The Man in Black

I know a lot of people have bad dreams. This was more than just a terror when I slept, it was a waking nightmare. This was a true story.

The heat of the approaching summer permeated our small apartment. Longer days was something I began praying for all year long, but that was about as likely as never needing sleep again. The past four years made days feel like a passing phase before laying in bed knowing it wasn’t going to be a peaceful night. The days blended together over time. I can’t seem to remember a time before this feeling of foreboding haunted my sleep.

Laying in bed staring at the top bunk, attempting to regain consciousness each time I began to lose it. My brain however, as usual, overcomes my panic with exhaustion. The weight of my eyelids became too unbearable to lift any longer.

There was always darkness first. The literal embodiment of ‘the calm before the storm’. Two perspectives formed, and never could decide who was in control. One; aware, conscious, and knew it was a dream. Another; resembling amnesia, erratic, like a memory that’s almost tangible, but gone again at the turn of each corner. Blurry colors from the yellow lighting were the first thing that appeared, and my conscious perspective was pushed back in my mind. Now all that was left was my current life.

The house was comparable to a familiar hiking path that easily led me down a worn out trail. I was both aware, and also couldn’t recall what I was scared of. The rips of the worn wallpaper was something I could feel, even if I wasn’t really touching it. And how could I not recognize it; with its faded salmon color.

Physically, I was numb. Like knowing you’re making contact, with only your sense of sight. Though, this version of me continued as if that wasn’t even a question. The other version of me was in the back, watching from a solid, clear cage. Shouting and screaming its thoughts, and the soundwaves that reached me were nothing, but a tickle down my spine.

The clattering of plates, and laughing now drew me further into the room. A one bedroom house, with a large, poor family having a loving dinner. As if our struggling lifestyle, and discrimination was bearable as a team. While I stared at them, I could see and hear them speaking to me. I feel like I’m understanding them, and yet I cannot quote whatever it is they say.

My body still reacted in understanding that they wanted me to join for dinner, that much was obvious. They appeared to look down on me, making me recall that I was only a child.

Before I could join however, I felt the ground shake. Unfazed, they continued on, as if I alone noticed this development. That trapped, transparent me started sounding louder. Almost as if I stepped out of a fog. The panic lurched forward about… something? I could nearly remember it, but as fast as I could recall, the thought left even sooner.

Two conscious perspectives playing tug of war with my brain. The table felt like it was extending further away. Instantly I tried yelling and running towards them. I felt like I was running forever, while getting no closer. My shouts were silent, I couldn’t even feel my vocal cords making any sound, yet I kept trying.

The laughs turned into screams, as I watched the wall cave in behind them. Flames engulfed them while introducing men in suits that were prepared for a funeral. My family became ash before my eyes. Blood and fire consuming the previously harmonious picture. I was crying, I couldn’t feel that either. My heartbeat was so loud it was deafening, almost shaking the very ground beneath me.

Among the flames a man stood out, and our eye contact was the worst fear I had experienced. No words were needed, he was going to kill me. One word echoed in my mind. “RUN”.

One conscience warns me while fighting with the other. I turned from the scene, like magic, the force that had held me still disappeared. I stumbled slightly as my legs felt so weak. My panic is my only supporting momentum forward.

His thudding footsteps behind me fueling that terror. I followed our circular pathway. I stopped behind a wall as I heard his steps slow. Crashing sounds painted the image of the damage he was causing.

His sinister laugh was something that haunted my waking hours. The little me, covering her mouth in terror, prevented her labored breath from alerting this monster. The frustration consumed me alongside the panic. Feeling connected, yet also separate from my body. Like an antique puppet that had strings which were frayed and knotted.

‘We’ll hide you’ whispers surrounded me. Eerily the wall opened up, and my form entered without hesitation. The footsteps, much closer now, the instinct to stay hidden greedily taking over my motor functions. The anticipation at its peak as the footsteps were now just down the hall. My eyesight became unfocused, presumably from my tears. His steps were now torturously slow, like he knew exactly where I was. My chest felt like it would explode from my restrained sobs, the pain memorable. My breathing stopped as he stood still in front of my hiding place.

“I’m gonna find you.” He sang melodiously. Staring at the wall with a smile and a blank stare. I couldn’t tell if he could see me like I could see him.

