Case #65

by Professor Shion Zaiden

I had only worked sixty-four cases prior to this one, but already I felt experienced and qualified for the job. As befitting a profession where I hunt monsters, every case was its own unique brand of horror, but over time I got used to the tension and suspense that came with the job.

Specifically, I hunt Nightmares, parasitic Grimm that possess their host, putting them in a coma while syphoning off their Aura in order to fester and grow. The victim is stuck in a perpetual dream state, where their mind is ravaged by their fears and trauma. If left long enough, the Nightmare will have its fill of their soul and vacate, leaving behind an empty husk. The only way to fight this infestation is to send others, those who are close with the victim. into the dream via my Semblance so they may defeat the Grimm from the inside and cause it to vacate the body, where I can then capture it.

As stated before, sixty-four of these cases had occurred in my time wandering Remnant, and only a handful of them were unfortunately unsuccessful. I will admit I had an inflated sense of ego and purpose after a while, believing that, despite earlier failures, I was truly special in my abilities and that people would be safe while I was around.

That was until I received word of Nightmares spotted in the woods outside of the slums of Mistral. I was already in the area visiting colleagues, so I opted to check in on the reports. I did indeed find a few wild Nightmares in the woods, which I quickly captured and contained. It was not until I went into the slums that I heard of a possible case of possession. Using word of mouth and some helpful directions, I was able to track down where the victim was supposedly located. It was a building befitting of the Mistral slums, barely a house but rather a collection of misplaced walls and floors connected crudely with stairs and halls. Graffiti lined the walls inside and out, prostitutes hounded me outside, and the walls and floors were cracked and dilapidated. Still, it did not matter to me what state the building was in or the position of those who inhabited it, I just knew a life could be in need of saving.

It did not take long for me to find it: a room with a red door. I knocked and a woman answered, clearly shaken. I explained who I was and what I did honestly, and asked if anyone she knew was experiencing symptoms. She immediately let me inside, and I saw the sight before me.

It was a child, presumably hers, laying on a worn mattress in the center of the room. He was likely no older than ten. His skin bore the thorn-like markings of a victim of Nightmare possession, including running along his snake-like tail. Unlike the other victims I had seen, however, this child was not lying calm. He had a pained expression frozen on his face, his hands gripped into petrified fists. Though he lay motionless, a cold sweat ran down his skin and soaked the mattress.

The woman explained that the boy had gone out wandering, and came back feeling ill. He lay down, then cried out in pain before falling comatose in his anguished state. I found this curious, as most victims do not experience any ill effects until the Nightmare takes control, and their bodies usually fall limp upon effect.

I explained to the woman what had to be done to save the boy's life. When I asked who was close enough to the child to go into his mind, she stated that she was the only person he knew and trusted. This woman was not the type to take up combating Grimm, even as a dream, but in my arrogance I instructed her and explained that she would be sent into the boy's dream. I thought that I could guide her to success, as I had done with so many others before.

She was reluctant, but finally agreed. I set her up and prepared my tools, instructing her how to use the tools she would obtain in the dream. She took a loving look at the child before I sent her in, and the process had begun.

As I looked upon the homely, poor woman and the miserable, young boy lying before me, I feared little. She contacted me immediately, and from inside the dream, she told me what she saw. As she spoke, I painted a mental image of what she described, and what she said began to unnerve me. She spoke of a pitch black ground, and red lights circling in the starless sky above. Bushes and hedges of sharp thorns lined her paths, and weapons of every kind were dug into the ground. Voices whispered hateful things, but no matter how hard she looked, she could not see where the voices came from. In the distance, she said she saw a red waterfall cascading off of a steep, sharp cliffside. I instructed her to arm herself with one of the swords and make her way to the waterfall. I told her not to worry, as I would guide her through. I told her that Nightmares are only powerful if the victim has a strong Aura, and due to the boy's age, his Aura was likely weak enough to make the task simple for her.

When the communication ended I waited, but soon got another call. The woman told me she had gotten closer, but her voice was trembling. She said the waterfall was actually blood, pooling into a dark crater lined with thorns. The red lights in the sky seemed to follow her to her destination, and among the whispers she could now hear unnatural chittering and what sounded like Grimm. I instructed her to cut away the thorns surrounding the crater with her blade.

