Tag Archives: nightmare

Routine

YouTube Horror Narrator Noah J. was so kind to narrate this story. Now you can listen while you read:

A quick glance under the desk. Throw the wardrobe open. Push clothes aside to make sure there is no one inside. Close the wardrobe. Step into the middle of the room. Breathe. Quickly bend and kneel forward, your hands on the ground, ready to push you back up as fast as possible. Check under the bed.

No one there. As every night.

Get back up. Walk towards the light switch. Look around the room another time, the eyes resting for a few seconds on each window. Second floor, but who knows what can climb that high?

Nothing suspicious. Mentally pace the room – two steps, then the jump.

Flip the switch. Large step with the right, large step with the left, then a quick jump to escape any possible hands.

Climb under the covers. Cocoon yourself. Try to sleep. Try not to have nightmares. Continue reading

Last Kiss

Laura wore jeans shorts and a light green sleeveless shirt. She smiled while she climbed into the car. She gave me a kiss on the cheek when the engine started. I think that was the last kiss she ever gave me.

We had planned our trip for several weeks. The trip of all trips.

You won’t understand this if you’ve never been to a desert or a remote mountain. The sky, for most of us, is just a black or blue-ish carpet with a few white spots. But if you ever spend a night in the desert, away from all the “light smog” of the cities and cars and street lamps and even the petrol stations – then you know what the sky looks like: A beautiful pattern of white and yellow and even pink dots, uncountably many of them, spread in waves and patterns on an ocean of deep blue.

I screamed a “Yee-ha!” when we finally left the road. The landscape around us was already dry and beige, but there were still dots of green and the occasional red or yellow. The vehicle stumbled over heaps of hard and dry sand, further and further into the dead countryside; between carcasses of old cactuses and nothing but stones. Continue reading

Why won’t this nightmare end? Why can’t I have my daughter back?

All I want is for my daughter to come back home. I would forgive her for all the things she’s done, for destroying windows and torturing animals. Even for killing her mother. I don’t believe that was her. I don’t believe she would have done that. It’s not Shana. This thing is not Shana and all I want is for her to come back home and give me a hug and laugh again.

It was in February. Who knows where she met those kids. Shana never played much away from our house, she was always in the garden or riding her bicycle up and down the road.

She was never shy and timid. She was always open and approached others. She didn’t mind getting her clothes dirty and even a fall or two didn’t stop her from speeding down the hill near our house or from climbing back into her favorite tree, the one in our neighbor’s garden.

But she had never been destructive like that. And she never had wounds like that.

She was out cycling. We didn’t even notice that she had come back home until I went to the kitchen for a drink and noticed the trail of blood that led up the stairs.

Shana was in front of the mirror. Her white dress was covered in blood. She didn’t turn when I entered the room. Instead she raised her hands to her head. There was a loud crack and her head moved sidewards.

“What happened?”

She ignored me.

I walked to her and kneeled down. She only reacted when I touched her. She hissed and jumped backwards on her bed. I’ve never seen her jump like that.

That’s when her mother entered the room. Lillian and I never married, we were always against those rituals, but we had Shana because we loved each other and wanted a child.

I can’t get Lillian’s scream out of my head, that shock. I should have screamed too, but I think I was too shocked to scream. Lillian ran towards Shana but Shana ducked and ran past Lillian and out of the room. We tried to follow her but she was so fast.

Before I was even half down the stairs I heard the glass breaking downstairs.

By the time I was at the back door Shana was gone. The broken back door was covered in blood.

We reported her as missing, we even organised search teams, but for two weeks she was just gone.

It was a Saturday morning, not even 10. We were at home printing “Missing” posters. Lillian had been crying most of the morning. We thought Shana had been drugged or abducted or worse.

And then the stone slammed against the repaired back door. It was like hail, small stones, but they cracked the glass.

There was a group of kids in the garden. Five or six of them, all in dark and stained clothes. Lillian was calling the police already and I grabbed a bat to run out and scare them away.

Then, just before I opened the back door, I recognized her.

Her hair was cut and she wore a different shirt, but that too was covered in a dried brownish red.

The kids didn’t laugh or speak. They just pelted our house with stones while I stared at them. At some point Lillian was by my side. She ran towards the door and unlocked it.

The kids stopped throwing their stones, but they all raised their arms.

Lillian opened the door. I pulled her back inside just in time, just before the stones flew towards her.

Shana was smiling.

When the sirens appeared in the distance the kids ran off. They were fast. The first two jumped over the fence, then another one kicked through the gate in our back yard.

The neighbors reported them too. Four times within just two days. Then Mr. Garland disappeared. There were stones all over his back yard and the back door of his house was open. They never found him.

We organised a neighborhood watch. We exchanged numbers and all made sure to have our bats and other things ready, to scare the kids. I also had a net. I didn’t know how else I could possibly get her back.

The call came at 4am. One of our neighbors, three houses down, was being attacked.

I hopped the fence and was the first that reached the house. The neighbor was just at his back door, waving his bat. When the kids saw me they turned to me. There were six of them. They all had calm expressions, all except Shana. She seemed excited when she hurled those stones towards me.

