Cavity

Her fingernails scrape my thighs as she tries to hold herself up, hooking her fingers to my leg for support. A guttural moan slips out; drawn as she arches her back, eliciting a chorus of ear splitting pops and cracks the further she goes. With a free hand she grips her jaw, moaning and screeching as she continues to twist and turn, disregarding her breaking bones as she does so. I consider kneeling down, and maybe trying to un-twist her myself; but instead I just watch as she writhes on the floor, my friend cradles her crooked head and neck.

In my shock I had forgotten I was supposed to have been placing a call. The phone still sits in my hand, the cord winding round my wrist. It’s pale blue complexion stands out in a room full of deep browns and reds. Walls are lined with false wood; some of it peeling off and down where framed photos of different people are strewn about, some dangling by the nail that can barely hold them up.

“Hello?” Putting the phone to my ear results in nothing but a broken dial tone, prompting me to hang up. “There’s no one there.”

“There’s never anyone there,” My friend— who I suddenly can’t seem to recognize — snaps, “We have to take care of ourselves, now.” He glances down at the crooked girl in his lap, holding her broken arm in his hands, before snapping it back into the correct position. She doesn’t respond to the crack the way I do; I wince, and she remains still. There’s a moment of silence before he stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. “She’s gone.” His eyes are locked on me, and I can see the accusatory look on his face.

“I...I-I didn’t think she was that bad. I thought we had time, I thought if we came in here we’d be fine. If…we-” While I want to apologize, throw myself to the ground and try CPR, something new strikes a chord; pinpricks, which nibble at my heels, a feeling I have always described as the physicality of TV static. What were once numb patches of skin are now beginning to feel the cold air blowing from the ventilation just above me. It’s almost as though I were under a trance, and suddenly snapped out of it. Immediate panic flutters in my chest, and I find myself gasping underneath my breath.

What the hell is happening? How did I get here?

The tingling travels up my legs, shooting through my hips and up my sides, ending at my fingertips. Unaware I hadn’t felt it before, to suddenly feel my chest rise and fall, breathing again, and to hear my heartbeat again startles me. I can feel again. Really feel. I’m not just going through a set of predetermined motions I was programed to do so. And yet there’s this haze, which circles my vision, blurring the edges of what I can see. It’s this final tip that allows me to recognize what my situation – my real situation – is.

Oh. Right. This shit again.

If you have ever owned a VHS tape, you are well aware that if you put it in the VCR, not having rewound it, it’ll start where it was left off, in the middle of the story. Dreams function the way VHS tapes do, minus the ability to rewind to the beginning. Lucid dreams are much the same, except once aware, the dreamer breaks from their trance and becomes an unwilling participant in a nauseating and nonsensical "play" of sorts.

Shaken from realization, I lower myself down onto the conveniently placed chair directly beneath me, and I am now facing the door. The false wood has been replaced with glass windows, revealing the building to be a hospital. Blinding white lights, a staple of hospitals I despise, are absent, replaced instead with dull and dying yellow bulbs which cough colorless sparks every so often. They flicker, barely illuminating the hallway where they sit. There are no nurses and there are no doctors, although some tools seem to be scattered around the floor, along with shreds of fabric, knocked over gurneys, and pills plopped onto the linoleum as well.

Weight directly pushing on my thighs draws my eyes down to where a young girl has chosen my lap as her seat.

“We’re going to have to hide,” she whispers up to me, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt, “We don’t want to lose.”

“Lose what?”

“The game.” Her expression is judgmental, as if she had expected me to understand. “I don’t like it when he wins.”

“Wins what game? Who is he? Stop speaking in generalizations.” My facial features are sinking, brows furrowing in confusion as well as irritation. But my focus is lost when a sudden jolt violently shakes the room, and I quickly have to balance before the girl and I tumble to the floor. Instinctively I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Once the room has quit its shaking, it’s clear there’s been a significant change. Through the glass, I can see the interior of the hospital has shifted, the color of the walls bleed blue and the hallway has seemingly stretched in size, but the constant changing setting isn’t my main concern. A silhouette stands at what appears to be the end of the hall, illuminated by a single light behind them.

