Ink-filled Dream

"Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.” -Edgar Allan Poe

In a dream Joseph saw himself sleeping. His twelve year old body tucked in a thick comforter, on top of his old hand me down mattress. Even as he stood by his bedside, looking at himself, he could feel the warmth of the comforter. “Curious” he thought to himself, he decided to explore this dream. He looked out his window, the moon still bright, and with a bit of concentration he passed through the window, like a ghost in a movie. Gently floating to the ground from his second floor room, in the way gravity’s laws hold no sway over a dreamer. He explored the empty streets as snow started to fall. With great leaps he could almost fly, floating as he ignored gravity and the rules of the wakening world.

The streets where dark and only the sound of an occasional car could be heard in the distance, Joseph did not feel the night chill he should have. After a little time of playing and exploring he saw something. Down the darkly lit street was a figure, a silhouette of a child no older than him; the figure had no facial features and appeared to be a black mass only in the shape of a boy. It turned; even without eyes Joseph could tell it was staring at him. Unnerved by the figure Joseph ran home. Moving faster than his wakening legs would manage. He never looked back to see if he was followed.

Stopping when he reached the front of his house, standing on the front steps was his mother. The tall, blue eyed woman was smoking a cigarette in her pajamas, breaking another promise to quit. As she dropped the ashes into the flower pot next to her Joseph wanted to yell at her. However he quickly found he had no voice, as he tried to gain his mother’s attention he found she did not notice him at all. She tossed the last of her cigarette into the flower pot before going back inside, Joseph followed inside as well, and walking back to his room was the last thing he remembered before being awakened by the sun in his eyes.

As he walked out the door the next morning, he nearly forgot his dream. In the flower pot by the door there as a cigarette bud. “She really is smoking again” he thought to himself with a sigh as he made his way to the bus stop. It wasn’t till lunch that he noticed how tired he was, unable to keep his eyes open any longer he fell asleep right in the cafeteria, once again he dreamed. He saw himself face down in his chair, and the spitballs on his back from the kids at the table behind him. He watched the room at bit before moving out of the cafeteria. Unsure where to go, he moved to his next class. There he saw Miss Frances, teaching the class on the schedule ahead of him. They looked to be taking a pop quiz, Joseph felt dread at the thought.

Once again none of the kids or the teacher noticed him as he moved between desks, looking over each of his peers shoulders. Bored of school, he decided to move outside. He put his hands to the window ready to float out them like he had done before, however he noticed a dark figure just below. It was the faceless child again, crawling up the wall as it where the floor. It was on all fours now, looking even less human with extended arms and fingers that ended in points like one large claw.

Joseph almost fell out of his chair as the loud ringing noise of the bell went off. Once he stood up, he noticed the spit balls falling off his back, with a quick rub he wiped the rest off angrily and moved onto the next period. There Miss Frances announced a pop quiz. The Quiz read the same as it did before. Suddenly remembering the window he ran over and looked down…yet there was nothing there. The rest of the class stared at him. Mumbling “Thought I saw something” he sat back down and took the quiz. Joseph however could barely write, he was starting to understand his dreams where more tied to reality then he thought.

Over the next few days Joseph went to bed earlier and earlier, looking forward to his dream like playground. It was clear now that no one could see him in this state. He started with spying on his older sister as she spent time in her room, wakening and sneaking in the room later to confirm what he saw in his sleep. He did not see the dark figure for a few nights, and slowly stopped thinking about it, enjoying his newfound powers too much. However each time he waked the less sleep he felt like he had gotten. His mother noticed her sleepy child and decided to keep him home from school in fear of illness.

Before today most of his trips into the dream world had been at night. So Joseph did not put up a fuss when his mother put him back to bed, his body quickly dazed to sleep while his mind his spirit like form awoke. He only took one glance at his sleeping body before running off to the school. This time he was free with no time limit to spy on his peers. He moved faster than he even realized, surprised when he was already looking at the front gates of the school. Looking up at his classroom on the second floor his smile quickly turned to a frown as the creature was standing on the other side. Joseph turned around to run away but stopped when he heard a loud “Smash!” as the sound of glass landed on the ground. He turned around and saw his peers looking out of a broken window confused, an angry teacher beyond them. Joseph was shocked at the realization this creature could affect the real world.

