I’ve been having a lot of vivid nightmares recently. So I’ve written them down and fleshed them out a bit as a writing exercise. This is the first one.
So a hurricane or storm of some sort has just blown through. It wasn’t predicted, and never showed up on the radar. There was very little warning. In the dream, the storm has just passed and I’m surveying the damage. There’s water everywhere and so much debris. There’s also a strange shimmering slick atop the water.
I have one of those white GMC cargo vans. I’m driving through feet of water. I must be like an apartment or condo super or something because as I’m driving away in one direction, I notice a car speeding through going the opposite direction. I recognize the car. It’s fucking Condo Gene.
Condo Gene is 70-80 something. No one really knows. He’s been living in this complex since anyone can remember. He’s a crotchety old bastard always in a track or sweat suit. But I know how to deal with him.
I groan as I turn the van around and head back to the condo. I find Gene’s car, a teal 1989 Cutlass Supreme, in the parking lot. The engine is running and the drivers’ door is wide open, transmission still in drive, but Gene is nowhere in sight. The thing is... it only took me a minute or so to get back to the parking lot. How could Gene be already out of his car and in the building? He should at least be wading toward the entrance. There’s tons of water in the parking lot! Up to my thighs!
I look toward the building, it’s an inelegant thing on the outside but a lot of older well-to-do folks live here, so it’s nice and plush on the inside. Was. It’s beyond ruined now. The glass doors were blown out and there’s so much water in the foyer and lobby. I notice the oil slick as it ribbons through the water.
The elevator is of course not working so I take the stairs. It’s pitch black. I flick my Maglite on. I must’ve pulled it from my tool belt? I start up the stairs headed to Gene’s floor and I hear scurrying. Except it’s not scurrying because it sounds much larger than anything that can scurry. But there are footsteps other than mine and they are moving FAST up the stairs. I hear a door slam shut. I call out for Gene and get an echo back. It only just now dawns on me that something is... off. The air is... thick.
I get to the 7th floor where Gene lives and I’m struck by how eerie it is. I’ve only ever seen these halls with the lights on. They’re long and winding and cold and lonely in the dark.
I gather myself and make my way towards Gene’s condo which, you guessed it, is at the opposite end of where I am and around a corner. I walk slowly and call for Gene again. The sound of my own voice bounces back quicker this time in these halls.
I slow down even further as I approach the corner. And as soon as I turn the corner, there’s Gene. I’ve only ever seen him hunched over, but there he is, upright and tall. His back is toward me and he has on track pants and an a-shirt that clings to him. The man is all skin and sinew and ripped?! His breathing is heavy and labored. He’s panting. And there’s this slick sheen to his skin and underneath that, a slightly bluish hue.
Against my better judgement, I call his name again. Softly. He flinches a little. His hair, which is stringy and only on the sides of his head, moves. Something is crawling under his hair! No. They’re fingers.
There are fingers that part his hair as if looking through curtains. From inside his skull. But... but his hands are by his side.
I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing and so I grab Gene by the shoulder and-
I wake up in my bedroom. It’s black as night. How long have I been out? I sit up in my bed and rub my eyes and let them adjust. Is this my room?
I notice something bright and purple on one of the walls. It’s a word. But I can’t read it. It’s a language with characters I’ve never seen before. It glows and then fades quickly.
I stare at the now empty space longer and a sentence, no, a question appears. It looks like multiple choice?! It only asks me:
a) Have you been to sleep?
b) Dad
I’m confused. What does this even mean? Something in me tells me to select my answer like I’m at a kiosk or something and so I press a.
And there’s a hole next to the question. It doesn’t appear but rather my eyes adjust further and I notice it. Has it always been there? This is not my room.
I look at the hole, it’s about the same size as the peephole in your door. A light flicks on on the other side sending a spear of white through the room. A shadow moves one way and then the other. And then an eye slowly appears. It’s purple and green and the white around the iris is strained and red and veiny. It looks around the room until it spots me. Can it really see me? It’s so dark in here. But it must see me. And it just stares directly at me, boring a hole right through me.
I gasp. My voice catching in my throat like water down the wrong pipe.
The wall around the hole cracks and I-
I wake up.
Have a good day.
