My Dream 10.16.2021-10.17.2021

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: The Horror House

I had a dream upon the night of 10.16.2021 - 10.17.2021 and felt prompted to share.

Lately I’ve been having a hard time writing whether that be on the latest book or just random prompts I have. I’m still on the first chapter of my next book, Ascension of Aminus, and I’m hardly two thousand words in after several weeks and perhaps even months. Last night however, I had a bit of an unsettling dream and felt strongly enough I could write it out, explain it to give myself a bit of that writing boost I need to continue my work.


The previous day, I had helped my father work in the yard, a job that took from early afternoon until around four to five PM. I fell asleep rather early that day, around five thirty to six and slept around to ten PM. After that, I stayed up watching videos on my phone, caught up on a few new anime releases and just wasted the time away until I could fall asleep again, which was thirty after midnight. 


Now, we all tend to have dreams, yet there’s a particular type of dream I rarely experience. To outline it, I’d explain it as a dream existing in two levels. Level 1 is the near wakefulness or reality. You’re still dreaming, but you’re convinced you’re awake and just snoozing in your bed waiting to pass to sleep. I’ve tended to notice my moving is restricted, not sleep paralysis levels where you feel restrained and in a panic, but as though you can’t muster the will to move at all, and for some odd reason, you’re rather content with it, as though you’re just going through the process of simply falling asleep.


Level 2 however is a bit more unsettling as entering it feels like I’m being pulled into a deeper realm, whether through some active force or another entity entirely. Often I find that during these dreams I drift between both. I’m pulled into the second level, feel uneased, experience unsettling dreams, wish to wake up, and find myself back in level 1 falsely assuming I’ve done so. I try to keep my eyes open, wish to move or adjust myself, but simply feel unmotivated to do so. Soon, my eyes grow heavy and again I feel myself being pulled back into the second level. This can happen several times, over and over, and each time I’m pulled back, things seem closer to home.

Within the first level, I’m always sleeping in my bed within my room. I could be facing the left side of my bed, where I’d see the extra two pillows and empty space for a second person to sleep, along with the new bookshelf full of a bunch of CDs and movies we’ll never use thanks to digital media, as well as the window in the center of my wall, and the old antique desk that simply holds a bunch of decorations and a few books my parents keep along with the fan placed upon the top surface, that upon this night was off. I tend to keep it on the lowest setting for the ambiance, but I was too lazy to do so.


The right side of my room contains a small four drawer nightstand with a lamp I never use, headphones, my wallet, bone headphones for work, and my car keys. Beyond that is the door to the hallway, next to it is the closet. I try to keep it closed, but I often find it’s open, usually because of me. I’ve never been particularly unsettled by it but I do prefer it to be closed. It has its own light, one I rarely use. To the wall at the front of my bed is the black dresser with a mirror.


Upon this night, I was facing the right, looking at the closed door to my bedroom, as that was how I left it when I fell asleep. Each time I’m pulled and return between each level, I begin to notice the pattern. I begin to realize the first level isn’t reality and that I wish to wake up. I know I need to break the cycle, but I simply can’t. I feel unmotivated to do so. I realize I need a reality check, and I know I’m not awake because I can’t move and what I see feels fake, as though it’s simply an imitation. I see the shape of my room, the placement of the items strewn around, but it just feels off and disingenuous, as though it’s a cheap copy.


I’m pulled into the second level yet again, but this time, I’m still in my room, laying upon my bed. This time I do feel like I’ve awakened. I feel myself moving a little, able to raise my hand, adjust my legs. However, I start to hear a strange noise. It sounds like my dog chewing on a bone, making those mouth sounds that come with flicking your tongue and smacking your lips. Yet I realize my dog couldn’t be with me. 


Often at night, Luna sleeps with my parents, under their bed. My door was closed and even if she peaks in and lays down for a bit, she doesn’t stay for long. None of my dogs throughout the years really tend to stay the night with me, and I suspect it’s because I move around too much when I sleep.


So I get up from bed, and turn around. Next to where I was lying was indeed a dog, about the size of a large chihuahua, smaller than Luna. It’s head even had the rounded short haired shape of a chihuahua and it indeed was chewing on a bone. The type of dog bone that’s cut from the middle making it easy for the dog to get at the marrow and clean it out. It tossed it within its teeth, yet the dog was clearly malformed. The eyes were misaligned, the jaw ruined as it laid there in that relaxed ball form, looking up to me.