As the weekend started Joseph had doubts if he should still be exploring this dream world. Despite his fears however he was enthralled. At this point he slept more than he was awake. He saw his monsters more than once, but managed to avoid it each time. This thing scared him, but it too was part of this dream world that fascinated him. He found it could change its shape, sometimes looking more human, more like a child. Other times it looked completely inhuman, like a dark beast. He always watched from a distance, and ran away when it noticed him. If he was cornered Joseph found he could force himself awake. He was addicted to the dream world. His overworked mother failed to notice, and his teenage sister was too wrapped up in her own life to notice her over sleeping little brother.

It was a cold night; Joseph was busy playing in the snowy streets when he noticed the creature once again. This time it was looking right at him, standing in front of his house. It turned and walked through his front door. Panicked, Joseph thought it was going after his mother or sister and ran after it. He quickly checked his mother’s room, but no sign of it. Then he looked in on his sister, but still not there. Joseph felt relived for a moment before remembering that he still had his own body, sleeping soundly in his bed. Rushing into his own room he saw the creature sitting on the floor, looking like a human child without a face. A soft glow was next to him on the corner of Joseph’s bed. A smile formed on the creature where there was no mouth before, on the floor next to his hand was Joseph’s mother’s lighter. Joseph could feel warmth in his feet, and saw the glow for what it was, fire. He immediately tried to wake up, but he couldn’t. The oil like child got up off the floor, and walking right though the wall. Joseph could not see it, but the newly formed mouth never left the shape of a smile. In a matter of moments the fire spread over the old mattress. Joseph could feel the flames. He felt the burns and he screams in agony, but makes no sound. He ran to his mother’s side trying desperately to wake her. All of his words where without sound, and she slept soundly as her son burned to death.

The neighborhood was awake that night, watching firemen come into and out of there neighbor’s house. A teenager and middle aged woman where saved thanks to smoke detectors, but the firefighters could do little for the boy whose room the fire started in. The firefighters had seen this sort of thing before, an unwatched child playing with fire and an old mattress. Yes, this was likely another case of the same. Unknown to everyone else however, there was someone else watching. Joseph watched as he saw his mother and sister crying, begging for them to notice him.

—
Credits to: BlueHero

Steven’s Story

I’m a loner. I think that is important to tell you. I don’t have any real friends, I have acquaintances and colleagues but no real friends. I am not complaining.

I grew up as an only child. My parents died when I was young, from an accident, I suppose you could call it. I don’t really remember them, but I guess I must not have liked them very much.

It was called a tragedy, not by me of course but by the counselors who visited me and the teachers who gazed at me with pitying eyes, and sad faces.

There was an investigation after their deaths of course, but they didn’t find anything. Of course they didn’t.

I grew up, as children tend to. My grandmother died when I was 18 and in college. That wasn’t an accident, or a tragedy. She was old. There were no investigations.

When I was 20 I was struggling with one of the modules for my final semester in college, I felt that my tutor was marking me differently from everyone else. I put it to the back of my mind, and concentrated on studying for the rest of my exams.

One day our business class was cancelled. I met one of the girls from my class in the canteen, she was crying. ‘Did you hear about Ms. Swanson?’ She asked. ‘Her car crashed, it was a tragic accident.’

It turned out that I had been right about Ms. Swanson and her overzealous marking of my exams, when she was replaced I scored much higher than I had expected to.

By the time I finished college I was a wealthy man. I was the sole benefactor of both my parents and grandparents estates. I had invested wisely, I was very comfortable.

I did all the things a good person is expected to do. I got a job, I bought a house, I married a woman, I reproduced.

Over the years, I lost people, as we all do. Some I had disliked, most I had tolerated. My town must be full of the unluckiest people in the world. Every other month it seems there is a gun going off by mistake, somebody walking under a bus, a dog attack. You know, tragic accidents.

