Nightmares stuffed in jars

He scissors his torso wide,

rope wound tightly

to keep insanity in,

trembling in convulsions,

pain upheaves in torrents,

broken threads, crumbling psyche

walking barefoot in troubled mind.

Nightmares stuffed in jars

Shovels a fake outside

won’t expose bowels of inside.

Electricity strikes bolts like

pins and needles in his brain

as he cons his game

and feigns his truth

in violent purple slashes

of clouded sanity.

Nightmares stuffed in jars

Wolves howl within his anguish

broken mirrors surround

shattered tumbling tears,

unable to witness heartless sun.

He feels his dripping sweat

through burning of surrender,

flashes of knotted destiny

scrawled on his face.

Of all he has lost,

he misses mind the most

Nightmares stuffed in jars

I'm so sorry my love

as you tugged at my arm

your expression filled

with affection and charm

I'm so sorry my love

as I wandered away

into darkened corners

that led me astray

I'm so sorry my love

for that smouldering grin

with deep, burning eyes

tempting me towards sin

I'm so sorry my love

for the anger and ire

that rose up in my breast

till it mixed with desire

I'm so sorry my love

I leaned in for a kiss

drew the darkness inside

fell victim to bliss

I'm so sorry my love

the guilt came too late

witness to my betrayal

you sealed my fate

"I'm so sorry my love!"

I called out with regret

you left only your tears

on the bed where we slept

I'm so sorry my love

I admit that I lied

when I swore not to cheat

with your own darker side

I'm so sorry my love

for the light that you hide

but its the gravity of your void

that keeps me orbiting outside

Empty bottles pour down,

A chemical stench filling

The once pure air

They crash into one another,

Shattering into opaque slivers

Reflected in their broken pieces, I see

Festering anxiety,

Lurking pain,

Pouring sorrow,

Looming death

The jagged bits slice

Into fragile, unsuspecting flesh,

And suddenly,

These horrors have become part of me

One and the same,

Destinies intertwined,

The way I'll be forced to live,

And eventually,

Die

We had wings. Not quite as glorious as we'd always imagined, definitely not angelic, but surely functional. They dug painfully into the shoulder blades and stretched out behind us. Imagine human-sized bat wings, made of coarse leather and knobby bones.

"Don't touch the ground!" one woman called.

"Spare your energy!" said another.

Some of the girls around me laughed at these commands and flew recklessly low or dangerously fast, quite Icarus-esque.

As for myself, I ignored them all and pushed forward, staring straight ahead. In the distance lay glorious green hills. I refused to let my mind stray from this fact.

However, as our dim surroundings grew even darker, our wings grew heavy. We could not fly forever.

It took me too long to notice that my group had landed. I backtracked and found them in a gully, huddled in a cluster.

A woman shushed me as I landed. I stood near the group but turned a wide circle. There were caves lining the walls, and inside, glowing eyes.

"We can't fly any farther," one girl whispered.

"But we can't stay here," said another.

Someone panicked and tried to fly straight up. A creature leapt from the cave and caught her in the air, dragging her back down. As they hit the ground, it pulled her, screaming, into the caves. There was a loud crunch, and the screaming stopped.

One girl started whimpering, but another woman put her hand over the girl's mouth.

"We'll all go at once," someone whispered.

"No!" another protested.

"Then stay."

I watched them take to the sky. Their wings worked frantically, pushing air beneath them. Some girls tangled together, making for easy prey. The creaters picked them out of the air, a skyborn buffet. They dragged the screaming girls into the caves lining the gully's wall.

When the frenzy of motion abated, and the caves were filled with the sound of crackling bones and crunching teeth, I tucked my wings behind my back and hiked out of the gully slowly. The eyes followed me but did nothing, seeming satisfied with their catch.

By that time, the moon was high in the sky, and it lit my way as I flew forward. The green hills in the distance were just as vibrant as they'd been when the sun was up, and no closer than before. I hoped it wasn't a mirage.

I had been taught to fear my dreams. Not by scary stories or whispered rumors. I would never be afraid of those false tales. I feared my own. Every night I would lie awake for hours, dreading the oncoming darkness. That didn’t mean my fear of the dark, mind you. I would toss and turn, restlessly avoiding the shadows, and what awaited within.

But over and over, they came. Night after night, week after week, even years later, they have not left me. Of course, they are not as frequent as they used to be. The mind of a seven year old is quite different than that of a sixteen year old.

I learned to forget some of them, for a while. I managed to lose them in my thoughts along with everything else. But there was one. It still haunts me.

