There were a few days where my life, and my sleeping habits started to approach normal after the trip we had taken. I had started rationalizing away the strange dreams again, even dismissing my singular sleep walking experience as stress related. I had taken to carrying the badge with me almost everywhere I went, and would get anxious when I wasn't near the broken star shaped object. It was starting to distract me even when I was at work.
The story I am about to tell you happened shortly after I had driven home, and was just getting started making dinner for myself and Sandra, returning to my usual routine. I was nearly done when she opened the front door, and came to greet me with a hug and a kiss. As we ate, we talked about our days at work, and once we had finished she helped me clear the table and we rinsed the dishes before loading our dishwasher.
Sandra left me in the living room, presumably heading toward the shower. I reached into the pocket of my jeans and removed the small, broken object from inside, my eyes glued to the pitted, worn surface. My fingertip traced the serpentine curve of the letter 'S', a heavy, hot sensation beginning to form around me as if the temperature of the room was beginning to raise. My chest tightened as well, and I snapped out of the fugue as panic set in.
The air was cool and still again, as if nothing had happened. My mouth and throat felt dry and slightly parched, as if I had been sleeping. As I stood to walk to the sink, vertigo overtook me, and I stumbled slightly, extending my arm to keep myself from falling to the floor, hand clutching the back of a chair near the dining room table. I stood there for a few minutes, regaining my composure before I completed my trip to the kitchen.
I opened a cupboard, and wrapped my digits around the handle of a coffee cup, pulling the purified water pitcher from the refrigerator, and pouring about half a cup of the clear liquid. My stomach cramped a bit, my anxiety ramping up a bit as the room seemed to spin around me again. I carefully walked to the dining room table, sitting in the same chair I had saved myself with earlier, for the first time starting to get slightly scared.
I sat there, concentrating on my breathing until Sandy reappeared. “Are you okay babe?” she asked, her voice sounding slightly tinny and far-away, and I had a hard time focusing on her face when I tried to reply. My voice failed me at first and I cleared my throat, blinking away the bleariness in my eyes, just barely restraining the urge to physically shake my head out of fear of her taking the motion as my answer.
“I feel a little sick, kind of dizzy, but yeah.. I think I'll be fine.” I replied. She approached and pressed the cool, soft skin of her wrist against my forehead. I must not have had a fever as her brows furrowed a little bit with concern as she looked me over. “if this doesn't pass by tomorrow, I'm taking you to the Hospital.” she said, her words stern, but matter-of-fact. I nodded, but dismissed the idea of telling a doctor about the nightmares, and the odd things happening with me.
The wooziness finally subsided, and I finished my cup of water, drinking it rather quickly, my throat dry and scratchy. The water helped, and I started to feel a little more comfortable, and was able to relax slightly. I wiped at the beads of sickly sweat on my forehead and face, and stood to refill my cup, my wife watching my movements, the concern still in her eyes. I curled my lips into as reassuring a smile as I could manage, and convinced her that I was okay somehow.
We were sitting on the couch a little bit later on in the night, watching television, my arm wrapped tightly around Sandra's shoulders, holding her close to me. Eventually she dismissed herself to bed, and I opted to stay up a while longer, watching reruns of old sitcoms. I didn't even realize I'd taken the badge from my pocket, until my fingers started tracing the engraved lettering. My eyes dropped to examine the thing again.
The dull reflections from the aged metal danced into my eyes, almost hypnotic in and of themselves. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere returned around me, making me feel flushed and feverish. When I tried to stand, the room spun around me, causing me to slump back against the couch. I tried to call out to my wife, but my voice failed, and when I attempted to stand once more, I collapsed to the ground, hitting my head hard on the floor.
I didn't knock myself out, but stars blossomed in front of my vision. I pushed up off the floor and reclaimed the badge which had bounced on the carpet, my fingers wrapping around the entire surface of the star. I managed to fully right myself, and slammed my eyelids closed to fight a renewed bout of vertigo. I made it back to the couch, slumping down had enough to make a loud thudding sound. The room continued to revolve around me.