I was happy, I suppose, at least for a while. Until about a month ago. My wife, Sue, told me we needed to talk.

We went out for dinner to her favourite restaurant. I suppose she didn’t want a scene. She told me how she was cheating on me, how she had been cheating on me with various men since before we were married. She told me that neither of the children were mine, and she told me that she was leaving me for her newest lover because he could ‘satisfy me in ways you never could.’ While we were at dinner, she informed me, her lover was packing up our home, taking the children out of their warm beds and whisking them off to start a life away from me.

Stupid woman.

I smiled and nodded and agreed to pay maintenance for the children that I didn’t own and would never see again.

Last week the police knocked on my door. ‘We have some bad news.’ they said, ‘There has been a tragic accident.’

—
Credits to: The_name_game

Logical Explanations

I awoke that night to Echo, my dog, barking up a storm. He was perched on the edge of my bed, facing the door and yapping away like crazy. I scratched him behind the ear to get him to calm down and guided him to his usual spot on my bed.

In hindsight, him barking was the first warning.

My brain, overactive as it is, was curious as to why he was behaving so oddly. Echo rarely barked at anything, so it was unlikely he was barking at nothing. Perhaps there is a skunk in the yard, I thought to myself. Seeing as how I was half-asleep at the time, that explanation seemed perfectly logical. Had I been more aware, I would have realized that any skunks in the neighborhood would be weeks into their hibernation this time of year. Even if they weren’t, the vicious snowstorm outside would deter them from wandering about.

I attempted to fall asleep after that, and how I wish that I did. Unfortunately, due to my habit of sleeping with my mouth open, I was becoming increasingly aware of how thirsty I was. I tried to stay in the warmth of my bed for as long as possible, but it wasn’t long before my tongue felt like sandpaper. It was clear to me that I wouldn’t be able to sleep without a glass of water.

I told Echo to stay and slipped into my moccasins. The air outside my nest of blankets was freezing so I put on my housecoat as well. When I left my bedroom, I noticed that the basement television was showing static. Mother probably forgot to turn it off after watching her murder mysteries, I thought. The TV’s playing static because of the storm outside. It’s just messing with our cable. Another logical explanation, which would be far less logical if I were fully awake. My mother, no matter how tired she was, would never leave the television on. She’s far too meticulous to do something like that. In my sleepy brain, however, it made perfect sense. I couldn’t find the TV remote, as the room was dark and I didn’t want to accidentally blind myself by turning on the lights, so I left the TV on.

I should’ve turned back, crawled back into bed and waited for morning.

I climbed the stairs to the landing, which was bathed in an orange glow, cast by the streetlights reflecting off of the clouds above. From up here, I could hear the wind battering itself against the house’s walls. I was starting to wake up a little bit. I noticed that the deadbolt on the door was unlocked.

That was my final warning.

My parents felt that it wasn’t necessary, what with the storm and all. The seeds of doubt began to form in my mind. I knew that that wasn’t the case. Some new neighbors have been suspected of breaking into people’s houses and stealing their liquor. My parents, being collectors of fine wines, have made it a habit to lock the deadbolt every night for the past few months, even when the act was completely pointless. My conscious brain was starting to wake up, starting to notice these things. A feeling of uneasiness began to pool in my gut. Still, after locking the deadbolt, I continued to the kitchen.

From the kitchen, I had a clear view of the living room, and while I filled an empty glass with water from the sink, I not only noticed that the television up here was also showing static, but that there was a figure seated on the couch. Don’t worry, I thought nervously, that’s just Dad. He’s been sleepwalking again. This time, I was fully aware of the flaws in the this ‘logical explanation’; the fact that the figure on the couch was bald and plump, while my father is lean and his hair is only beginning to thin. The fact that my father has been taking medications to prevent his sleepwalking. The fact that I could hear him snoring from my parent’s bedroom. I tried to disregard these thoughts, to push them to the back of my mind like I had done before. This time, it didn’t work.