Based on body mass and size alone, I can tell that it’s a man, although the shape of his head is very strange. It’s long and misshapen, with four small stubs, two on each side of his head, and the tip seems to sag and flop over just a little. But based on body language; his stance, his shoulders dipping and lifting as he breathes slowly, tells me he doesn’t mean well.

With a final weak cough, the remaining light dies out completely, allowing darkness to swallow the hospital. The dull lighting in our room can only barely paint a reflection of us sitting and staring, my own image bouncing off of the black glass back to me.

There’s a bright flash as all of the lights come to life all at once, and through my blinded squinting, I can see the man is sauntering down the hall. His left arm extends towards the wall, his fingertips brush against the plaster just enough to leave streaks of brownish-red where his tips have touched. I can see he is dressed in all black, nearly void of outlines, nothing to distinguish part from part like he’s one black mass. But his misshapen head is clearly the result of his demented mask.

What was once a child’s toy, a fuzzy little bunny rabbit, has been thinly stretched over his head. The fabric of its back encircles his skin, lazily stitched shut in he back of his head so tufts of his hair jut out. Holes have been carved in its chest, most likely makeshift eye holes, but it’s clear he has painted dried blood around the rims; as though he were hoping to give the impression that this bunny had bled. Another crooked line was carved into its stomach, the same reddish-brown crust lining the lips of this crude mouth. There are teeth messily glued within the mouth, each one a different size, creating a scattered and broken smile. The bunny’s large beaded eyes glisten with moisture inanimate objects shouldn’t secrete, but they do, and they stare straight forward, the unnerving way most toys do. Its head flops around, as do its ears, with each step he takes. Its arms and legs flail along as well, and it’s very clear brown and red stains have tarnished once pure white fur.

My eyes dart around, frantic as my heart begins to beat faster and faster, anxiety building up in the pit of my stomach. The lights grow dim again, before they begin to violently flicker on and off in a nauseating strobe light display.

Such inconsistent flashes leave my eyes burning and watering. Rubbing them helps, only slightly, but between blinking rapidly and trying to re-focus, I make a startling realization. Everyone has seemingly disappeared, leaving me dumbfounded, as well as completely alone.

Leaving me dumbfounded, as well as leaving me easy prey for a predator.

“We can hide if we have to,” Someone says to the right of me. Instead of sitting in my lap, the girl is now standing a little to the right of me. “We can hide in there.” She points, at first I think at me. But a quick glance over my shoulder shows me a door, freshly placed within the dream, labeled ‘Bathroom.’

“This isn’t hide and seek, it’s avoid getting caught. Oh wait, fuck, that’s exactly what hide and seek is.” I’m surprised at how mean I sound, but this stressful situation is only heightened by the lack of doors in the room. It’s bathroom or certain doom. “Hiding is fine, we’re good with hiding.” Survival instincts kick in, giving me enough momentum to push both tables against the door, possibly buying extra time. Even after this, the girl still stands and watches me in silence. I know she isn’t real, but I’m compelled to keep this subconscious projection safe for sake of a clear conscience.

“Oh,” Grinding my teeth, I hold out a hand to her. “C’mon.” She takes it, allowing me to lead her inside the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind us. “Let’s hope that there’s a win-” A smile replaces my words as I turn, leaning against the door to scan the room, when I spot what I was looking for above the toilet. “Bingo.”

Gently moving her aside, I push past her and step up on to the toilet, balancing carefully as I begin to feel for a lock. My fingers find nothing, and instead hook themselves under the wood, pulling up. There’s a blast of cold air, and I let out a victory laugh, lowering myself and pushing with all of my strength until the window is fully open.

