Every single night, from as long as I can remember, I have died in my dreams.
Not from the Boogieman, not from some apocalypse, but something more terrifying that anyone could ever afflict on such a child. Something no human was capable of. This "gift" that I have? No human could have inflicted this on me.
Only a monster could have.
For who would bless upon a little girl to be awaken every single night with night terrors? Horrible nightmares that plagued her dreams and transmitted into reality. Who would want a kindergartener to wake up screaming each and every night, tears streaming down her face, her limbs thrashing and kicking, and claw marks running along her arms from her own fingernails as she begged to be set free?
Who would want this little girl to have five seizures in her lifetime?
Who would want her to be made fun of at school because of those seizures?
And who would want this girl to grow up with a broken self-esteem, no self-confidence, and bear the scars of the dirty work she would have to endure?
The scratches all across her arms, neck, and back; The burn mark on her chin, scabs that dotted around her legs like freckles; who could blatantly ignore her and deny her mercy?
That answer just happened to be everyone that came across this broken girl.
From the start, I can already tell where this nightmare will be heading.
The rugged, scratchy feeling of the dull, wooden floors snagging across my feet don't even bother me now. I reach out a hand and drag it along the wall, feeling the wallpaper snag beneath my fingers and come off in long, thin, strips. Down the long hallway, there are three doors. Two on the right; one on the left.
I stop at the end, facing the last door, the one on the left, feeling a dreaded, familiar pain sink low into my stomach. Even now, even though I haven't seen it yet, I know what's going to happen. The tears are already streaming down my face, I'm already shaking my head back and forth as if to say "no" in disbelief.
I realize that my hand has already turned the gray, scratched doorknob, and my eyes set onto the gruesome, grotesque scene in front of me.
Two bodies, one male and one female, almost unrecognizable, lie slain on the ground. Blood is smeared everywhere on the floor; the walls…even splatters dot across the ceiling. The bodies are twisted at odd angles; but the worst part of it all was the way their eyes were still wide open and looking in different directions in terror as they screamed out their last breath of sheer trepidation.
"God, no, no…" Bile began to rise in my throat, and I resisted the urge to gag as I took in the scene in front of me. My parents. Dead.
"No, no, no, no…" I started to whisper out loud. A hysterical sound was starting to bubble up in my throat, as my eyes were fixated on the dead, mangled bodies. I dropped down to my knees against the hard, wooden floor, and started to cry uncontrollably.
My mouth was wrenched open in terror, and I let out hard gasps of air as tears flowed freely against my cheeks. They were hot on my skin, and the fact that I could feel them on my face was the only thing from keeping me from thinking that this wasn't real.
My worst nightmare had come to life.
I don't know what it is, but I feel a cold wind sharply caress the back of my neck, and a chill runs up my spine, sending a terrible shiver that racks through my entire body. The way my back trembles makes it feel like someone is watching me; their eyes boring into my back and seemingly filtering through my soul.
I slowly craned my neck and turned my body to the side in a 360 degree rotation, facing the doorway. And standing there, was him. The murderer. The monster. The monster who had killed my parents.
I was paralyzed in fear, frozen and rooted to the spot I was sitting in. My face seemed to break into a million pieces as it crumpled and I let out a loud sob, already knowing what he's going to do. I raise my trembling hand to my mouth and tried to keep my cries inside, but it doesn't work.
There is a bloody knife dangling in his hand, extenuated in his shadow as he stood, motionless. Even though I can't see his eyes, I could feel them boring into mine, and I flinched away from his invisible gaze.
The sudden movement that I made suddenly seemed to make something click inside his mind, and his hand holding the bloody knife reached forward towards me. I instantly flinched away, and fell down to my elbows against the hard, wooden floor, sending a wave of pain through my ulna bone.
He stepped into the room, and I could finally see his eyes.
They were a cold, dark blue. He was staring right at me, and I shivered once again when I stared into his face. His eyes…they were so dark and angry looking. They were full of anger and despair; a hungry, inhuman rage that I couldn't understand.
Something in my mind kicked itself alive. Adrenaline started to course through my veins. One moment, I engrained to the spot, and the next, I was scrambling to my feet to run away from this angry monster.