I gently set my glass on the kitchen counter. My hands were cold and clammy, shaking in terror. My heart rate was increasing and my breathing was rapid. Even in the confusion of the moment, I knew that this wasn’t just some regular burglar, I doubted that the thing on the couch was even human. I reached for the phone to call 911, only to find out that I couldn’t get any service due to the storm. Frustrated and confused, I started randomly pushing buttons on the keypad.

That’s when I heard the thing move. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make my blood run cold and send clammy sweat down my back. It was the sound of bones popping, not just a few either; it sounded like an entire room full of people cracking their necks, backs and knuckles all at once. I turned from the useless phone to look at the creature for the first time.

It was now standing, facing me and illuminated by the orange glow from the living room’s window. It stood at about six feet tall, was completely naked and was rather plump. Its skin was a sallow grayish color and looked almost slimy. The creatures arms dangled as if they were boneless and at the end of each was a gnarled mess of fingers. The worst part about the creature, however, was its face. The thing had no nose, only two slits where its nostrils would be. Its eyes were hollow, white orbs that seemed too large for the rest of its face. As for its mouth, well, it didn’t really have one. It looked as if its entire lower jaw had been knocked clean off the rest of its face, leaving a swollen, pink tongue hanging against its neck.

The creature started walking towards me, making that awful sound with each step. It looked like it was trying to speak to me, but without its jaw, the tongue could only wriggle around helplessly as sinister moans escaped its throat.

I did what anybody else would do in that situation. I ran like hell.

When I got to the landing, I closed the door between the landing and the first floor. I had three options: I could surrender myself to the creature, I could run downstairs, which would eventually lead to a dead end, or I could run outside and face one of the worst blizzards of the decade. None of my choices were desirable, but I knew that I’d be dead anyway if I kept standing there. I didn’t get much time to choose though, as the door between me and the creature swung open, revealing that thing in all its grotesque glory. It began to descend the stairs toward me. I made my decision, and as stupid as it was, I wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t done it. I unlocked the deadbolt and ran outside.

For the first few seconds, I felt absolutely nothing save for the adrenaline and fear surging through me. Looking back at the house as I ran, I swear I could see the creature looking at me through the kitchen window. It looked almost… happy.

By the time my house faded into the blizzard, the cold was starting to set in. Wearing only pajamas, slippers and a housecoat, it wasn’t hard to see why. I continued running, in fear that the thing would chase me, but I was starting to go numb. By the time I reached the highway, I couldn’t feel my fingers. By the time I noticed the approaching headlights, I couldn’t feel my toes. By the time the vehicle had stopped in front of me, everything was starting to go black.

I awoke several hours later to the sound of a machine beeping. At first, I thought the whole thing was a nightmare, that I was back in my bed and that my alarm clock was telling me to wake up and go to school. I began to regain consciousness and realized that I was no longer wearing my pajamas, rather I was wearing a hospital gown. There was a nurse standing above me, checking my vitals.

Apparently, a tow truck driver had found me on his way to a job. He did what anyone else would do if they found a teenager running like hell in the middle of a snowstorm at midnight and rushed me to the nearby hospital. I was admitted to the ER with severe frostbite and a moderate case of hypothermia. My parents were contacted immediately and at first, it seemed like I was going to go back home again. That is, until the doctors asked why I was outside in my pajamas in the first place. I told them the story as I couldn’t think of any excuse that sounded less crazy.

As one might expect, I was shipped off to the psyche ward. That is where I’m typing this now. See, the doctors can come up with any number of logical explanations. They can tell me that I was hallucinating, that I was having a nightmare, that I was over-stressed. With a medical degree, one can explain any unnatural phenomena with enough pills and prescriptions. But just because an explanation is logical, doesn’t mean that it’s true. At first I believed what they were saying, at first it all made sense. But something that happened later in the day changed that.

I was reading a book in my bed, starting to come to terms with what happened, when the TV in my room flickered to life. It was showing static. Outside the window, I could a gray figure outside the hospital. Even though I was on the fourth floor, I could tell that it was looking directly at me.

—
Credits to: InsanityUnderHats

Sweet Child

I screamed, cried and fought as the police took me away in handcuffs.