I wake in my bed. It is the middle of the night. Why did I wake up? The clock says 3:00. I only knew this as of two years ago. I never looked at the clock until I was fourteen.

It’s quiet. It always is. There is never any sound, imagined or not. I still wonder why I woke up; at least, I used to. By the time I was twelve, I knew why I was there. I knew the ending. But I could not stop it.

Despite my knowledge, I walk down the hall, from my room to the top of the stairs. I can see into the living room from here. If I had been awake, I would have seen the dining room as well. But the entire downstairs is different.

It is wrong.

In the center, a sprawling contraption glows and sparks, radiating lights of green, blue, and purple. I notice the chair, like one might see in a Frankenstein movie, but it does not hold some unknown monster.

Before I understood what I was seeing, I would scream, and I would run back down the hall to the other door, my father’s studio. I would be trying to find him, of course. I didn’t understand why my best friend, a family member, or even one of my classmates was being tortured and mutilated on the metal table below. Later on, after years of seeing every single one of my closest friends on that table, I no longer ran away in a panic. It was a bit sad, I would watch them for a moment, sometimes they were still alive. They would look at me, but I could not help them. The bad man was down there. He was destroying them. As long as I did not go down there, he could not hurt me. I simply turn back and walk to the studio, silent.

As a child, I would rush into the studio, trying to find my father, as I said, but he was never there. I would search the whole room, just in case, until finally going to the window to look outside. Once I got older, I only went to the window. I knew I was alone.

It is always raining. Yet outside is different. Normally, I would just see the street below, and the trees in our yard. When I looked here, it was a hill covered in shadows, lit with some ghostly orange aura. There was a scarecrow on the hill, also in silhouette. I could see over the years that the doll on the post would change. It took me about three dreams to realize that the scarecrow was the remnants of whatever the bad man had last murdered. I would stare at it, all emotion draining out of me. If I was young, I would still cry, but not for a reason I could think of.

I heard something the last time I had the dream. Something, someone screamed. Everything was in flames, but only for seconds, and then it was black. It always ends in blackness.

I float in the void for a while.

Then I wake up.

Footsteps. Five of them. Dust falls through the cracks from the floor above. His breath halts. He was so close. He only needs a few more moments with her. He holds the smooth blade of the fishing knife to her scalp. He pulls her head back, his meaty fist clutching her golden curls. He inhales her scent, musty with sweat. The duct tape that sealed her mouth shut is pulled taut as the poor blonde tries to screamed for help. Tim smiles. No sound escapes. He yanks her head back forcefully, enjoying watching the tears slide along her cheeks and disappear down her neck. He looks up just as little rays of light seep in through the floorboards.

You pull the thin chord. The exposed light bulb dangling in the back of the cluttered shed gives off a hazy yellow glow and the illusion of warmth. As you lean across to grab the gaff hook from the back wall you feel your foot slip a bit. The toe of your work boot lodged itself in thick green netting. There are nets, and ropes tangled like snakes on the wooden floor. You make a mental note to ask Tim to tidy up the equipment shed. Tim does all sorts of odd jobs around the hatchery. His main jobs are night feedings and general cleanup of the grounds. Tim, who, looks to be to be in his early thirties, is extremely muscular and has short tousled chestnut hair. You think he could be considered attractive if it wasn’t for his eyes. He has these deep green eyes that shift constantly. They always seem to be moving, unable to focus. You usually see him right around closing, feeding the salmon in the back pond.

You pull the chord again, turning off the light. The cool autumn air pricks at your cheeks as you walk down the hill towards the back of the farm. The sun is beginning to duck behind the trees, and you need to clean out the last salmon pool before closing up and heading home for the night. You wonder if Tim will already bee there.

He waits until the light goes out and the footsteps fade. He listens to the door of the shed swing close. Tim quickly pulls the knife along the skull of the girl. She kicks and kicks but he keeps sawing at her scalp. Tim locks eyes with her as he places her scalp on the deer antlers he had mounted on the wall. He pauses admiring the way the golden tendrils bounce as the blood drips off the curls. Leaving the girl dangling from the ceiling the same way his father had taught him to hang deer, he pushes up on the floor boards and crawls into the shed and follows you out the door.

You walk down toward the pool of salmon. Tim sees the tip of the gaff just peaking over your left shoulder. He shudders imagining the pop of the point as it pierces through the skin of your pale neck. It won’t take much force. He licks his lips almost tasting the saltiness of your blood. He envisions your eyes losing their spark as he continues to push the hook deeper and deeper. He imagines your hair hanging on the antlers, next to the blonde’s in the basement. He needs you for his collection. He has seen you around the fish farm before, but each time someone else was around. Tonight you’re all his.

