Beyond the Veil

It always starts the same, the beginning is the end.

This time, I’m standing in a subway station. Everything is still and muted, unlike the subway I’m used to. I look around, my suspicions confirmed, I am completely alone.

I don’t know why, but I’m crying. I try to speak, but the sounds come out muffled and warped. The sound of my cries masked by distorted noises that echo through the quiet station.

Then I hear a ringing. The sound is crisp, reverberating through the industrial greyness. I locate the phone easily, as if I’ve been here before. Have I?

The ringing is coming from an outdated payphone booth in a back corner, near the stairwell. I reach to answer, with the dreadful feeling of not wanting to answer, but knowing somehow that I must. On the other line, the sound of breathing. Deep, staggered breathing. The kind you hear when someone near you is lost in unreachable sleep. This goes on for what seems to be eternity, until the phone slips languidly from my fingers, as I hear it, that familiar haunting sound.

A deep rumbling coming from the depths of the earth, and a high-pitched screeching from the sky. Both noises combining to form a monstrous orchestra of unknown origins. A looming, formidable sound, unable to be placed. I don’t know what it is, or where it’s coming from. Just the feeling of whirling blackness, sickened gut, heavy breathing.

Then I sense that something evil has entered this space of great emptiness. An entity lurking somewhere near my periphery just out of sight. I can’t force myself to face this intruder that has crept up behind me. Though something deep within compels me to turn around.

Suddenly, as if clockwork, a nearby train sounds. My options are limited, but I refuse to face the unholy thing that haunts me. So in blind panic, I jump into the looming headlights of the approaching train.

________________________________________

That’s when I wake up. The same dream that’s been haunting me that past year. It’s never the same, but it’s always the same. Sometimes I’m on a boat, or in a field. My cell phone or a landline rings, and I either jump in freezing water, or run until my lungs give out to escape from that thing. Whatever that thing is, that I can’t seem to turn around and face.

Later that day I’m at the community health center hoping for a remedy to these dreams. These nightmares have disrupted my sleep schedule so often, I was written up for napping at work. The young doctor looked older than her face revealed, and didn’t seem phased by my harrowing dreams.

“There’s nothing I can prescribe to take away your chronic nightmares.” She said flatly. My face dims, unable to comprehend that I may be dealing with this issue forever.

“I would suggest seeking a therapist who could help you understand the meaning of your dream, or maybe keeping a dream journal to track when they occur. It could be something you’re eating, or alcohol. Do you drink regularly?” She raised her eyebrows accusingly.

I thank her, and space out for the remaining formalities. I don’t know why I bothered, nothing seems to work, and every time I seek out help I’m disappointed. I leave the office defeated.

Walking home, I almost reach my apartment when something catches my eye. It’s a shop that looks to have been around a long time, yet I’ve never noticed it. The sign is a decrepit wooden moon with the words, ‘Sister Cecilia Divinations” written in whimsical aquamarine. In almost dreamlike trance, I’m urged to go inside.

As I open the door, I’m assaulted by the strong scent of incense, and I hear soft foreign music piping in the background. No tinkling doorbell, yet a voice from the darkened room whispers,

“Come here dear child, do not be nervous.”

I approach the voice, this must be Sister Cecilia. I can barely make her out in the dim room; she’s wearing a dark, silky veil that obscures a portion of her face. The main source of light is coming from a large deity candle in the shaded window behind her.

“Have a seat darling, for I know what ails you.” She said.

I’m skeptical, but willing to try anything at this point, and something is telling me she can help with my nightmares. The tablecloth is a luscious crimson adorned with little tea lights, an unusual deck of cards, and what appears to be a crystal ball. She picks up the deck.

“These are Tarot, they will help me see into your mind.” She places the deck in front of me.

“Place your hands upon the deck, and envision the answers you seek.”

I do as she says, focusing intently on the cause of my nightmares, and more importantly how to make them stop. I lift my hands from the deck and she slides them away and begins shuffling so naturally I can’t tell where her hands end and the deck begins. She pulls three cards from the deck and places them in front of me.

“I sense that something is troubling you beyond the veil.” She said.

“Beyond the veil?” I asked, confused.

“Yes, something not in the waking world, perhaps your dreams?

My eyes light up, but I don’t want to give too much away. I’m afraid of believing this might actually help. She begins to explain the cards.

“This is the Tower card. It represents your present. The lightning symbolizes great energy flowing from the heavens, bringing great change. But, be weary, there can be grave dangers disguised. The Wheel of Fortune is in your future, but it is reversed. There is a cycle that needs to be broken…but it may be too late. The Wheel of Fortune holds destiny in its palm.” Suddenly she grips my hand, and stares intently at my own palm.

“What is it you seek?” She said wearily.

“I just want my nightmares to end, that’s all I want.” I said, exasperated.

“Be careful what you wish for, my dear.” She whispered menacingly, as she dropped my hand.

I pay the woman, and she gives me a candle. Similar to the candle in the window. She tells me to rub the candle with olive oil, and light it before I go to sleep.

“This candle will give you power to act with free will in the dream world.”

She also suggested I try something I haven’t done before. Face my fears. So tonight, instead of running from that ominous creature, I will turn around and face it.

_______________________________________

Finally, it’s time for bed. It took a while to get sleepy. I’m so nervous that if this doesn’t work I’ll be completely out of options. The dreams feel so real, I just can’t imagine a psychiatrist, or a dream journal helping. I take the candle from Sister Cecilia and place it on my windowsill. Before lighting, I anoint the candle by rubbing some olive oil around the base. I tuck myself in, and drift off to sleep almost immediately.

It is happening again.

I’m in an old cemetery. It’s eerily dark, the moon obscured by clouds, yet I can still make out the scene in perfect detail. The gravestones look ancient, some are tipped over, and others have big chunks missing. Beyond the rustic gate is a looming forest. I hear a low chorus of summer insects coming from the depths of those woods. I appear to be alone, except for the buried bodies beneath my feet. The tears start again, but I’m not bawling. Just little tears silently flowing down my cheek.

Then the ringing, coming from my cellphone this time, a familiar ringtone. I answer the call, and place the phone to my ear. Slow, heavy breathing. Like always. Then, for the first time I realize that it is the sound of my own breathing in real life. I feel a newfound sense of control, as if I’m awake inside my own dream. And the phone seems to be a portal connecting my dream-self to my sleeping-self. The dream world already seems less frightening now that I’m aware of my surroundings. But I know I must complete the dream to rid myself of the plaguing nightmares.

The insects’ song rises into a deafening crescendo, the familiarity of the dream apparent in my lucid state. I know what comes next. From behind me, I hear the rusted cemetery gate creak open. I sense that something has slowly crept up behind me, and although I know what I must do, I’m still afraid.

I take a deep breath and turn around.

It’s me.

This is what I’ve been fearing all along, to turn around and face myself. I can’t articulate the horrid monster that I thought skulked behind my back. It’s a relief to see my own face instead.

Well a version of myself, actually more polished than I am, and smiling. Or is that a smirk?

My doppelganger walks towards me, closer, and closer. Then she walks into me, through me, inside of me. I feel a sense of completion, an inner relief, finally!

Calm spreads over me, as I stir back into peaceful sleep.

________________________________________

It’s been a week and so far, no more nightmares! It’s refreshing to have eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Yet, I was tucked away in those dreams for so long, I wouldn’t mind a bit of insomnia. It feels so good to stretch my legs in the waking world again, although I forgot how bright it gets here. I hope my Other will enjoy her time beyond the veil.