Psychopath, lunatic, they’d called me after finding my 6 year old son tied up and locked in our basement.

They just don’t get it. They don’t understand what a wonderful mother I am.

They don’t know how much I care. Not just about my son, but about everyone.

As I sit in the back of the police cruiser, I begin to sob even harder as I see an officer carry my precious son from our home.

I tried to save him.

I tried to save them.

But there’s no more I can do.

The full moon will rise in 3 hours.

—
Credits to: WickedMermaid

Respect For The Dead

Out of respect for those who have passed on, our mother forbade us from playing in the cemetery across the street. Children have no concept of “respect the dead”. Respect comes once you have learned to appreciate something, or fear it. If I had been a little older, I might have listened to her. I wish I had.

My younger brother Charlie had Down syndrome. As young as I was, my mother still expected me to look out for him. My dad left us shortly after Charlie was born, leaving my mom to raise the two of us alone. The house we lived in was far enough from town that I rarely had a chance to play with other kids my age. Our closest neighbor was almost a mile in either direction, so most of the time it was just me and Charlie.

Charlie was in the higher IQ range for his disability, so most of the time it never crossed my mind. He did have some bad episodes though. If he got mad enough, he would hurt himself. Mostly just punches to the legs, arms, maybe to his face if he was really mad. He was never alone, so one of us always stopped him before he could do any real damage to himself.

For Charlie and I, the allure of the cemetery was the large mounds of dirt near the edge of the surrounding woods. They were like huge sandboxes to us. Charlie knew enough not to tell mom if she asked where we had been playing. It never occurred to me to wonder where those piles of dirt came from. When a grave is dug, and a coffin placed within, some of the earth remains. Our “sandboxes” were the displaced earth of a souls’ final resting place.

One Saturday afternoon we were playing in our favorite spot, knowing that my mother was working behind the house where she couldn’t see us. Charlie had been digging for short time when I heard him start to chuckle. I stopped what I was doing to see what was so funny. At first it looked like a twisted tree branch, but after brushing the dirt off I could see it was something far more interesting. Charlie had unearthed a human jawbone. It was relatively small, most likely it had belonged to a child close to our age.

Charlie quickly snatched it away from me, insisting it was his “treasure” and I couldn’t touch it. If I had any sense I would have immediately thought to call the police, or at least tell my mother (of course the latter would have been guaranteed self-incrimination). Just then I heard my mother calling to us. Before I had time to think of what to do next, Charlie shoved the bone into his coat pocket, and we darted back through the woods.

We reached the house quickly enough that my mother didn’t think to ask where we’d been. As we went inside Charlie took his coat off and hung it in the hallway. While he wasn’t looking I hastily slipped my hand into the coat and tucked the bone into my pants pocket. Charlie realized then what he had forgotten in his coat. He was furious. He dug through every pocket, shook it as hard as he could, and searched every inch of the floor between him and the door. He screamed “My treasure! Where is my treasure!”. My mother glared at me, but I swore I had no idea what he was talking about. I quickly ducked away to my room and hid the jaw underneath my bed.

For the rest of the evening Charlie was completely distraught. He paced back and forth in our front hallway, mumbling to himself and fidgeting with his hands. My mother and I made several attempts to get him to calm down, but nothing could get through to him. After six hours he had completely exhausted himself and fell asleep in the corner by the door. My mother carried him into our room and tucked us in.

The next morning I didn’t wake up until almost 9:30AM, which was strange. Charlie was always up by 8:00AM to watch cartoons with me. I got up and looked in his bed, he wasn’t there. Being careful not to wake my mother, I searched all over the house, there was no sign of him. Then I remembered the events of the previous night. Suddenly I knew where I had to look.

I had to find him before my mother woke up. I passed his coat still hanging by the door on my way outside. Once I was out of earshot of the house I started calling his name. As I approached the edge of the cemetery I felt a wave of relief, I could make out his figure lying down on the side one of the dirt mounds, I ran towards him. He must have fallen asleep there, how long had he been outside? I called his name even louder now, nothing. Something wasn’t right, his clothes were different now. Darker, somehow. I slowed down to catch my breath. His motionless form came into view, but his face, what was wrong with his face?

