Night Terror

My dreams haunt me. Since I was a child I have had horrible nightmares that form in bits and pieces, torturing me in my sleep. I have been to countless therapists and doctors since I was ten. I guess my parents couldn't handle the shrill cries at night or the insomnia so they sent me away. I have been living in and out of different hospitals for the last fifteen years. Doctors have used me as a guinea pig on several occasions, but nothing seems to help. Not even extreme medication or hospitalization. I have been formally diagnosed with "night terrors". And that is the best that they can do. The system wasn't willing to keep me any longer so I was released from the hospital a few years ago and sent out into the real world to rejoin the so called normal people. Each night I lay in my bed hoping for a peaceful night sleep, praying for a night without the terrors and dreaming that tonight would be different.

Just as I drift away to sleep, I am jerked awake by my own screams of terror. Visions cloud my mind as I tear the sweat-soaked sheets from my body and the room begins to spin into a dizzying blur. I try to escape the prison that is my bed and run for the safety of my bathroom only to find a ghostly reflection of myself staring back at me in the vanity mirror. I run the cool water to refresh myself, and splash my face to bring reality back into focus. Instead of relief, I find panic again. A flow of crimson runs down the sink basin into the drain below. Blood is splattered along the wall surrounding the sink, bloody footprints lead from my bed to where I now stand. My hands are trembling as I scrub away the blood staining my hands. My mind is clouded as I continue to rub my skin vigorously, scrubbing it almost raw. I check for scratches or perhaps an open wound on my body and find nothing. The blood is not my own. I must be hallucinating. My dreams have never been this vivid before. My skin is finally rinsed clean and I try to calm myself. I brew a cup of chamomile tea to calm my senses. My hand still shakes as I bring the teacup up to my mouth to take a sip. The aroma of the chamomile begins to relax me, as steam rises up to my nostrils, soothing my senses. The warm liquid passes across my tongue and into the hollow pit below. I finish my cup and set it on the table beside my bed. I have to force myself to fall asleep.

And soon the nightmare begins…The dream comes into sharp focus, not like all of the ones before. Tonight I find myself standing in the shadows on a cobblestone street, poised at the corner of a talk brick building. It is past sundown and the street lanterns are glowing against the backdrop of small buildings that line the street. There are people scattered about the street in front of me, moving at a rushed pace. It appears they are being ushered off of the streets by police as the sun fades into the horizon, bringing in the darkness. Police are escorting people out of the alleyways as horse- drawn carriages click-clack down the street, sending echoes into the night air. Soon the streets are empty, with only the darkness to keep them company. I do not know why I am standing here, but I have the sense that I have been here before. My feet feel heavy, as if they are not my own and begin to lead me further ahead to some unknown destination. I see a man who appears to be in his late fifties in a distant alley. He has a limp and is using a cane to hold himself upright and holds a satchel with his left hand. He seems sluggish and almost intoxicated as he sways about. I am sickened by the sight of him. I feel a great sense of anger. My feet pull me further into the dark alley ahead as the man enters into what appears to be his home. I continue to follow him as I stealthily move along with the shadows to shroud me from his view. I watch him from an outside window as he pours a large drink of whiskey and begins to settle in for the evening. The man dresses in his night garments and finishes his liquor. I do not know how much time has gone by, but I continue to wait patiently for him to fall asleep. He doesn't know he has made a grave mistake. He has left his front door unlocked. I stand in his doorway for nearly an hour waiting, listening for any sound of movement from inside. The night is dark except for a hint of moonlight that ripples across the puddles of fallen rain pooling in the pot holes on the street.

I make my way into his home ever so cautiously, as to not make a sound. He is by now sleeping deeply with whiskey on his breath. He breathes loud and heavy. I move in closer, and enter his bedroom. Each step I take is carefully placed on the wood planks below to avoid any creaks that may startle him to wake. I know my way around this house. I have been here before. He sleeps in a large bed that is enclosed with heavy drapery with ornate sashes. From his earlier appearance I was deceived. His home is plush and well kept. He keeps a medicine bag close to his bedroom quarters. I recognize all of the equipment contained within. Things are now becoming clear to me. He is a surgeon and I am his apprentice in this life, but he will not take the glory from me by confessing our crimes. I will not have it. He said I was not being careful, but I have more work to do. My journey is not yet complete. My mind reels as I tiptoe closer to his bed curtains and take the thick sash rope into my hands. I slowly pull the curtains back, as he snores loudly. The stench of the whiskey almost inebriates me as I lunge forward. In the blink of an eye I am on top of him. The rope is tangled around his neck as I squeeze the breath from his lips and crush his throat. His face turns blue and his arms flail about as he tries to reach for me. He cannot escape me. Slowly life escapes his body as he turns limp. His body lies pale in front of me, sprawled across the bed. I retie the bed curtains and replace the thick rope sash gently around the bed post. I flee the building into the street. In the distance I can hear shouting. "Another woman has been murdered!" they yell. "Her guts are in the street". They say. A crowd begins to emerge just a block away as the police hover over the body. "Another whore is dead". The police say. As I approach the crowd I hear the people saying that they think she has been dead for a couple of hours and that the killer was just within their grasp. I realize they are too close and secretly escape in the opposite direction. Soon Scotland Yard fades into the distance.

My mind is jolted awake again. My senses are heightened as my body is filled with a surge of adrenaline that I have not felt before. I claw at my sheets, tearing them away from me as I stare at the blood everywhere. I run to the bathroom again to wash it all away, fighting an urge to vomit. The blood is all over my hands and arms. I can't hold the tears back as I begin to scrub again making my hands bleed. The red tide mixes with the water in the basin and rushes down the drain in a fury. I look into the mirror searching for the answer, only to realize that there will be no escape. Not in this lifetime. I will continue to pay for the crimes of my past life and no one will ever know the truth about the man I see in the mirror. For now I'll call him Jack.