After the communication ended again, I watched the boy. I was caught by surprise when he moved. No other victim had moved. He spasmed in place, the thorn-like markings growing denser, as if invisible binds had just tightened around his arms and body. I rushed to the boy's side to check on his body had stopped moving, his mouth was in motion, uttering silent words I could not make out. This case was different than any other before it, and I was beginning to show concern for the mission's success. I stood at the ready, preparing to pull the woman out if she proved to be in danger.

My fears worsened when I got one more call, the woman's voice shaking so badly she could barely speak. She said she saw the boy, naked and covered in bleeding gashes and wounds, lying at the bottom of the pool of blood, though not drowning. The lights in the sky grew brighter, and she could hear the laughter of wicked men and women all around her. She said that when she approached, the boy's eyes had opened. Under the blood, she could see them. When I asked her to elaborate on what they looked like, she began to cry. In between her sobs, she said she refused to. She said they simply made her afraid. I decided at that moment that the situation was far more dangerous than I could have predicted, and told the woman I was pulling her out, and that preparations would be made to send someone else in. Who I do not know; I was simply saying it to comfort her.

However, comfort was not what she next experienced. She suddenly gasped, and in between her crying, she said she saw the boy rise from the blood. Her trembling only grew as she said the eyes were looking at her. The she screamed. It was the worst sound I have ever heard in my life. It chilled my bones and curdled my blood. Her scream was cut off, and before I could do anything, I saw her body spasm once before going limp, blood leaking from her mouth. When I tried to pull her out of the dream, there was no response. There was nothing to pull out. Her mind and soul were gone. She was dead.

I began to panic. I saw the boy lurch and squirm, then let out a scream. It was a child's scream, but was tainted with unnatural noises and squeals. Suddenly the boy, still possessed, began clawing at the bands I had over his eyes. I rushed to restrain him, but he pulled them off, along with pieces of skin as he savagely slashed and clawed at his face. As I tried to stop him, I saw, just briefly, his eyes. It is a sight I hope never to see again.

The boy let out one more hellish scream, then fell limp and bleeding down. The thorny markings suddenly vanished from his body as his Aura flickered once. A spectral hole opened in his chest, as with all victims when the Nightmare chooses or is forced to leave. I reached for my Dream Catcher, but was dumbfounded by what I saw next.

A single Nightmare did not come out. It was two. Then three. Then four. Then, before my eyes, a swarm of a dozen or more Grimm came flying from the boy's corpse, more powerful than when they had entered. They were a legion, and they were many. They must have sensed my power, because they made no attempt to attack me, but instead burst from a window and out into the world, passing over the slums and back out into the woods.

I sat in terror in the room, my only company two bodies, bodies of those I had failed to protect. A fear like that changed me. I was never the same.

Even after all these years, even after the dead were put to rest, I never forget what happened. And ever since then, regardless of who is possessed or what the circumstances are, I always fear and use the utmost caution. My pride and arrogance are things of the past. My humility was hard-earned. I had to witness true horror to understand what I do can never be taken for granted. I have never seen a possession by multiple Nightmares, nor the same symptoms, ever again.

And I never saw those eyes again either.

Ozpin's Notes

When I was compiling this collection and asked my trusted colleges for scary stories, the one I received from Professor Shion Zaiden, a Nightmare Hunter, was not a traditional tall tale, campfire story, or dark legend, but rather a true account of one of their experiences. Though I initially thought not to include it because of this, I realized that this collection would actually be the ideal place to record it. As I have discussed with students and colleges alike, stories, even ones that are clearly fictional, have their roots in truths or even beliefs. Something real had to inspire a person to create a story, whether it be anything from a real-life experience to a stain on a napkin. Truth lies in even the most fantastical of tales. That is why I chose to include this true account in this collection: while it may not be a fable known worldwide or an ancient warning passed down for generations, it is an example of a truth that one day may become a work of fiction. It is a story that, as time passes and our cultures and understanding evolve, may translate to a cautionary tale or a piece of folklore. I also chose to include it because it is an example of how terror is not contained to the pages of our stories. There are terrible things in this world, horrors we cannot explain or prevent, and it is only through understanding that can we prepare ourselves to face them.