Now, to go off on a tangent, when I was younger, around five to ten I used to suffer from sleep paralysis often. The earliest years I could remember I was around five and during my younger years when I lived in Missouri and later Washington, they’d always begin the same way. I’d be in my bed, trying to sleep, when my eyes would open and glare at the green light of the fire alarm near the door to my room.


Reality would warp, in fact, it looked like that scene in a sci-fi movie where the ship warps through space, and you see the light of the stars lengthen and stretch around the viewport before jumping. To me it felt like an abduction but I’d find myself in a dream soon after, but it was strange how some nights it always began the same way, and for years too. One night, I found myself in my house, within the downstairs bathroom. My parents were in there, looking at something, arguing it seemed as I floated above. I tried speaking, telling them to look up, but nothing left my mouth and I’d awake, stiff and unable to move hearing the commotion of them downstairs, arguing.


It was when I moved to Eagle Mountain, Utah, around the ages from ten to fifteen, that the prelude to my sleep paralysis had changed. It was as though I fled some previous entity only to fall into the clutches of another. One with a different signature, a separate style to their work. I’d be dreaming, a normal dream, not particularly anything horrifying, at least not all the time, and I’d feel a deathly unsettling feeling. During that feeling there’d always be something in the dream world, an object, often black taking the shape of various forms. It could be a bottle, a lantern, even a person and upon noticing, it felt like an invader and that it didn’t belong, no matter how well it attempted to blend in. It simply felt sinister and I’d freeze up only to soon wake up and go through the motions of sleep paralysis often seeing a figure where there clearly shouldn’t be one.


To jump forward, when I was around nineteen to twenty, I had attended clearfield jobcorps in Utah. A place where they teach you a trade so that you may later enter the workforce. My trade was welding, a job I’m currently doing now making roughly thirty an hour. At this time I hadn’t had a sleep paralysis dream for many years, the reasons of which I’ll mention shortly.


It was common to hear the campus was haunted. It was a place that existed since world war two, having previously been used as a military base where they shipped various things, allegedly for the war. There were train tracks, carts and locomotives all over, and I don’t recall seeing them move that often. I’m not certain how accurate the history may be, but in the later years it was converted to the jobcorps I attended years ago. Word was there were a few students who committed there others that died. One student was bludgeoned to death in the shop I had trained in, which explained why the slag chippers were all chained to the workstations. Two students allegedly hung themselves at different times across two different years.


The thing about this campus was that it was very diverse. There were many black students, more then I’d ever seen in one place and a few native Americans. I had learned that the campus was an alternative to juvy. A good opportunity to get troubled kids off the streets as they could learn a trade and leave as a productive member of society which was far more ideal than spending a few years in juvie, or even prison.


I knew two native Americans, one of which was my roommate in the automobile course after my previous roommate one had gotten ejected from the program for punching a security guard on campus. The second was a girl in my welding program I had also become friends with. In a campus of more than a thousand students, it was very unlikely they knew each other, at least to my knowledge.


One day when I was in my dorm, along with my three roommates, I felt uncertain about the night prior and asked, “did I wake up last night?”


All three of them had turned to me and answered yes. I remembered then, I was sleeping when I felt a sinister presence above me, it felt as though I was about to be crushed by a millions tons, and I jumped out of bed landing with a loud crash upon the ceramic tile flooring and hit the lights in the bathroom just before the foot of my bed waking everyone up. I explained what I had felt in a panic and whatever happened after I can’t quite remember, but I did go back to sleep as well as everyone else.


My native American roommate had said when he heard I thought something was above me, he instantly got an image of a dark creature with red glowing eyes. He drew it, and it didn’t seem like what I had felt, but later I began to realize my dreams were becoming unsettling upon that campus. One night I woke up, feeling as though I was being dragged down the length of my bed, towards the dark bathroom that stood before the foot of my bed.


Another night, I did have sleep paralysis and I did see a figure standing before my closet that functioned as a personal locker.