Part of me started to worry about a concussion as a headache bloomed on the side of my skull that had impacted the floor. The smell of smoke wafted into my nostrils, faint and bitter. A slight note of panic struck in my mind, but as soon as it had appeared, the scent was gone. My head seemed to clear and I stood up again, walking quietly from room to room, finding no evidence of a fire. I walked back to the kitchen, drawing another cup of water.
I lifted my hand to the sore spot on my scalp, checking my fingertips for blood after I finished probing the forming knot on my head. There was none, which I was grateful for. I carefully made my way back to the table, settling into my seat as gently as I could, eyes closing as another bout of dizziness overtook me. This time when my eyes opened, I was no longer in the modest, clean apartment I shared with Sandra.
The rough, splinter-laden planks of the walls seemed somewhat familiar, and again I began to move, with no intention of doing so. My eyes caught sight of my body in the dirty, dulled mirror. Once more, the face I saw was not my own. For one thing, my eyes aren't brown – they're green. The stubble-coated cheeks and chin were a little fuller than my own as well. I found myself dressed in an itchy union suit again, and it finally registered that I was dreaming again.
The lucidity didn't do much to allow me to control the feet as they moved over the cold, rickety boards of the semi-dark room. I saw myself again exiting the door, bronze knob cold in my hand, and I could almost feel the decorative scroll work leaving an impression in my flesh. The fact that I knew it was coming didn't make the stab near my collarbone hurt any less, and I came around to face the dirty, almost feral man.
The second time the blade plunged into my body, I coughed a glob of blood onto the catwalk, not waking up this time. I pushed the man back, punching him in the mouth with as much strength as I could muster, feeling the jagged, rotted teeth snap off in a couple of places under my knuckles. That didn't stop my attacker, however and he came at me with a renewed sense of fury, slashing to lead his attack with the gleaming blade of the hunting knife.
I threw my arm up rapidly, and the knife tinted the white fabric crimson as the knife separated my flesh once more. I felt another sharp pain in my back, another assailant having joined the fray from the barely crowded saloon. I woke up gasping for air, my face and chin wet with co-mingled sweat, phlegm, and dark blood. I pushed myself up from the floor, and peeled off my shirt as I crept into the restroom to look myself over.
My blood froze when I saw the fresh-looking scar on my abdomen, and when I probed at the puckered, pink flesh, it was slightly sore inside, as if it was still healing. I took a shower and dismissed the idea of going back to sleep willingly. As soon as I was dressed I returned to my earlier seat, turning the television on again, trying to forget the all too realistic dream. As I watched the flickering images on the screen, I lost focus my eyes moving to investigate a slight glint from the carpet.
I stood and walked toward the object, reclaiming the badge from the floor, my fingers wrapping around the pitted metal almost possessively. I felt a slight rush of euphoria as I reclaimed the thing, and a small part of me felt wrong somehow, slightly sick but not physically. I forced myself to lay the broken badge on the coffee table, walking away from it, toward the kitchen to get something stronger than a cup of water.
With each step, anxiety flared up in the pit of my stomach, though I continued on my current path. I opened my freezer, withdrawing the half-empty bottle of Crown Royal, pouring myself a strong drink, dropping a couple of ice cubes into the liquor before starting to sip at the dark, hot fluid. The longer I stayed away from the badge, the more persistent my anxiety became, growing from gentle embers in my stomach to a full-blown wildfire.
That morning I asked Sandy to drive me to the Hospital for a check-up, and they found healing wounds in my body where the scars had formed, though as the doctor said there was 'no sign of recent trauma'. I went home, only further frustrated by the fact that I had received no answers, and that brings me right about to where I am as I type this, scared and feeling anxious, the broken badge calling to me from the coffee table.
Submitted March 09, 2017 at 04:49PM by Kendersarecooler http://ift.tt/2m2JIoX nosleep
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