Those are the worst moments. The 27 minutes it takes to calm you pounding heart as it tries to beat clear out of your chest.
The heart pounding terror
The blood curdling evil
You came face to face with it
You battled it in your dream
You wake up, pajamas and sheets soaked through, blankets tangled and there's no relief that it was only a dream, there's only the wish it had been just a dream.
The only relief is that you're alone, that the one person you desire most isn't here for this. You couldn't bear him seeing you like this or having to pretend he could help.
His closeness wouldn't calm your heart, flailing in your chest as if throwing itself against a cage. Rubbing your back, soothing, would ultimately, inevitably, lull you to sleep - delivering you straight into the hands of evil.
These aren't dreams, not real ones. Dreams are of summer days, weddings, babies, family; vague details, nothing clear except for the feelings. If these were real dreams you would wake up with your heart pounding with excitement, joy and good feelings. That's what real dreams are, your hearts wishes wrapped up safely love and happiness – everything exquisite and good.
No, these are not dreams. If they were you wouldn't be able to lock eyes with the person coming for you, you wouldn't be able to read the terror rolling off them in waves just waiting to crash into you. You wouldn't wake up alert as if it were morning, instead of 2am.
Regular dreams are radiating with warmth and gossamer light that give everything a golden glow. You can't see the grooms face clearly but you feel; soft hands, safety, security, love. You smell; the outdoors mingling with strength and familiarity - his cologne, him. You're happy; light and free.
The last moments of real dreams are picture perfect, you remember the finest details and are delivered into wakefulness softly so that you can revel in the dream, searching back to remember it from the beginning. To picture how such perfection would unfold, to roll and stretch awake within the loveliness. And as the real dream fades away you would be left with the feelings to hold onto and carry with you into your day.
No. These aren't real dreams. They are real. The person coming at you with hatred in their eyes exists. You know the seriousness and intensity of their gaze when they come at you with a knife. You feel when they cut you in an ally. The terror is real when they slash the knife through the air. It's real when they stare you down through the barrel of a rifle across a great lawn. You touch the mottled skin on your chest, it's real. You can see the almost smirk when they lie in wait to attack you. It's real.
You wake up muscles tight, aching from the strain. Throat hoarse, you were begging for mercy, help, for them to stop, even when you knew it would do no good. The knife kept cutting through the air, the rifle remained aimed at the target. You. And you can never get away fast enough.
The fury in their eyes, you put that there. You weren't supposed to survive but you did and now they're coming for you.
It's better that he's not here otherwise the blood would be his and that you could not handle.
The cabin settles in the dark and you flick on the light, accept that sleep is lost to you now, and reach for the only thing that will calm you. His words on the page give you comfort and the spaces between give you room to breathe.