Darkness swallowed me in, and all my panic transferred to my body jumping out of bed. The sun, not even awake yet. Every night, for so long. Why? I never could understand why it was the same nightmare every night. Why do I always remember the dream? I couldn’t tell if I even had dreamless nights anymore, or if I did, whether I could remember them. I was trapped in a cycle that made me hate the concept of falling asleep. Some nights I would sneak out into the neighborhood park, at midnight just to have a peaceful time and delay the inevitable. With my mother working or sleeping it was typically easy to do so. The paranoia seemed to follow me from the dreams at a certain point.

Hours, I laid in bed until I heard someone wake up, too afraid to get out of bed and be alone. I made cereal while my mother was on the computer at her desk. She typed away doing who knows what while I ate my wheats in peace. The window reining early morning light into our living room. A surreal environment, that I was only able to remember as reality with the fact I was actually touching, hearing, and smelling my surroundings. Today my mom was heading somewhere for some errands. She intended to leave us with a neighbor we know. My brother woke up late and looked particularly grouchy.

Closing her laptop, she told us to grab what we needed to head over there. We were staying the night there I guess. I didn’t take much, a pillow, blanket, and one of the books I was reading at the time. Mom walked us out and locked the door before hugging and kissing us goodbye, while we walked to our neighbor, Pam’s house. She was strange, and friendly. Not an uncommon occurrence with the adults I’ve met, but all in different ways. My mom was very spiritual and I was aware of the things involved and talked often with her about it, but Pam was different. It was everything about her. Everything circled back to spiritual practice and belief.

Her house was crowded with so much stuff, most of which involved ritual practices. I had no issues indulging her because it was still intriguing and I knew some things. For hours she spoke about energy, and spirits in depth. Practices, and protection spells, and about how she could see them. I didn’t question it, like casual conversation.

“You seem to have a dark spirit attached to you. Have you noticed anything strange lately?” That threw me off. I never considered bringing the dream up to anyone. I figured it was just a bad dream, what's the point? I told her about my dream and how long it had been. If anything I was simply expecting it to carry on into further interesting topics. She called it a seeker spirit, and that it feeds on your life force. Even then I didn’t think too much about spirits in general. I was simply a child intrigued by the attention that, admittedly, I needed. She continued on with more details on the spirit and how they get attached. The incense burning in the background, she pulled the sage out. Smudging and moving around me as if touching something physically there and separating it from me. It was fun for me, honestly. Feeling like there was more there than meets the eye. An exciting perspective, I could understand why people are so into it. It's like a warm hug surrounding you, when you feel alone and like an outsider. Like how music feels like it moves through you and you suddenly feel connected to everything. That pause on stress was more relief than I could remember.

That night though I was still full of anxiety laying on her couch, she said, “Goodnight.” with a smile. She was so confident in this change, I couldn’t understand. Being the skeptical child who didn’t even believe in Santa, I never guaranteed anything before I knew for sure. Even after her confidence I still stayed awake as long as I could. I was still anxious when sleep did finally come for me.

It was waking up the next day that I was relieved to find that I had no dreams at all last night. When she asked in the morning I told her the truth, and my mom picked us up. I told my mom all about my dream, what Pam did, and how I didn’t have that dream again. She smiled and we carried on home with our stuff. Talked about how interesting it all was.

I couldn’t decipher any meaning from my dream then. I couldn’t tell you now if it was spiritual magic, or a placebo. I don’t know if I should’ve talked about it sooner in the first place. The anxiety of becoming a burden for something so small is a heavy weight. I could predict that it visually represented my childhood fears. If I were to accept that guess at any symbolism. The happy family supporting each other through difficult times could be seen as the peace I wished I could’ve had, while chaos and anarchy destroy it, making me alone, trying to survive.

I could jump in to agree that it was a parasitic spirit, or energy that took away from me. Maybe it was all in my head and I suffer from minor hallucinations. Quite possibly somehow Pam changed some form of perspective from me. I don’t really know. All I do know is that I never had that dream again, and in fact I didn’t have any dreams at all that I could remember for six years in total.

Unfortunately, Pam passed away two years later, and I found myself quite sad about it all really. I’d like to believe that Pam played some role in helping me one way or another. I simply can't believe it was pure coincidence that those dreams stopped right after that.

I eventually stopped fearing sleep, and that was one less weight off my shoulders. Allowing my sleep to now be something I can enjoy, instead of fear. Although now, I know I’m not in a dream, because I learned how to fight the demons. Instead of hiding from them.