I decided to take the easy way out tonight and throw up a snippet of something that’s been wandering around my mind for a while now. Like my other stories (as opposed to the ramdom dribbles on this site) it’s a little bit darker but it fits well into the nightmare theme as does the rest of the story.

Nightmare : An exert from an as yet unamed novella.

 

The three headed, six legged creature slowly crept out of the cupboard and inched towards the bed. Despite being covered in wiry black hair, visible veins could still be seen slowly pulsating below the surface of a bulbous beach ball sized body. Each gangly leg had two opposing knee joints located at different points and there appeared to be no knee caps. Each foot looked like that of a small horse yet none of them made more than a slight scuffing noise as they padded across the parquetry floor.

Its three heads ranged in size from that of a tennis ball to that of a basket ball and not one of them had a redeeming feature. Each of its twelve blue eyes  appeared blood shot and only seconds away from exploding and there was a single flap of skin that moved up from the bottom of the eye ball that covered each eye, but the creature rarely seemed to blink. There appeared to be no distinguishable nose on any of the faces and ears seemed to be nothing more than small black holes towards the rear of the head. An orange gelatinous goop dribbled downward from the left hand corner of all three mouths and jagged broken teeth could be seen each time a mouth was open, which was all the time.

That was the image that haunted my dreams when I was eleven years old, obviously the monster wasn’t real but try telling that to an eleven year old boy who woke up to the same image every night. When the dreams started I would often wake screaming, sometimes uncontrollably, my pyjamas would be drenched in sweat and my sheets would be strewn across the bed as if they’d be spat out of the washing machine and landed in a heap on top of the mattress.

To my parents credit they diligently ran in every night of the first year when they heard my harrowing screams but after twelve months even they stopped rushing in, and who could blame them, after twelve months it seemed like I wasn’t in any danger from my dream and more often than not I’d simply slip back off to sleep without even saying a word to them. That’s right, even at the age of eleven I knew that my bad dreams couldn’t hurt me, what I had to learn was how to stop them.