You approach the pool gently. It’s darker than you expected. You pull your phone out of your pants pocket to use as a flashlight. You sweep it along the pool seeing nothing but black water. You kneel down and place the gaff hook on the grass next you. You lean in closer and peer into the water. You sit straight up.

A shimmer of a fish glides through your reflection. It creates ripples that disturb the smooth surface. When the water settles you see the figure for a brief flash before your head forced under the water. Bubbles and panic swirl around you as the murky water floods your nose and mouth. You scream and scream only taking in more water. You try to claw at the hands holding your neck. The gaff slides around your throat and you are pulled up. Gasping for breath you look into the eyes of Tim. They were still. “Up,” he commands.

You are lifted up and dragged back to the equipment shed. Tim crouches down and lifts up one of the floor boards “In.” Tim shoves you into the small opening in the floor. You drop onto the cold stone below. The smell of dead rotting fish hits you first. Tim lights a small lantern hanging on the wall. The young girl is still dangling from her wrists. You hear drops of water hitting the hard floor from your wet hair matching the drops falling from the bloodied scalp. “Here.” Tim places a bloody fishing knife into your hand.

“Gut her.”

“I-I…” you stutter.

“You interrupted me earlier. Now you must finish the job.” The flat tone of Tim’s voice lacks emotion. You see his eyes are shifting again. “Hurry. I need to get you up there next.” You take a good look at the girl. She has been scalped and pieces of her white skull are completely exposed. You choked back your rising stomach acid.

You run a hand through your own hair. The weight of the fishing knife fells heavy in your own hand.

Essence of the desolate vessel stirs

The disturbed heart cries black

Entombed in mud

Sentries watching

Repent your birth

Seize the frozen earth

A step through the door

And up the steps we go.

My tiny hand at her knees,

One, two, three, four,

Counting the step we walk up.

Five, six, seven, eight,

Reaching the landing,

But it's too late.

A simple push to her knees

And down she goes.

Mommy's head is turning red

And I call out her name

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy"

As my Daddy takes me away.

It seemed as though all those news segments that I watched when I was younger finally got to me. Finally creeped into a place somewhere in the back of my mind where wishes and worries became a reality.

Never before in my life had I awoken from a dream with a pounding heartbeat. First time for everything. I just never had wished it would be combined with this type of illusion though.

The sun was shining. Hitting my cheeks. Making me feel as though I could take on the world. A younger version of myself, with the straps of a backpack harnessed to each shoulder. Walking wihout a care in the world. Near a school actually.

I couldn't tell you if it was possibly my grade school building or my junior high school building. Or myabe an algamation of both. As much as I think back, even today, trying to figure out where I was in time, the version of me that that facade brewed up didn't mind.

There were so many other children around me as well. Going in, hanging outside for a bit before the grown ups corralled us, even a few doing something that they weren't supposed to. Climbing fences. Throwing sticks. Pelting rocks at one another. That sort of thing.

There was so much color. On the backpacks. The clothes. The school building. Even the black, white and grey inbetween of the sicks and rocks stood out. Excitement.

But for some reason, the faces were blurred out. Maybe they were all just enjoying themselves so fast that I couldn't get a glimpse of them.

And then everything slowed down. The faces were still empty. And the peop-, sorry bodies, all started running towards me. Or so I thought at first, considering I was still a little bit from the entrance.

One. Then another. They kept coming. And they didn't even look back.

You know how in a type of situation like this, one might say something along the lines of "By the look on their face, you could tell something was wrong?"

That was the scariest part. With no wide, open eyes to invoke fear and no mouth to scream from, I was just lost in a dizzying array of motion.

But there was a sound. One single sound. A kind of bang that makes a heart jump.

Usually, I wake up when I'm stimulated this much.

I saw him. The source of all this. The reason why this warm day turned into a hellscape.

On the sidewalk now, he aimed with precision. Straight at me. The gunman had his sights set on me.

He fired.

I woke up.

Quietly

whisper.

Don’t make a sound.

I am whispering

I am whispering

Whispering in your ear

Quiet, little one

Slowly turn your head

There is nothing more to fear there

Or the other side of your bed

Quiet, sweet one

Close your dainty eyes

Let the darkness swallow

Every droplet of your cries

Quiet, good one

And hold your little tongue

Pull the leash on your escaping words

Smother them to an echo – a bell never rung

(Last stanza to be sung in the melody of ‘Hush Little Baby, Don’t You Cry’)

Hush, little baby, don’t you cry

Twinkle, twinkle little wry

How I wonder what your eyes

Will see when the candle forever dies