"Drea!"
I opened my eyes and watched my older sister, Mickey, roll over in bed in the dark room. Well, it wasn't all dark. The orange streetlamp light was filtering in through the blinds, coating her in a kind of yellowish aura. For a moment, I let myself believe that she was a monster in the dark, but the seriousness in her voice got to me.
"Turn that music down, please!" Mickey grumbled. "The neighbors down the street could hear you! And why are you listening to that?"
She was referring to the low soundtrack music I had on my MP3. See, most people fell asleep listening to classical or to their loud rock. Me, because I tended to have a vivid imagination, I listened to soundtrack- swelling epic; low, romantic, heartfelt notes; even the heart-pounding, blood-chilling sounds of horror. I was strange that way. As a teenager who somewhat enjoyed that genre in books and cinema, I liked the feeling that that kind of music gave me. It was stirring to the imagination, and left my heart beating faster, but still steadily. I knew, of course, that none of it was real, but it was fun, and that's what I mean by "stirring to the imagination".
So instead of answering Mickey, I shut my eyes again and just turned the volume wheel on the MP3 to a slightly lower volume. That was my way of telling her "I'm willing to listen, but I might not ever do so again unless you agree to watch a horror movie that I pick out". And indeed, she didn't say another word to me. Slowly, I felt myself slipping away into dreamland under the careful influence of the music in my ears, not feeling anything but the wakefulness leaving me like drying water on a summer afternoon.
One thing I can tell you is that it's easy to enter dreams. And no matter what kind they are, they always start out interesting, maybe fun. That's because it's our very own world where anything can happen, and when we are hit by the subject of the night's dreams, that's when the fun- or nightmare- begins. The hard part becomes escape when you know that you won't like it.
But why dreams are fun and interesting didn't concern me as I stepped into this new dream. It didn't look much different from the room Mickey and I shared inside our family's lake house. She was asleep in her own bed, the sky blue comforter rustled and messy under her legs. Her chest rose and fell, dreaming her own dreams I was sure. But I was suddenly pulled along by some otherworldly force, unsure where I was going.
I arrived out on the landing, colored with a dark blue carpet. It was huge, but held lots more than just the ancient carpet. Along the lost straight ahead of me, a large bookshelf stretched the wall to the window. In the daytime, I'd be able to see the lake; but tonight, there was nothing but a blank canvas of black. The window creaked with the wind outside, but now I was looking right ahead at…nothing.
I knew this kind of feeling in a dream, where you are pulled along by whatever is happening inside your mind, not knowing what was coming. But somehow, there's always something foreboding about that sort of thing, no matter what kind of dream you're having. The unpredictability can be frightening, especially in this kind of atmosphere.
I was driven to the bookshelf, where, surprisingly, there was nothing except for one of my favorite toys from when I was little; a little white bunny dressed like a ballerina. Her fur was matted and yellowing in places, her tutu wrinkled. She sat on the very top shelf, where even I couldn't reach her. I wondered why she had been put up there; why she was there. Because I knew I always kept her on the shelf in the bedroom, she seemed to have appeared out of thin air. But, why her? Why there?
I jumped when suddenly, a flash of light illuminated the shelf. In my peripheral vision, a bolt jumped across the sky in furious contrast with the black-stitch smile of the bunny.
"What's going on?" I asked, craning my head upward. It was here I noticed something different. Was I always this short, compared to the bookshelf? The shelf was tall, but it actually looked a few inches taller. Half a foot, maybe. Or, a whole two feet.
It seemed to be a whole skyscraper to me now, the bunny peering down at me with black button eyes as boundless as an ocean, glinting in the lightning from above. Somehow, I became mesmerized in those eyes, catching details I never noticed before. I saw both light and darkness, growing in all colors and sights and sounds seen and unseen. Inexplicably, my heart sped up, just like when I listened to my music.
Except, I didn't feel lighthearted fun creeping into me.
Fear…Numbness in every limb…Heart giving into the something reflected in those boundless, bottomless eyes…
A cry pierced the wave of emotions pouring into me, and I felt a knife at my throat. Afraid to open my eyes, I just listened to a voice.
"Evening, Drea. Long time, no see."
"Weren't you just…in the bedroom?" I asked, fear closing my throat.
"I go wherever you take me. In the bedroom. In the basement…"
A rush of air penetrated the flannel of my pajama shirt, and the sound of a furnace. The dank smell of cement filled my nose quickly.
The voice I heard, was at first high and feminine, like a little girl.
Just like how my voice sounded as I spoke to whatever monster was holding a knife to my throat…
But now, the monster's voice was growing deep and manly. I didn't want to open my eyes, but my fear was enough to make me scream. The knife made sure I didn't even breathe.
My bunny. It was standing over me, growing a mop of red hair, and its eyes turning a piercing blue. The pink tutu became a faded pair of overalls coated with symbols- hammers, hats, kids!
"How ya doin', sweetie?" The voice dripped with wicked sarcasm, like a laugh was on the rise. But the eyes proved otherwise. They glinted powerfully against the flash in the background. And then, he opened his mouth to expose two gapped front teeth, just like a little kid. The expression I saw then was so full of playful- real- malice, such wickedness packed in a small space, that my heart froze over, a scream caught in my throat, threatening to break free. I think that if looks could kill, in that instant, I'd be dead.
And that was a feeling too close for comfort, even in my dreams.