One day, I spoke to the native American girl that was taking welding with me. I asked her if she thought the place was haunted, and she certainly agreed. We talked about superstitious stuff, she told me about wendigos, skinwalkers and other folklore related things to native Americans. Another student in my program swore he was being followed by a skinwalker after visiting skinwalker ranch with his friends. They said their truck came out with long scratch marks across the length of it, and everytime he sees one, he nearly dies.


The native american girl said she hears the howl of a wolf days before someone is due to die. It sounds like a sickly howl and it could be for anyone around her, not necessarily anyone she might know. I spoke to my roommate the next day about native lore, and he told me much the same thing, about wendigos, about skinwalkers, about spirits, the howl of a silky wolf and more. Neither of the two seemed to contradict each other.


Later, when I was in class, the topic of the supernatural came up. I decided to talk about my sleep paralysis as a child and why it had stopped for many years. In eagle mountain, when I began sensing the dark presence within my dreams, I gradually became more emboldened to face it. I would sense it, get that consuming feeling of fear, yet I wouldn’t try to run. I would seek it out and try to confront it. 


I remember once, I was hanging out with a group of people in my dreams. I don’t know who they were, I didn’t have many friends growing up and I rarely hung out in groups. Yet, I sensed the presence, and I sought it out, pointed it out and said, “guys what is that thing?” They tried to run, I didn’t, but it seemed like a turning point. 


Finally, upon the night the nightmares and startling presence finally stopped, I had found myself standing at the door to my room, looking in at myself laying upon my bed sleeping as a feminie figure stood at the foot of my bed glaring at me in the hallway. I felt terrified, child to my bone. I had the urge to run, to and to flee, yet I didn’t. I shouted the best I could in dreams such as these, “go away!” It turned to me, I couldn’t make out any details other than its figure but it felt wrong. 


I reached my hand out and against all instinct, ran directly at it. Only then did it flee outside the window of my bedroom only for me to then wake up. I wasn’t paralyzsed, I didn’t feel the oppressive feeling of fear and I hadn’t experienced it for many years until I attended jobcorps.


The classmate that was being followed by the skinwalker assured me it was a succubi, draining my life force at a young age. That wasn’t reassuring. When I told my native american roommate, and later class mate they affirmed it was a malicious spirit of some kind and that warding it off only signified the resolve and strength of my spirit.


In the home I live in now, a mile from the border of Utah into Idaho, at the back of my yard where we haven’t laid grass and don’t intend to, whenever I’m watering the trees bordering the property, in one particular spot, the music from my wireless headphones always stutters, and sometimes even cuts off entirely. Always in one spot, never elsewhere on the property. 


The dog within the second level of my dream in retrospect seemed harmless enough. It was rolled into a relaxed position, chewing upon a bone likely gifted to it. I slapped it upon the forehead, and turned to switch the light of my room, only I couldn’t. It felt as though my arms were bound in the bedsheets and I found myself back within the first level of my dream, yet I knew it wasn’t reality.

It was then I felt myself immediately being pulled, yet I was able to resist. I felt myself pulled again and again, teetering on the edge of the second and first level, until I was finally able to speak and simply say, “Stop!” 


It wasn’t the voice of my dream, the type that sounded muffled, distant and choked out. It was my real voice, and it woke me from my sleep. I was able to turn on the light, and look around my room. Nothing of course.


I turned my fan on to the lowest level for the ambiance, I looked at my phone and it was three fifteen in the morning. Typical. I soon fell asleep perhaps twenty minutes later not willing to outlast the hour. I didn’t experience it again.


I might’ve thought the dog was harmless enough, if it wasn’t for the pulling feeling and unease that came with it with the false first level and sinister second. Though if there is something buried in the backyard where my music always stutters, I do have respect for it and wish the best for it’s journey. 


I don’t particularly have a message for this story, I just felt prompted to write it and share my experience with nightmares and the like. Some days, when I listen to other’s stories, it is strange how similar they often are to another’s. You’d think in the realm of the abstract things would vary greatly, and in some cases they do. But in the realm of nightmares and sleep paralysis, things often function largely the same. It tends to make me think dreams aren’t abstract at all, and that there’s a particular realm with order to it, that there’s a mechanic to dreaming we all share. 


Thinking that feels strangely unsettling.

Submitted: October 17, 2021

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