(a/n) Howdy-do, my wonderful readers! So, I've noticed that my last stories have had quite a few if not spelling errors, then just parts where I wasn't paying attention enough to realize I was typing the wrong word or phrase. So sorry to those of you who read it. So I've made a vow to myself that I will thoroughly proof read everything before posting it, because that's one of my pet peeves. So yea. Enjoy!
Prologue
For most people, nightmares start in early childhood. And for most people, they stop a few years later. There are a fortunate few that don't have nightmares, or don't remember if they do. But for every yin there is a yang – that is to say, for each extreme there is an equal opposite – and so for an equal number of unfortunate few, the nightmares don't ever go away. For those that have them their whole lives, it feels like a descent into madness, slowly engulfing their lives, affecting every decision they make. What to eat and what not to; it might affect how they dream later. What to watch on tv, where to go and when, what to read, what to do with friends, who to hang out with. The simplest conclusion, you would think, is to not sleep at all, and you would be, for the most part, right.
It doesn't always work like that.
Ferb had his first night terror when he was four years old. Though he never actually remembered any of them, he could always remember an irrational sense of utter terror surrounding each one of them, hence the term "night terror." It always scared his family too; the first time he had one, his parents had nearly called 911. Even after they had learned it was just a nightmare, they had let him sleep in their bed (something he was never allowed to do) that night and the next. When they had continued, they took him to a doctor, who determined it was something he would just have to grow out of. And, for the most the doctor was right.
They still happened sometimes, though. Ferb had long since stopped screaming – his quiet nature had allowed for that – and instead woke up in a cold sweat, so terrified he could barely breathe. He could feel the last shadows of the nightmare clinging to his skin, stifling him with freezing cold, making him feel entirely claustrophobic. The darkness was tangible in these moments, filling every hole, pinning him to the bed, laughing mockingly into his ear. Phineas couldn't ever hear the darkness laughing, and even if he could he would sleep through it, but Ferb could. Ferb always could. It would break off into tiny chunks and slither like ice cubes into his stomach and lungs, suffocating him until the ice melted and he silently cried it out, or sweat it, or urinated. Sometimes it wouldn't melt, instead sitting in his stomach long enough to make him sick, and he would have to get rid of it another way.
They were getting harder and harder to expel, however, and there were some nights he would simply lie in bed, gasping for breath, too terrified to cry, too frightened to get up and be sick, until Perry noticed and came over to snuggle. Only then would Ferb be able to sleep again peacefully.
The idea always scared him, though, and he began to sleep less and less, figuring that if he built up his sleep-depravity, it wouldn't affect him and nobody would notice. He hoped that was how it would work, anyway. Deep down, he knew better, but every time he started to think about that, he pushed it down. He didn't care. He just wanted the nightmares to end. And he would make them.
One way or another.
(a/n) I know it's very short, but it's just a prologue, after all, so be patient. Thanks!