Drake is Sleeping

After a long day, who wouldn’t want a good night’s rest? Many experts suggest 6 to 8 hours of sleep to fully recharge the body for a fresh new day. Most people, if they could, would do just that. However, not everyone has the time or luxury to safely tuck themselves in for the night.

A rapper once said, “Sleep is the cousin of death.” It is also said to be a gateway to other dimensions. These experiences occur after the conscious mind leaves the body and explores other realms, freely, in what we know as dreams. If this is true, what might stop another conscious mind from hijacking the unoccupied body? If we’re able to access other realms, what might stop another realm from accessing ours?

Here’s what we know about sleep: the first ten minutes are what is the NREM stage. This is where the person transitions from wakefulness to sleep. The next 20 minutes is considered NREM Stage 2. This is when the body temperature begins to drop, the heart rate slows down, and the brain begins to produce spindle imagery. Stage 3 of NREM happens just before REM sleep. This is when the muscles relax and the breath slows down. REM sleep is when the brain becomes active. This is when dreams occur, and the eyes move rapidly. During this time, the body is normally immobilized and secured.

There are, however, special cases of sleep disorder in which a person can physically act out vivid, often unpleasant dreams. These persons can become vocal and have sudden, often violent arm and leg movements. This condition, known as REM Behavior Disorder, only affects 1.25 percent of the population. Yet, even among this minority group, there are even stranger cases.

One such case took place in a small, rural town in Oklahoma. There, a woman reported abnormal activities from her son. During sleep, unexplainable things would happen, he would become violent and produce unworldly noises. She added that the temperature would drop and fleeting spindles would appear in the corners of his bedroom. She insisted that his condition was beyond any of the typical diagnosis and for a long time, no one would take her case seriously until Abby Dubberlan received the report. She was a young mother herself and wanted to help the poor woman get a good night’s rest and resolve the issue she was facing. On June 6, 1991, she drove out to make the visit to record her findings. This was her one and only log of the account. It’s been edited for coherent purposes. Actual names and locations have been altered.

Abby Dubberlan

June 6, 1991

When I first met Drake, he came across as your typical 6-year-old boy. He was sweet, sensitive, and sensible. He kept his area clean when he would eat and used a napkin as a bib, which I thought was cute. He always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when it was appropriate. Nothing stood out as odd. But, the sun is still up. I suppose the “abnormalities” will come later, as he drifts off. I can’t help but think of the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde right now. Could this be the good doctor I’m talking to? Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I asked him what he likes. He told me that he liked the park and going to the arcade after watching a good horror movie. Horror movie? Most kids his age should be watching Sesame Street. Horror would be the last thing I’d let my daughter see. She is around his age and runs and hides anytime Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” comes on for Halloween. His mother, Sarah, explained that she doesn’t know where his fascination comes from, only that the horror genre is what he’s been gravitating toward, lately. She was a single parent, working two jobs, and sometimes even covered night shifts. The bags under her eyes and unkempt hair told me she was at her wit ends with whatever it was she was dealing with. The mother in me wanted to comfort her and tell her that everything would be alright, but I can’t. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with, yet. Again, everything appears normal, but how different can it get?

I asked her about a babysitter or family members. She told me that she couldn’t find a babysitter to take the job and that she didn’t have any close relatives in town. She moved away from her hometown for a fresh start after her abusive boyfriend committed suicide. Oklahoma was supposed to be a sanctuary where they could get away from their problems, but their problems followed them here and arrived during the time everyone should have some peace.

When she toured me around the house, I found it to be a decent size. It was a two-bedroom house, one bath, a kitchen, and a living room. Unlike in the city, she found the countryside affordable, spacious, and quiet. But, how long could she keep up with the bills and long commutes into town? It took me almost an hour to arrive from town. I got lost a few times, on my way out here. Sometimes the trees and signs all looked the same when you don’t have any real landmarks or stores around.

I asked Sarah if she was religious, and she said “no,” which took me aback. Every other wall I look at, I see religious imagery or text. There were crosses and bibles on her nightstand and on the living room table. She said that it somehow kept her safe. From what? I went to church every Sunday, but even I didn’t have this much going on.

Drake turned out to be a good assistant tour guide. Wherever we went, he went with his toy. In the kitchen, he commented, “This is where we fix bodies for Fred to eat. Yum!” He said as he stuck out his belly and rubbed it. In the living room, he would go, “This is we take bodies for Fred to eat…” Each time, he displayed his toy proudly, when speaking about Fred. Fred was a werewolf action figure. With its plastic fur, and large torso, it ripped through recognizably red, human jacket and blue jeans. Its clothes were identical to Drake’s. “And watch TV. Yum! Do you know what my favorite movie is?” He looked at me.

“Something to do with horror?”

“Batman Forever!”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad.”

