Nothing to fear; it's only a dream...

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Written by Robert Quintin Penn
Wednesday, 08 August 2007

Last Updated ( Monday, 13 August 2007 )

Johnny had been having this reoccurring nightmare for quite some time now, and every time, it always ended with his violent death. He would awake, the sweat from his brow flung as he bolted upright in bed, screaming. Lucky for him, it was morning, and the flood of sunlight coming through the window comforted him, reassuring him that his safety was almost a guarantee.

In his dream, Johnny would be in an attic, all alone, where he would hear the crash of a door coming off its hinges, and the quake of something coming closer and closer. Johnny would run to the corner, behind a stack of boxes and coats. The beast would jump through the door, and rush up to him, picking him up with one hand, and decapitate him with the other. Poor kid didn't stand a chance.

After the fifteenth telling of this story, his parents were worried, for nothing seemed to help Johnny overcome it. They invited a friend of theirs, a certain Dr. Tom Dobyns to come over, and talk with the boy. He was a psychiatrist, a man fond of Freud's many findings and studies. “In your dream, did you ever think to pinch your arm? To Jump? Or look at your wrist watch? If you don't feel anything from the pinch, if you start to fly, or if your watch and it reads out weird symbols, you are dreaming. When you are aware you are dreaming, it is called Lucid Dreaming. Once you realize you are dreaming, you can do many impossible things, you can wish for something to appear or happen. Next time you are in that attic, pinch yourself. Then imagine the monster is killed.”

Johnny closed his eyes, the darkness settled around him, and his breathing slowed. There he was, in the attic again. Then the noise of the door bashing open. Johnny pinched his arm. Nothing. The door in front of him flew and the monster appeared. Before he knew it, a revolver was in his hand. It took a step forward, coming closer and closer. Johnny let out a shot, and then a second, and two more. He fired one more round, just before the monster grabbed his neck, piercing right between its eyes. It collapsed right then and there. “Awake. Wake up. WAKE UP!” He screamed.

It was dark. Very dark. His watch read eight in the morning, but it was too dark. Then it came to him; he wasn't in his bed. Not even in his house. The ceiling was made of wood, as were the walls and the floor. BANG! Johnny pinched himself again, but he felt it this time. When Johnny died, the last thing he saw were those red eyes, piercing into his brain, and telling him, “I have won.”