“You’ll go out first, and I’ll slip out after, okay?” I turn around, blinded by black until my eye re-adjust, focusing on the glowing moon up above me. The sky is littered with stars, also helping to light the darkness, allowing me to take in my new surroundings. I’m in some sort of backyard, a line of neatly trimmed hedges and bushes lining the yard from my right, all the way to my left, like a border.

A vibrato-filled scream, so loud I could swear someone was screaming directly in my ear, turns into a low hum, one that physically forces the ground to buzz with it. I don’t think twice; immediately charging towards the wall of bushes, sliding down onto my hands and knees as I try to push through the plants, crawling as fast as I can. The humming grows louder and louder, my eardrums pound against my skin in pain, but I can’t cover them now. The air itself is tingling, but the small branches and sharp teeth of the bushes bite me first. My clothes and hair get caught constantly, but with one full-force lunge, I break through, my hands gripping the dewy grass and pulling the rest of my body forward and through.

Before me is nothing but more grass, and an open field with seemingly no end before it. Behind me, the wall of bushes has grown in size, a wall that, based on the new layer of thorns, is impenetrable without tools. I roll onto my back, breathing heavily as I try to formulate a plan; my eyes scan the sky, which is now void of stars, home to only a lonely crescent moon.

Not too far from where I lay, someone is laughing to themselves; not just laughing, but singing and humming and oohing and making a variety of noises I can only describe as eerily charmed and gleeful. Someone giddy with excitement that could only show it by making skin-tingling exclamations. I can’t help but shudder, while the world slowly starts to darken. The moon becomes translucent, beginning to fade away from existence, leaving its home in the sky. The world rocks back and forth, a dizzying motion that’s only heightened by laying here.

But there is no sitting up. Once damp grass has nearly liquefied, becoming a blackened tar, that presses its sticky lips to my skin with a suction-like pop, pulling me closer to the ground. Jerking my legs only prompts the good to tug harder, further engulfing my body.

I close my eyes, hoping to lessen the effects of this dizzy head spin. Because I’m so still, and my senses are so heightened, I can suddenly feel my body — my real body — lying not in tar, but in bed. My sheets are barely clinging on, only my right leg and hip are covered. One arms is tucked under my pillow, elevating my head, while the other lays limp, wrapped over my waist. My mouth is uncomfortably dry, and I manage to half-heartedly close it, trying to swallow whatever spit I can to ease this suffocating dry spell. There’s a split second where my body twitches, once and then a second time, but no matter how much I will my body to move, for my eyes to open, and for my head to rise, it simply can’t.

Soon everything but my face and my neck are swallowed, the strange substance blanketing me entirely. The world still sways, but all I can hear is my own heart beating frantically inside my chest. There’s a moment where the air is suddenly still, the world pauses rocking and the tar stops spreading. Silence.

More silence.

It’s clear that somebody is hovering over me, and I realize I’m too afraid to open my eyes. I don’t want to know whose above me. I don’t want to see who is slowly lowering themselves onto me. Hot breathe brushes my cheek, traveling down to my ear, and whoever is here inhales sharply.

“I’ve found the last.” It’s a threatening whisper, met with someone shoving their fingers into my mouth and prying it open. The taste of dirt and God knows what else nearly makes me gag, but I put my effort into trying to bite them, and trying to wriggle free. Saliva drips over my lips, and I cough a little as several more fingers push further down my throat. Something metallic hits the side of my tongue, and something clamps down on one of my back molars. “Take a tribute,” someone giggles, and in one sharp motion comes brutal pain which travels down my jaw to the back of my throat, furthering my gagging, and I let out a dry gasp as I sit up.

It’s still dark, but there is no one sitting on my chest. No more fingers in my mouth and down my throat. There’s no one but me. I bounce up and down; the squeak of the mattress elicits a sigh of relief. Small claws scratch the skin of my elbow, a paw tapping me gently, concerned with my sudden jolting. I scoop my cat into my arms, holding him against my chest as I lay back down; his purr vibrates through me with a relaxing rhythm.