“And Fred’s favorite show is Goose Bumps!”

That’s more like the Drake I have come to know. Oddly, the strangest thing I have come to learn about this house was not Drake or his toy, but his room. There were several locks on the outside of his door. Even stranger was the inside. The window was busted, but there was no way out through the burglar bars. The walls had dents in them, and although the bed was made up, it was busted up. It looked as though a party of kids decided to play trampoline on it one night. One light, high on the ceiling wouldn’t come on as the switch, itself, was broken. How did she expect a child to sleep like this?

“This is where Fred plays!” Drake commented.

I went from looking at Sarah, who too jaded to look back at me, to Drake, totally unfazed by the condition of his room. Of course, this was normal for him. He was 6. At his age, he doesn’t have much of a point of reference. But, Sarah should know better. Even if he was sleepwalking, talking in his sleep, or even somehow violent — he was 6. How much damage could a 6-year-old boy do? I get it, she’s overworked and sleep-deprived, but could her sleep deprivation be affecting her judgment? In all my professional years of study, I have known RBD to be linked to stress. Perhaps the stress from his mother, or even past experience with his abusive father, could play a factor in Drake’s condition. While I’m not certain on this assumption, I’m not ruling out this possibility.

It was half-past 7pm when Sarah was called in to cover a night shift. She wanted to say no, but I told her I would babysit Drake until she got back. I told her this would work perfectly with me observing Drake’s sleep routine, 1-on-1. Despite this reassurance, she was not easily convinced. She’d be uneasy about leaving me alone with him, which I understood. If it weren’t for her desperately needing the money, I’m sure she would’ve stayed.

Before she left, she kissed her son before she thanked me for my help. She gave me her work number and told me that if something were to happen, call her. She worked at an overnight diner and it was going to be a busy weekend. She wanted to lock her son in, but I told her it wouldn’t be necessary. She told me I didn’t understand, but I told her that I would follow the nightly schedule and get him tucked in on time. I, of course, lied because I didn’t want her to miss her shift and it didn’t seem like she would ever leave the house.

When she finally left, it was just me, Drake, and Fred. Normally, I wouldn’t include a toy, but Drake was so convinced Fred was real that he nearly had me convinced a few times. The imagination of these kids, I swear. One time, my daughter convinced me that the imaginative tea she was serving was hot and when I got up to soon, I nearly hopped away thinking that I spilled something hot on my pants. Anyway, Drake had already had his bath, dinner, and even brushed his teeth. The only thing left to do was sleep.

His mother ruled that he was to be in bed by 9 pm. No exceptions! But there was a horror special coming on at 10 and Drake wasn’t going to answer any of my questions unless he had permission to watch it. So, I obliged and saw the biggest smile stretch across his face. He reminded me of a Halloween pumpkin.

I asked him how he felt about his mother. He said he loved his mother. I asked him if he hid anything from his mother, like toys, experiences, or feelings. In my research, I have found that these can also attribute to sleep disorders. He shook his head and told me that he tells his mother everything. I asked him what sort of things he told his mother and he starts to talk to me about the trivial topics and discoveries he had seen on TV, but when he discussed his dreams, that’s when things get ‘Drakey.’

He claimed to travel into a world full of monsters that do terrible things. I asked him how long he had been going there and he told me since they arrived in their new home. One of the monsters, he said, looked like his dad. Now we’re getting somewhere. Perhaps it is the abuse and suicide from his father that triggered his symptoms and that all Drake needs is some therapy and counseling. Case closed, or is it? He went on to tell how one of the monsters followed him and when he woke up he found Fred. I don’t know if this is true. This could be an extension of his imagination — a coping mechanism for some deep-rooted psychological trauma from his past. While this could be true, I have never seen a toy like Fred. And, somehow, I can’t help but get the eerie feeling that he’d been watching me.

10 pm arrived, and the special started. Any further questions for Drake would have to wait as the wide-eyed boy tuned into the programming with such focus, even if I wanted to talk with him further, I might as well be talking to Fred. Odd. The toy’s head seemed to always be facing me. Its murderous eyes crept into mine. Its teeth, big, bold, and brazen.

30 minutes into the horror special, I find myself wanting to turn to something a bit more light. Horror is not my genre. I’m more the romantic and happy ending type of gal, but it was hard to deny such a sweet and innocent child, despite the grotesque scene of his desire. I had nearly given in to breaking my promise when I saw Drake’s head tilt inward. It was subtle but unmistakable. He had all but fallen to the floor, asleep. Now was my chance to get him into his bed and observe his movement.

