The Endless Downward

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A man struggles to make sense of his dreams. Which parts are simply dreams, and which parts are distorted realities of the new world?

-(Based on a real dream)

My dreams have started to manifest in strange ways, and I do not know which is which. Do I still dream, forever falling into the endless downward of a nightmare within that void, or am I awake, but dreaming while living? It begins at a park, where I speak to a faceless old woman. She asks me to hold on to a pesky, moody crow. The large crow moves around, incapable of flight. The old woman is grabbing its beak, firmly holding it so the panicking animal doesn’t rip off her fingers or tears her skin off. I do the same, holding the beak as best I can to avoid getting hurt by this surreal event. The old woman vanishes, leaving me there holding a large crow struggling to get out of my hands. The left side of my body seems to be awake. I see my hand in real life, and I see that I am making a fist with it. But at the same time, I see it passing over to the dream, in which I hold the crow. Soon after, the cursed bird jumps out of my grasp. It lands on a nearby pond.

The crow starts to crawl on the floor, morphing into something else. It turns itself into a very round, bright green frog. It has a clock inside both of its eyes, and it stares directly at me. I start to hear an alarm going off, or a type of emergency siren. It becomes louder and louder, as that damn frog just keeps looking at me. My ears begin to hurt. I am awake.

I collect my thoughts, and realize it was all a dream, but the moment I close my eyes I get back into that same world. I am dragged into the pond by mysterious hands lacking any skin, their live pulsing flesh rotting from exposure. I fall into a void, and it feels like I’m drowning.

I’m in a city born out of a Victorian-era fantasy. The streets are big, and the buildings are all beautiful. But there is panic. The faceless people run from large dogs with no skin, their flesh rots, like the hands that pulled me downwards and into the city. I keep going down. It keeps pulling me down. Before I can think, I run. Five putrid dogs chase me, one having a severed arm inside of its mouth. The hand is small, the arm probably belonged to a child. I can hear the people screaming, running. I climb on a fence, and then onto a building. I keep going up, and reach a roof. This magical city is located near a port. The sea water is dark, the skies are grey and ominous. There is no wind, only deep silence after the screams stop. Only a few dogs remain. Next to me, on that roof, was a man. Faceless, same as the others. He signals me to look at his left hand. There is a screw inside the bottom of his hand. “This part of the hand signifies the moon”, he said as he unscrewed it. He had a hole, but inside he had exposed muscle, but the muscle was pure white. It moves, writhed within him. The man jumped off the building before I could even ask him anything about where I was or what was happening. And as it often happens in dreams, he was nowhere to be found. His body should have landed at the street, but it was not there. It’s as if he was swallowed by the ground, pulled down.

I jumped from that building, hoping to wake myself up. Half of me knew it was a dream, and I had some control. As expected, the street opened up and I was taken deeper below the structure of this dream. The layers of the dream were starting to make sense. There were portals that could take you up or down, like an elevator in real life.

This time I found myself in a cabin, in the middle of the woods. The sky was completely black, no stars or moon. It was a void of pure darkness that had a pulse, but it was ever so slight. I did not see them, but I knew my family was in there. I wasn’t alone. A man pulled up in a beat up truck, the headlights were incredibly strong. He was scared, he needed help. I got a feeling that in this layer, something was out there in the world. Something was hunting people, like those large rotting dogs were hunting in that city next to the ominous port and the black sea water. But this time, things felt very real. I had control of my body, but I was lightheaded. I still felt like I was dreaming. The man that asked for help suddenly pulled out a gun, he threatened me. He wanted all of our supplies. He had a wife and child, they were both still in the truck. His wife was upset, she didn’t know he was going to pull out his gun on me.

I pretended to go towards the cabin to get the supplies for him. For some reason he did not follow me, or question whether or not I was lying. I managed to sneak up behind him, and slashed his throat open with a very sharp knife. It felt real. His struggle, and the blood pouring out of his throat. His gasps for air, the blood drowning him and killing him quicker. His body slowing down due to the loss of blood, his eyes remaining open after death. The expression of fear, the last thing he felt as life escaped his cold body. It all felt too real, as if the dream had turned into a nightmare. It was pulling me down even further. It never ended. I didn’t feel emotions, but only witnessed what my body was doing. I took the man’s gun. I shot his wife, but I don’t know what happened to the child. The truck was now empty, but its lights were still on. There was no wind blowing or any stars shining in the night. It was all a void. As I stood there, I felt something on my left hand. I had somehow wounded myself with the knife, and had a deep cut on the palm of my left hand. But within the wound, I saw exposed flesh. It was white, almost glowing like the moon. It writhed within me, moving on its own. Something had infected me, or so I felt at the time.

This dream lasted longer than all the others. I was not awake yet, but was waiting to in the darkness of those woods, next to the two corpses. It feels as if I’m awake, but part of me still dreams. I wonder which one is real, and which is not? It endlessly goes downwards, deeper into that nightmare. It never ends, it only pulls me in further down. The sky is pure black, there are no stars and there is no moon, no light. The wound on my hand, the pure white writhing muscles that act on their own within my body, as if something else is growing within. It keeps getting worse. I want to stop dreaming.


Submitted: May 14, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Dave Davidson. All rights reserved.

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Comments

hullabaloo22

Fantastic writing. You kept the surrealism of a dream, but slipped in some pretty good descriptions too.

Thu, May 14th, 2020 6:55pm

Author
Reply

Thank you very much, glad you liked it! It was very difficult to write this one, because it was from three separate dreams I had, but it's the best I could do before my brain deleted all the details.

Thu, May 14th, 2020 3:04pm

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