I fell to my knees, my eyes widened, air pushed from my lungs like I had been kicked in the chest. Charlie’s clothes were soaked in blood, his face unrecognizable from the nose down. The bottom half of his face wasn’t there. I struggled to comprehend the horrifying scene before me. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t turn and run, I was completely stunned. Darkness enveloped my field of vision as I collapsed to the ground.

Although the pathologist who performed the autopsy strongly doubted Charlie’s physical ability to tear his own jaw from his skull, his death was officially ruled a suicide. The fact that his jaw was never recovered was attributed to an animal most likely making a meal of his remains.

—
Credits to: xumbi

He Is Coming Back

I looked down at Juliet lying in my lap. Her quiet form was beyond angelic. It was a little early for her to be sleeping, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move her. My little angel, she had such a hard day. Not only was she sick earlier today, but her father walked out on us.

My husband just left. He packed his clothing and left. There was no preamble. There was no warning. He just walked out a hardened look on his face. Our marriage was strained at best. The conversations we carried rarely lasting more than a few brief moments, but the one thing we could agree on was our daughter. Juliet was the light of our lives.

I sat on the couch reminiscing about our dying marriage, while gently stroking her baby fine hair. I looked down at her. Her hair was the color of mahogany. The same color as her fathers. A tear escaped my eye, gently landing on her face. All the while thinking more and more on what I had failed at.

We were fighting all the time, until we finally snapped. The fight was as volatile as it could be without fists flying. I stormed off to my daughter’s room to comfort her crying. Giving her more Benadryl to help with her cough, I held her in my arms. She went to sleep her breathing slowed, and she was out.

Resting her head in my lap I sat there for hours, staring at the wall. How could my husband leave me? We were everything to each other. He will be back; I know this in every fiber of my being. I continued to stroke Juliet’s hair. My husband would be back, I keep repeating this internal mantra. Over and over, for what seemed like hours or days, I continued to repeat this.

This whole fight, everything, was all over him having another mistress. I was getting him back, one way or another. With no regard to anything that anyone would say or do, I would get my husband back, at no expense. He had no choice. I knew he would be back, he was mine. No one else could stake that claim to him, I would never allow it.

My daughter stirred in my lap, and looked up at me with sad eyes.

“He is not coming back, mommy.” Her voice like a thousand angels speaking at once, both comforted me and broke my heart. My perfect angel lay her head back down in my lap just as it was before.

The sound of banging on the house door registered to my mind, yet I could not focus on it. Still I continued to stroke my daughter’s hair. The footsteps racing down the hall still were ignored by my mind.

My angel lay still in my lap, the poor thing. The door to the room we were sitting in was busted down, and rushed by a group of men in swat gear. I couldn’t hear the screaming. Juliet’s words were still ringing in my ears.

“He is not coming back, mommy.”

The officers swarmed me. They took my baby from my lap. I know I screamed; I wanted my husband. Where was he? They took the empty bottle of Benadryl off of the night stand. They continued to yell at me, while gently placing my child into a black bag.

My poor baby, she had such a hard day. She was sick, her daddy left us. However, I know she is happy. As often happens with children her age, she was wrong. I know she was wrong. Her daddy does not love his mistress. He is mine.

My sweet angel, she had such a hard day. Tomorrow will be better; I know her daddy will come back. I continue to smile lovingly at her as the man zippers up the black bag she is in. Her daddy will be back. He is mine.

—
Credits to: Ahriannah

The Stepmother

Molly was the most charming 10-year old you’d ever meet. A pair of the bluest eyes stood out beside her locks of wavy, brown hair. On the A honor roll and an experienced violinist for her age, it may seem like she had it all. But unfortunately, such was not the case.

Her mother died at childbirth, so the only parent she ever knew was her father. This caused the two to become very close. She knew that her father would give the world for her, and she loved him very much.

One day while walking home from school, she thought she saw someone different inside her house. Her curiosity aroused, she climbed on top of some sturdy boxes to see this mysterious individual.