There was no way out for me, no way except back. The kids kept coming closer. I held the squash racket above my head but their stones hit my shoulder and chest. While one or two of those would have been okay, those stones kept raining on me.

Then two other neighbors came running through the back yard’s gate from the other side. The kids threw a few stones, but then they ran. They ran past me and over the fence. I couldn’t get myself to hit them but I threw the net. One of the kids was caught but she ripped it straight apart. Shana hissed at me when I tried to run after her.

They haven’t thrown stones since then, but they broke car windows and fences and garden gnomes. They even killed two cats; ripped their necks open and let them bleed out on the asphalt behind the playground.

The police brought child psychiatrists and some strange people. They even brought a priest that tried an excorcism and equipped us all with bottles of holy water.

I should never have allowed that priest to speak to Lillian. Somehow this guy managed to convince her that Shana is possessed and that holy water is the cure. She was grasping for any hope and this guy hit the “mother” button and got straight into her mind. Lillian really believed it and no matter what I said she didn’t want to listen.

I told her it was a bad idea to go out at night; that it wouldn’t help and she only risked being attacked. My only choice was to come along.

For more than two months we walked around the area at night. Streets, gardens, the two playgrounds, the small forest – nothing.

Lillian blamed it on me. She said it was my fault; that i was too loud and scary and that that was what kept Shana away. She said that I must have done something to Shana. She said that I scared Shana when she was injured and that that was the only reason Shana ran away and refused to come back.

She shouted at me to stay home. First I refused but Lillian got more and more angry. She blamed it all on me. I told her I would ask a friend to come along, but she just stormed out of the house. I saw her running into the forest but I was too slow. I still don’t know why I thought I should put my shoes on first.

That night I ran through the neighborhood and then the forest. I called for Lillian. I was so scared that the kids would find her.

I’m sure Lillian must have heard me. She wasn’t that far away; she must have been hiding from me; she didn’t want to see me. All she wanted was to find Shana.

When I heard her screams I knew they were close, just from behind me, from the group of houses that I had passed.

I ran back and called her name, but she didn’t respond anymore. There was no noise at all.

Then I noticed Mr. Garland’s house and I just knew.

When I stepped into the garden I saw the kids running off. Shana was trailing behind, with her head turned to me. She held something heavy in her hands. She was grinning.

Lillian’s body was behind the shed. Her body was still warm but her skin already pale. There was a large hole in her throat and her left arm was missing.

Lillian’s ashes are on the small shelf where the TV used to be.

All I want is for this nightmare to end. All I want is for Shana to come back. Shana, my Shana, not that thing that comes nearly every night to throw stones at my house.

Nightmare till Death

Trigger warning


They just came, without question, every night – as if they had always been there. I don’t remember when the nightmares started.

My daily life was normal, average, boring. I went to school. I learned pointless things about the world and the past world. I had friends that I met after school. But I dreaded the nights.

The nights were always the same. Someone slapping me; cutting me; pulling me up on my arms until my muscles started to scream in pain; raped me.

Those nights, the more I think back the longer they seem to go back. The nightmares were just always there, just like my normal life was. The nightmares, filled with nothing except pain and fear and sometimes a TV running in the background. Continue reading

Life in the Mirror

The apartment seemed as if it was made just for me. I had a bed and two shelves. The apartment lacked bed and shelves but had everything else – tables, chairs, a sofa. My bed was exactly 1.6 meters in width – and the tiny bedroom a perfect match.

There were two things I didn’t like. The first, of course, was the lack of a dedicated bathroom. The shower cabin was in the kitchen and the toilet in a small room off the balcony. The second thing I didn’t like was the mirror in the bedroom.

It’s not that I don’t like mirrors. But in a room just barely big enough for the bed, with walls to all sides, there was something disturbing in having one of the walls as just one large mirror. It felt misplaced and odd like a lone, smiling stranger standing in the middle of a desert road.

The first night I was tired from the move, every muscle in my body seemed to be aching and my body was still sticky and sweating even after two showers and four hours since the last box. Still I first lay awake for two or three hours, rolling from one side to the other and hoping for the salvation of sleep. Continue reading

He Caught Me

It started when I was 14 years old. My parents sent me to bed. As usual I spent about an hour under the blanket with my flashlight and a book. Of course my parents knew that I didn’t go to sleep straight away – but they didn’t mind the books.

At some point I turned the lights off. With three big steps I jumped into my bed to avoid the dark space under the bed.

I woke up screaming. The bright lights. A steady beep. My mother, crying. A man in a white coat came running into the room.

“How do you feel?” asked a male voice.

“Oh god,” I said. “There was somebody following me.”

“Just a nightmare,” said the male voice. The doctor who the voice belonged to smiled.

Noise, shaking, adrenalin, nothing had woken me up.

They told me I had slept for one and a half days.

I had to stay another night. As I slept normal they let me go in the morning.

“Bring him here if it happens again.” Continue reading