My fingernails scratched against the floor, and I almost fell once again when I started to run, but caught myself just in time. I didn't take the time to look behind me; I just ran straight into the master bathroom ahead of me, and slammed the door shut.
It took him a few moments, it seemed, and by then, I was sitting on the counter, trembling with fright as he slammed his body continuously on the door. I was afraid it would break in half from his weight, and I feebly pushed back against it, crying and praying to God he wouldn't be able to break through.
And just as suddenly as he had appeared, there was a loud cracking sound, and then, the pounding against the door stop.
My eyes opened wide in alarm as I heard the loud cracking noise, and my heart started to beat faster and faster in my chest. I jumped away from the door and examined the bottom, thinking that he had cracked a piece of the dull wood.
But no. The door wasn't broken. The house was completely silent.
The crack…it must have been him. He had broken one of his bones when slamming against the door. I was saved.
And my parents weren't.
The sudden reality that my parents were never coming back was enough to send me to my knees once again. It was like experiencing walking into their bedroom once again, and witnessing their twisted, beleaguered bodies lying on the ground.
Silent tears tracked down my face, and I sat on the ground, my knees hugged to my chest and slowly rocked myself; trying to be comforted since no one else was to do so for me.
I don't know what I was doing, perhaps falling asleep and praying once again that this was all just a terrible nightmare, when I heard the shower curtains pull back suddenly; the pinging of the shower rings clanging against the metal rod.
I looked up sharply, and there, slowly climbing out of the shower was him: the monster.
"NO!" I yelled in alarm. I clambered to my feet and yanked on the doorknob.
How could he be here? There was no way else to enter the bathroom besides the door. Which I had locked.
My mind was racing in the few seconds that it took me to finally tug hard on the door once again until it finally pulled open, but at the same moment that I felt the monster's hands wrap around my hair and yanked, hard.
I crashed to the floor landing on my back painfully, and almost blacked out the minute my head smacked against that hard, linoleum floor.
Before I could even react, I felt him pull onto my shoulders and pull me up into a standing position, faced towards him.
He had a hat on, which covered most of his face since he was also wearing a hood, so the only thing on his face I could see were his murderous eyes.
My body reacted before my mind could. My hand struck out and slapped him hard in the face; hard enough that he halfway toppled over to the ground while his hand was covering the half of his face that I had slapped.
I started to run out of the bathroom, but even I knew that it was a lost cause, a hard fact that was hard to believe. I felt his thick hands wrap around my neck and squeeze, momentarily causing my air to be cut off. I felt something hard slam against the side of my head, and I fell down to the floor.
I was dazed by then; I was barely even lucid or conscious. But I could feel his rough hands against the thin material of the night gown that I was wearing as he flipped me over so that my back was against the floor.
I started to panic when I felt his hands tear through material of the clothing I was wearing. He was going to rape me. Violate me. While my dead parents lie twisted and mangled a few feet away from me.
I cried even more silent tears, before I blacked out and finally woke up from my nightmare.
I woke up sitting up straight in my bed, my heart racing and pounding, tears already running down my face even though I was no longer physically crying.
It was either this one, or others, terrifying ones.
Someone was always murdered, and I always witnessed it. And what do you know, it all leads in to a ghost, a paranormal being appearing in my room, late at night, asking me to help it find its way into the afterlife, into purgatory.
But it just so happens that this dream…it isn't a dream at all.
It's reality. It's my reality.
My parents were killed, and I was raped two years ago. I now live with my Aunt Liza, who doesn't know about my ability to communicate with the dead. No one does.
I walk into my bathroom and splash cold water in my face, trying to erase the tracks of my parents' death for the third time that week. The water; it never helps. I like to think it does.
Afterwards, I slowly walk back to my bed, tucking myself underneath the covers, and stare at the doorway for several minutes, just to make sure that no one has crept inside the house, like that fateful night.
I go to sleep with tears running through my closed lashes once again, but I'm used to it. I'm used to the death and the crying.
Why had fate decided to give me this ability?
Why had that monster decided to let me live through this hell?
I'm not a psychic. Therefore, I didn't know that my fate would change soon. Very soon.
But for better or worse?
…I definitely didn't know that.
To Be Continued.