She was a woman, very tall. About 5’8, to be exact. She had bright, blond shoulder length hair and piercing green eyes. Molly saw this woman talking to her father, so naturally she was excited. The two of them were holding each other, laughing and sneaking a kiss every now and then. Her thirst for knowledge now quenched, the little girl went inside.

The woman greeted Molly, knowing her by name. The girl’s father had to run an errand, so the girls had each other for company.

"Hello there," she said warmly. "I’m Stephanie. What’s your name, darling?"

"My name is Molly. Are you one of my father’s friends?"

Sensing the child’s acute intelligence, she laughed a little. “Well, you see, Your father and I are getting married in two weeks. Now he had meant it to be a surprise, but it’ll be our little secret. Alright?”

Molly agreed to keep quiet about it, and went on her merry way. But she sensed something wasn’t quite right about this woman. She seemed nice enough, but she seemed happy - a little too happy. But, she thought, everything is not what it seems. Dismissing it as an irrational fear, Molly lived and let live, happy that her father had finally found the one.

4 Months Later
The brisk cool of fall was setting in. Leaves started to fall on the ground, and school was just around the corner. Molly’s father and stepmother were happily married, although something strange started to happen. Ever since her stepmother started living in the house, she would have the most grotesque nightmares. Every single time it was the same. She saw a woman with gray, decaying skin standing in her closet. The woman had the sickest, most maniacal laugh the poor child had ever heard. And every time Molly screamed, holes would materialize in her chest, and she’d be dead.

The next day, Molly was in her classroom. Her face was red from crying because of what had happened that day - well every day for that matter - at recess. She would try to play with the other children, but she was met with the same result at every attempt: Ridicule. As smart and pretty as she was, none of the other children wanted to play with her. They thought she was smarter than normal, like she wasn’t human. So everyday she sat alone, wallowing in her sadness with no one there.

While in class, she noticed something that caught her eye outside of the window. A necklace, as it appeared, was sitting in the middle of the green expanse of plain. As soon as the bell rang, she went outside and picked it up quickly, before anyone could take her newfound novelty.

She ran home. Looking behind her, she saw a hooded black figure shadowing her. Its pure, white eyes had a supernatural glow, and it seemed to float. She burst into the house crying, into her father’s arms. When asked what’s wrong, she pointed at the supernatural presence, now gliding to her room. Her father didn’t see anything, and secretly worried about her.

That night she found the figure by her bedside. Before she could react, the figure placed a soft, feminine hand on the girl’s lips and whispered “Shhh.”

"It’s ok," the soothing voice replied. "I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help."

"What’s your name?" Molly asked, mesmerized.

"I have no name," the cloaked entity replied. "I am an angel. I lead people to the resting place. But, since you have found my necklace, I have come to your aid. Take this."

In her hand she held the same necklace Molly had found earlier that day. It was adorned with a pure white stone. Molly thanked the spirit that called itself an angel, and put it on.
—
Two weeks had passed without incident. Molly’s nightmares vanished, and so had the kind spirit. She felt its protective presence so long as she was wearing the necklace. But one night, the figure appeared again, to deliver a message.

"Molly, are you glad that your nightmares are gone?"

"Yes. Thank you so much, but how come I can see you tonight?"

"I am before you to bode a warning. There were monsters that plague your dreams, but they are not what you should fear. The monsters you should fear are the ones you can’t see. The ones that you notice day in and day out, but never see them for what they truly are. The monsters that plague reality. Remember, not everything is what it seems.” As it said the last sentence it motioned towards the door.

Her mother stood there, both hands behind her. She smiled, but it scared Molly. She was twitching and shaking, eyes widened like a madman. Molly nervously asked what she wanted, and was granted with this monotone response:

"Molly, we haven’t spent enough time together. But it’s OK because now, we’ll be together - forever."

Molly never heard the gunshot that killed her. When her stepmother fired the gun, she laughed…..

In that same, sick, maniacal, cackle.

—
Credits to: Dubiousdugong