As I went to pick him up, I felt tingling chills crawl up and down my arms. I rubbed them together and wondered if it was a draft from an open. It wasn’t this cold a few minutes ago. Suddenly, it was cold enough to see condensation. I looked at the clock and it was 11, well past his bedtime. When I reached to grab him, I heard it. There was a low, gurgling sound coming from somewhere in the room. I paused and stood still to see if I could identify the sound. After a moment of silence, I heard it again. It was barely audible, but it sounded like slow breathing. I looked at Drake, who was pretty much slumped over the floor and I could see dark squiggly lines around his body. The room looked different. The TV signal went in and out while at the inexplainable, distorted breathing became louder and faster. There was so much going on that I didn’t even notice that Fred was missing. I knew the toy was missing because it was facing my direction, in the same place, all night.

I grabbed Drake, just as he began to twitch, and found him to not only be a heavy sleeper, but heavy. He might as well have been a chest of toy rocks because he was too heavy for his size. I couldn’t lift him.

“Drake,” I said to him, tapping on his face. “Drake!” I said again with a surprise panic in my tone. I can’t explain it, but it felt like my life depended on me waking this boy up. My head felt heavy and nauseous and as I found the squiggly lines form into a distorted shape above him.“Drake!” I found myself screaming, shaking this boy until he finally opened his eyes.

“Huh?” He said. With that, I gave a sigh of relief. “Is the movie over?”

I hugged. I was just happy he woke up. He looked confused about what was going on.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I said.

“No, I want to finish the movie!” He said in protest.

“Drake, it’s past your bedtime.” I tried to reason with him, “Your mother said you’re supposed to be in bed by 9 and it’s almost 12.”

“But you promised!”

“I know, but —”

“Pleeeeease!” He said with the biggest eyes he could make.

I looked at the perfect signal from the movie, which was not nearly as scary as what had just occurred within the last 5 minutes. How much longer could it be?

“Alright, but for 5 more minutes, and then it’s off to bed.”

“Yes!”

I sat beside Drake, careful not to have him fall asleep anytime soon. I thought about my own daughter, back at home with my husband. Did he tuck her in and read her the rest of that bedtime story? Did she make it to a happy ending?

3 minutes later and Drake was already nodding off, and within the next minute I turn off the television set and picked him up to whisk him off to bed.

“But the movie isn’t over yet…” he murmured.

“It’s okay, I know how it ends,” I said to him, standing up. He was much lighter than he was just moments ago. “The monster wasn’t real. It was never real. All monsters are just people themselves. Once they figured that part out, they were able to live happily ever after.”

“That doesn’t sound right, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. That’s how all good movies end.”

“Not the bad ones,” he said, “Not the ones where the monsters are real.”

“There are no such things as monsters, Drake.”

“How do you know?”

“They’re only in our imagination and when we work through them, they go away.”

“But —” Drake seemed to stop mid-sentence.

“Drake?”

“It’s Fred.” When he said that, my heart dropped as I spun around to see the toy on the kitchen counter. It stood upright in its default, scary posture. How did it get there? “I can’t sleep without Fred. I need to take him with me.”

I was paralyzed. Was I going crazy? Was I afraid of some stupid toy? I could hear my stammering breath and my blood go stiff before Drake snapped me out of it.

“Abby?”

“Yea?”

“Can I get him?”

“Yea,” I must’ve sounded dumb, but that’s all I could register at that time. This was impossible. The toy was on the floor in the living room, then it disappeared, and now it was on the kitchen counter. Who could have moved it? It wasn’t Drake. He was sleeping. It wasn’t me. Obviously. It wasn’t Sarah. No one else was in the house to physically move the toy. How could it be on the kitchen counter?

Drake had just retrieved the toy when I blurted out this question.

“Do you have any pets?”

“No,” he said, “but I want a wolf.”

Of course he does, but that doesn’t answer my real question… but, the question is how do I ask him this without sounding crazy?

“Drake…” I said, “Why does your mother lock you in your room at night? Be honest.”

“Well…” he rubbed his chin, looked at his toy as if to carefully choose his next words, “Fred wants to play! Fred wants to play! Fred wants to play!” He said, prancing around. “He wants to eat you up. Yum!” He poked his belly out and rubbed it.

“Drake, this is not funny. This is serious. Why does your mother lock you up in your room?”

“I already told you,” he already sounded bored with the topic. “Can I watch another movie?”

“No!” I said. I must have sounded harsher than I meant to. I don’t know if that was the mother in me or the fear. Something about this whole situation was off and this child’s naive, but unsettling behavior wasn’t helping. “I just need to get you to bed, just like I promised your mother —”

“Just like you promised to let me watch the movie?”

“I did let you watch the movie —”

“Liar! You didn’t let me finish it!”

“Drake.”

“I want to finish watching the movie!” He said, running back into the living room. I followed him and found him turning on the TV.

“Drake!”

“Aww… it’s over.” He said, looking at the TV, “You were wrong. Everybody dies.”

