I hadn’t noticed how much I depended on my dreams, until they stopped. As long as I can remember, sleep has never eluded me – and it still doesn’t. Only those temperamental visions have ceased to be. More and more, I’m beginning to wonder if they ever were there at all. Part of me thinks I may have just made them up to seem normal.
But that can’t be right.
The first time it happened, the experience was wholly disorienting. I went to bed, closed my eyes, and then heard the alarm. Six and a half hours had vanished in an instant. No gentle fade to slumber, and certainly no internal clock keeping time through the night. It felt as though my entire existence hit the pause button until the beeping of my side table clock tore me transported me into the future.
That was weeks ago, I think – and I’m no closer to understanding why.
This was my new reality, and until last night, I thought I could live with it. My new routine, though odd, hadn’t affected my work, or my life outside of the home. I say ‘last night,’ but technically this was two nights ago. I went to bed and woke up an instant later to a score of missed phone calls. Several messages from my boss painted a picture of an awol employee leaving the construction crew in a lurch for no good reason. The last message said to come by the office at my earliest convenience to pick up my final check and a couple dirty coffee cups I had left in my locker.
I was confused, to say the least. In all my adult life, I’d never abandoned a job. I thought, how could they think that I would so such a thing? My answer came when I wiped my swollen eyelids of the grime that had built up over the night. My phone rang out an old 80’s hairband guitar solo and I picked it up. What could Lisa want this early?
“What’s up, sis.” I asked.
“The fuck do you mean, what’s up? Don’t act like nothing happened last night!”
I got up from the bed. “You seem angry, Lisa.” I said, nonchalantly. Trying to defuse the tense situation.
“You’re damned right, I’m angry. What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but I’ve got other shit to deal with. Apparently my boss picked a god damned Thursday to fire me and make up some bullshit about missing work.”
“Friday? It’s Saturday, dipshit. You’re 32 years old. I thought you’d know how a calendar works by now.”
I stuttered for a moment. “Friday?” I finally made my lips move. “That’s impossible.”
“You mean to tell me you don’t even remember yesterday?”
“I remember Wednesday perfectly well. God, this must be some kind of fucked up joke. Lisa, please stop fucking with me. I don’t know how my boss got you to participate, but just stop it now.”
“I’m not fucking around, Bill. You came over to the house last night, and stood on the front lawn for, I don’t know how long. When I saw you through the blinds, you were clearly drunk, or high, or whatever the fuck you were last night.”
“I, I came to your house?”
“Try to follow along, fucker. I’m trying to tell you something.” Lisa was usually so calm, collected. I couldn’t understand why she was yelling at me like that. “So when I saw you, I opened the door to call you inside. Oscar ran by me before I could stop him, and came out to greet you. Are you remembering now?”
“Oscar, your dog.”
“Yes, my prized Labrador Thoroughbred. The son I could never have. My fucking dog, you fucker!”
“What then?”
“I don’t fucking know, asshole. You grabbed him by the collar, hard, and walked away. Poor thing yelped and pulled back, but you just kept dragging him. I ran after you but… It was like you just vanished into the shadows. I’ve been out all night looking for him, and calling you. Least you could do when you steal someone’s dog is to answer the god damned door when its owner knocks.”
I didn’t know what to say. As far as my brain had been concerned, I had blinked and a whole day had passed. I sat down. “I’m so sorry, Lisa. I don’t remember any of this. What can I do?”
“I’m coming over, and you’d better have my god damned dog or I’m calling the cops.” I heard the familiar click of a phone call ending.
I shook my head for a minute, rubbed my heavy eyes and made my way to turn on the bedroom light. Quickly the light of the room flooded out every inch of shadow. My eyes struggled to adjust.
I wish they hadn’t.
Oscar, Lisa’s dog, splayed out like a gutted fish on far side of my king sized bed.
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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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