Regression

“Thank you, two sugars would be great.” The young girl said smiling, perched upon the end of a large boot the same size as a house.

An old woman dressed in an apron brewed the tea. Smoke was rising, from the boot house, which was surrounded by trees, inside a beautiful meadow, where the sun was just about to set, after a wonderful Spring day.

For a woman with many children, she didn’t look frazzled, her hair was always in place. The old lady took two dainty teacups, and poured the freshly brewed tea, it trickled like a waterfall.

“Looks lovely.” The young woman sniffed, lifting the tea leaves up to her nose.

They sat side by side, enjoying the view. The trees gently swayed, the glistening lake just a few meters away, the call of the birds humming. This was paradise. They sat in perfect silence, there was nothing to be said, it was time to sit back, listening to the sounds of nature, sipping tea, whilst sat upon a large boot.

“Your eyeballs are falling out.” The old lady turned to her and mumbled.

The teacup stopped before the girl could drip another drop. She felt her eyeball run down her cheek, her vision hazy. The girl tried to mop the excess as best as she could, but now both of her eyeballs were running down her cheekbones. The girl panicked jumping to her feet, she watched the old lady’s face change in an instant. With one eye still firmly stuck inside her socket, and the other dangling, the young woman struggled to see, however, in that moment, the air changed. The boot began to crumble, falling like rocks, the glistening lake turned sour, there was a smell of rotting rubbish which made her gag. The forest leaves rattled, as the wind picked up. The birds, once softly singing their lullabies, now darted in the skies, swooping, and attacking, crying in despair. As though the apocalypse itself had come, everything had changed.

“You are doomed.” Standing in front of her, the old lady who lived in a shoe, screamed out. Something unearthly had now taken her place.

All that was good had gone. Eyeballs trailing down her bloodied face, that she had scraped off with her bare hands. Skin flaps hung from her arms and legs, her dress and apron disintegrated, burnt, and torn. The horrifying sound as she cackled, echoed around the once calm meadow. Her now empty eye sockets, dead to the world, were the last things the young woman saw…

The sound of the neighbour’s hammer banging on the wall, woke Emily with a start. Startled and shivering with sweat, she turned to her phone, which was now vibrating, 7.15 am.

As if she had been in a shower, Emily was soaked. Every inch of her pjs and the right side of her pillow, was soaking wet. It was a good job it was today. Emily couldn’t stand another night of this.

There was a muddy mark, stained into the cheap linoleum flooring of the Doctor’s surgery. Emily couldn’t keep her eyes off it. She stared at the mark until she heard her name called out in the distance. Miles away, Emily rose to her feet and followed the doctor into the room.

“Hello, take a seat, what can I do for you today?”

Emily, mind focused elsewhere, took a seat directly opposite Dr. Levin, a woman a little younger than herself.

“Did you know there’s a mud mark in reception.” Emily said finally, taking in her surroundings.

“Excuse me?”

“In the waiting area, there’s a patch of dirt on the floor.”

“Right… I’ll let reception know later. Now, what can I do for you today?”

Emily, her mind all fuzzy, froze. She had just been whittling on about dirt on the floor, something as inconsequential as that, when she had been waiting months for this appointment. She laughed nervously, scratching her brow.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that I’ve not been getting enough sleep, it must be getting to me.”

“And this is the problem you’re having, correct?”

Emily nodded, squirming around in her seat. “I’ve not been able to sleep at all or at least not as much as I was. These nightmares, night after night.”

The doctor, who was now typing on the keyboard, faced away from her, nodded.

“I see. You say they started a few months ago?”

“Yes, out of the blue really, I mean, I had night terrors as a child, I’ve been scared of the dark, things like that, but nothing so vivid.”

Doctor Levin nodded and began to type some more, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts, watching her legs dangle off the floor.

“Okay then…” She finally said, spinning around in her chair. “I’m going to prescribe you some sleeping tablets. If nothing improves within a month, call back.”

“Wait?” Spoke Emily, straightening up. “That’s it? You’re just going to prescribe me some pills? I thought I was going to be referred to a clinic or something, CBT or whatever they do nowadays. This can’t be fixed by just popping some tablets every night!”

The doctor sighed and wheeled towards her, looking at her carefully. “I’m sorry this isn’t the outcome you were hoping for, but there’s just too many waiting lists, we haven’t the facilities.”

Emily huffed. It was pointless to argue, she’d just get herself into trouble if she caused a commotion.

“I’ll have this printed out and you can be on your way.” Doctor Levin handed the prescription over, leaning into her before she left. “Bye, sorry I couldn’t be much help.”

Midnight. Her flat was silent. No noisy neighbours with music or decorating. She could finally get some sleep. Emily sat upon her bed, breaking the seal of the Pharmacy bag, glaring at the pocket sized, candy tablets. She shook her head, before popping two into her mouth, swallowing them down with a glass of water. Lying down, after looking up at the ceiling for a few moments, Emily turned the lamp off.

3am and she hadn’t gone to sleep yet. In the darkness she counted the streetlamps shining outside her window. Five. Five lamps casting shadows on the road. Unfortunately for her, she found herself drifting off, bored from counting. However, she was scared that if she slept, the cycle would start again.

Emily found herself sat at a table, set out for an afternoon tea. The table stretched all the way down the meadow, her feet were being tickled by buttercups. The afternoon sun beat down, not so hot that her skin would burn, but a nice warm feeling. Every chair was empty, apart from at the very head of the table, there sat a little boy, Jack Horner. An entire Christmas pie sat upon the laid-out table. Before the boy could eat, knife and fork at the ready, he spotted Emily at the other end watching him.