“That’s because it’s a horror film. I don’t watch a lot of horror.”

“But the monster lived,” he said, “monsters don’t die.”

“Monsters aren’t real.”

For a moment, Drake looked at me as if he was wanted to tell me something, but didn’t. Instead, he gave that wide, pumpkin face smile.

“Okay, I’m ready for bed now.” He said, “But can I sleep out here on the couch? I don’t like sleeping in my bed.” With that, I felt a rush of panic sweep through my body. If this boy was going to go to sleep, it would have to be in his bedroom.

“No,” I said, sternly. “You have to sleep in your own bed.”

“Why?” He said, “I don’t like my bedroom. I like it out here. Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?”

“Drake, your mother wants you to be in your bed. Do you want me to call her?”

“And tell her — what? That you let me stay up past my bedtime?”

Who was this kid? He was a completely different boy to the one I met during the day. Where was the sweet, sensitive, and sensible child from before? This one has become defiant and rude overnight.

“Drake, listen to me. The only way I can help you is if you’re sleeping in your own bed —”

“Liar!” He yelled, “You just want to lock me in that room like my mom always does. You think I don’t know? You think I want to be locked away? Well, I don’t! I want to sleep right here.” He crossed his arms and stomped his feet.

“That’s it, young man. I’m calling your mother!” For a moment, he looked worried. But, the longer I stayed there, the more he thought I was bluffing. So I walked back into the kitchen and picked up the corded phone only to have him run behind me and yank the cord from the wall. The little bastard became a menace.

“Drake!” I called after him as he ran away. Surely this couldn’t be the only phone in the house? As the cord dragged on the floor, the signal was dead. How would I explain this to his mother? “Drake,” I called again.

He didn’t respond.

I looked everywhere and couldn’t find him. Where could he be? This house wasn’t big enough for him to have too many hiding places. I checked everywhere except his room.

“Drake?” I opened the door and crept into the dark room. The draft from the broken window greeted my face. It wasn’t nearly as cool as the temperature from before. Other than the hallway light, a tiny glow came from outside. “Drake?” I stepped closer to the bed to see if he was hiding underneath the frame and when I looked, and didn’t find him there until I turned around and saw him standing in the hallway, at the other side of the door.

“Rawr!” He said and closed the door.

“Drake!” I said as I raced to the door and heard the clicks from the locks. I pounded as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge. “Drake, you’re going to be in big trouble when your mother gets home, you hear me? Big trouble!” It wasn’t long before I heard his tiny footsteps scurry away right before the TV, on full volume. “Drake!” I yelled, but it was of no use.

It’s been over an hour since I’ve been stuck in this room. I found a place under the window, where the moon is shining in. I still have my pen and pad and not much else. I still haven’t actually been able to fully observe Drake’s sleeping routine, but now I don’t think I want to anymore. Somehow, I can’t help but get the feeling that his issue is deeper than I had thought. This boy needs more than counseling and therapy.

Just as I’m writing this, I’m feeling the temperature drop, again, and it isn’t coming through the window. Under the crevice of the door, I hear the TV signal go in and out along with the flickering of the hallway light. Suddenly, a loud banging noise came from down the hall, followed by a grotesque scream. This scream was unlike anything I had ever heard. It was sounded more beast than human.

Whatever it was hit the walls and the floors with such force, I can feel tremors all the way in this room. As I look around the room at the gashes in this four walled, brick wall, I can’t help but wonder — BAM! That sounded closer.

Kitchen furniture and glass were being torn apart. I’ve already tried breaking away the burglar bars, but it’s of no use. It’s been fastened tight, not to keep burglars from breaking in, but to keep something from getting out.

THUMP.

The floor moves.

THUMP.

It’s getting closer.

THUMP.

Something is on the other side of the door. I don’t know if Drake is out there, or if he got away and somehow that thing broke into this house. I don’t even know if — I hear it breathing. Low, slow, and gurgling. I could see its huge shadow from under the door.

BAM!

It started breathing faster.

BAM!

It feels like the entire room is shaking.

BAM!

All I can do is pray the locks stay on, but the more I pray the angrier it becomes. I gave a spine chilling scream that shook me to my floor. I can hardly stand. For the first time, I can hardly use this pen to write, but I have to. Someone has to find my story.

If I don’t make it out — Cici. John. I love you. If it was up to me, this would have a different ending. But, I fear, what’s on the other side of this door shouldn’t exist. I think terrible things can happen when Drake is sleeping.

Click.

The strange case of Abby Dubberlan shocked detectives when they discovered her bloody journal, a few days later. She was reported missing after leaving for a case study the next day. Her body was never found. The house had been abandoned. Sarah and her son, Drake, were also missing. The detective, however, did find a toy near the journal. It wasn’t a werewolf, though.