked out for some time. His eyes would remain open, just like with any normal daydream, but his mind would drift elsewhere to commit unspeakable acts of violence. Then he would come and realize that the dreams had taken over him once again.

As he hadn’t tried to live out these daydreams, Sarah stayed with him. She wanted to help him. They had just moved in together and she loved him. She wasn’t worrying so much for her own safety. But Sam was worried for her safety. The daydreams were coming so frequently that he was beginning to have difficulty telling the difference between these dreams and reality. One minute he would be hurting Sarah, killing her, and it would be real, so impossibly real. Then he would snap out of it and return to reality. But it was happening so often that he knew he had to act. Before the dreams took over completely and he did something terrible to the woman he loved.
“You need to move out of here,” he said to Sarah.

“No way…listen…I understand if you’re worried but you need someone here to help you.”

“No, Sarah. I am not debating this. You need to leave now. These daydreams…they’re coming so often now, and they’re so real…I’m just…I’m just afraid, I guess…afraid for you.”

A short silence followed and tears began to run freely down the cheeks of both Sam and Sarah.

“I love you Sam, I don’t want to leave you.”

“You won’t be leaving me for long. I want to speak to my therapist, maybe go into a clinic for a short while, try to sort these dreams out. I’m really scared of them Sarah, I just can’t explain how real they are. Maybe after a while when I’m better we can start again, move back in together.”

“Ok Sam, if that’s what you really want. When should I leave?”

“Right now, Sarah. And as soon as you’re gone I’m going to call the clinic.”

The tears started to flow more freely from Sarah’s eyes. They sat together for several minutes, Sam holding Sarah, trying to comfort her. They then went upstairs to the bedroom, and Sarah began to pack her clothes. They did this in silence. They were both too upset to talk. Finally, when she was ready, Sam walked her to the front door. They both paused there for a moment, and Sam was preparing to give her one more kiss and hug. At least the last one for a few weeks until he got his head sorted out. At that moment, as he leaned in to kiss her, he knew that he loved her more than anything.

Then Sam came back to reality. The image of Sarah leaning into him, the fresh air coming in the open door, the noise from the street outside, it all disappeared. It had been another daydream. At first Sam didn’t understand, his daydreams were always violent, always terrifying. But this daydream had not been like the others. In fact, it was exactly what he was planning to do. He planned to move Sarah out and to check himself into a clinic. It was the only way to make sure she would be safe.

Then he became aware of his surroundings. He wasn’t standing at the front door. He was in the bathroom. He noticed that he was wet, his shirt was soaked right through. He looked around and saw puddles of water on the bathroom floor. When he looked to the bathtub he saw the reason for this. The bath was only half full. The rest of the water had been splashed out onto both Sam and the floor. It was splashed out by Sarah, who was lying face down in the water, unmoving, dead.

When Sam noticed her body there, his legs turned to jelly. He fell back against the wall and slid down onto the floor. His head was swimming and for a moment he almost passed out. But the horror of what he was looking at wouldn’t let him. It was Sarah, there was no doubt. Although he couldn’t see her face as it was submerged in the bath, he recognized her clothes.

The realization of what must have happened hit him and a stream of vomit came rushing up his throat and he spewed it all down his shirt. The dreams had won. They had beaten Sam in the end. He had made plans to ensure the safety of Sarah and get help for himself. But the dreams knew about these plans. After all, the dreams were in his head. They knew everything he knew. They knew everything he thought. They knew about his plans and they were able to trick him. This time the dreams led him to believe he was asking Sarah to leave for a while. In reality he had dragged her kicking and screaming into the bathroom. He had held her head under the water until she stopped trashing around. Until she stopped trying to fight him. Until she stopped moving. Until she was dead.

The dreams had left him for a while. Fear had kept them away after the beating his father had given him. But they returned when his father died. Sam was a man now, not a scared boy, and the dreams knew that nobody could make him fear having these dreams again. They had finally succeeded in making him kill, just as they had tried to do all those years ago. Sam had finally succumbed. He had killed the women he loved. His life was over.
The dreams had won.