Emily walked towards him and pulled up a chair. She could now smell how tasty the pie was, the juices buttering out.

“Would you like a piece?” Jack asked, pointing with his cutlery.

Her mouth watered. She couldn’t refuse. Jack Horner scooped a piece out and carefully balanced it on a China plate.

“Dig in, it’s good!”

Emily nodded, reaching for a large spoon that appeared in front of her, and starting to eat.

The juices oozed out. However, the more she ate, the stranger the taste became. Glancing at Jack for a moment, she exclaimed. The little boy was chewing down on what resembled spleens and blood. Emily leapt from her seat, pushing the pie away from her. The one bite she had eaten, felt as if it was crawling inside her. The pie wriggled, bits of spleen and body pieces gushed out. Her mouth overrun by blood that kept appearing.

“Make it stop!” She cried, brushing the contents out, but no matter how hard she tried, the gore poured from her mouth.

Jack Horner sat at the head of the table, gorging on heart, lungs, and other bodily organs. His face gleaming, cackling with joy, his mouth overflowing, the more he laughed manically.

“There’s blood in your mouth.” The little boy kept repeating.

The buttercups grabbed hold of her ankles, holding them tightly, forcing her to the ground, where red gushed out. Flooded, Emily couldn’t breathe, she struggled to grab hold of one of the chair legs, which had broken in the chaos. Emily screamed at the top of her lungs.

“You are doomed!” Jack called out, pulling at his skin.

One moment Emily hung onto the side of the table, sinking, the next she was sinking herself down into the depths of the darkness.

Emily woke pouring with sweat. Desperately trying to get her breath back, she lay in her bed. The alarm from her phone jingled. It was 9.25am, no better time to get up. Emily wasn’t hungry. She had lost her appetite, but despite this, she was determined to find answers. If the professionals couldn’t help her, she’d have to help herself.

With her laptop open on Google, she began to search. Since her nightmares had begun, a nursery rhyme in some sort of way, was always mentioned, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

It was on Google Books that Emily came across “The Big Book Of Nursery Rhymes.” Every story contained a character she had encountered.

Little Red Riding Hood, she served her the wolf as an appetiser. The Three Little Pigs, all got roasted in front of her. Billy Goats Gruff, he turned into a minotaur in front of her eyes, that was the most traumatic. Lastly, The Old Lady Who Lived in the Shoe, who had pulled her own eyes out, and now Jack Horner eating body parts in a pie…

All harmless children’s stories to begin with, all calm and peaceful, that ended up in bloody ends. Emily knew most rhymes and stories from that time, originated in gruesome ways, but for her brain to switch so suddenly.

With heavy eyes, Emily found herself sinking into her desk chair, her face flattened on the table. She was now standing in the meadow she had come to recognise, surrounded by characters she made met. Something felt different. They all stood, looming over a long dining table, set out for an afternoon tea. There were no chairs to sit on. Red Riding Hood, Jack Horner, The Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe, the Three Little Piglets, all bowing as if praying. At the head of the table, stood a familiar girl, carrying a lamb in her arms, all dressed in white.

“Mary had a little lamb.” Emily said out loud, shocked that she could speak freely, as if reality met with her conscious mind.

This was not just a girl from a nursery rhyme, but the image of herself as a child.

“Emily?” She whispered down the table, her voice carried by the wind.

Silent and completely still, this world seemed empty. The flowers by her feet felt fuzzy. As though her eyes couldn’t focus, the trees and bushes. The water further away, merged like paint. Her younger self laughed and raced off, the lamb strapped to her, and when Emily began chasing after her, the nursery rhyme characters watched in unison as if in a trance.

The daisies that grew in the field tickled her, while she caught up to her younger self. Like lightening, the girl sped through the meadow, Emily far away in the distance. This was a part of her dream not explored, anything could happen here. A large tree stood in the centre around yellow corn fields. There, Emily’s younger self waited, resting her back on the tree trunk petting her lamb. Tired and frustrated, Emily caught up. Even in her dream, her heartbeat faster. She took a seat next to the young girl. Undisturbed, they sat in each other’s company for a few moments, watching the nursery rhyme characters eat and drink from far away.

“Why are you here?” Emily asked, turning to face the girl. “Is this all your doing?”

Emily remembered how shy and under confident she was at that age. A child with a vivid imagination, with a childhood ripped away too soon.

She nodded, burying the sheep’s fur in her head. Forcefully, but not too roughly, Emily pulled the wool away revealing the face she once knew.

“Why this? Why now?” She asked again, in a gentler tone.

The young girl stared out into the distance, at the world she had created and spoke.

“You are doomed.” Her voice shook as she said it.

“But what does that mean?”

The younger version swallowed and took a deep breath in, ready to jump to her feet and race off, before Emily caught the end of her dress, a pretty pink ribbon holding everything together, it came undone.

Emily woke to the sound of knocking, her eyelids stuck to her iris. She rubbed her eyes to find small hands attached to her body. An environment she thought she’d never return to; a place she had thought she had buried. Emily found herself lying in a tiny wooden bed with a book sprawled open. “The Big Book Of Nursery Rhymes.” Emily knew the smell of this place anywhere. St. Mary’s Institute for Children made the horrors in her dreams beg for mercy.

“Get up girls! Let’s start the morning off well, shall we?” The booming voice of Mrs. Levin echoed.