So, time of everynight lucidity are over, the story is finished. I thought I'd share...
(the picture below was my inspiration...)

The Nightmare
Fog. Cold. It's here. I get a glimpse of a darker shape and start running in the opposite direction, but I already hear the breath, the steps like deadly whispers, heat of fire, pain or ripping my body apart.
I wake up, sweating, whole trembling make myself a coffee, don't go back to bed.
Four years later.
- Hey, Mulder, I got something for you - Cortez shouted from over the computer. I didn't mind the nickname, everyone called me like that anyway. I loved mysteries, secrets from the outworld, I was a great fan of the "X-files". Job of a detective in metropolitan police didn't offer much of this kind of opportunities. I walked up to the computer.
- What's that?
- The new system allows us to find situations that are suspect. I told it to look for clusters of similar interesting events and it got something you could be interested in. May be just an accident, but if not, there's a case just for you.
- These people... Deceased four years ago. Ah, I see. All deaths the same night.
- Same night, at most 2 hours apart. Stroke. Three students and their professor.
- Other deaths the same night?
A moment of tapping on the keys.
- One suicide. And... See what we have here. Another stroke. A woman, doesn't seem to be related to the group in any way.
- Let's see what we can make out of this. Print them out for me and I'll have a look.
- The suicide too?
I nodded.
I first called the families of the deceased. That didn't help much. I only heard some sour words from one of the mothers of the students, she apparently knew about deaths of the others and wanted the police to investigate, but they refused. Coroner's report stated clearly: Natural death. At least I learned the three were close friends.
I went to the university and got names of other students attending the same class as the three. I found those who stayed in the city and visited one that looked most promising. A journalist.
- Hi. Clara Peske? Detective Max Towsky. I'd like to ask you about some events on the university, four years ago.
Clara looked like she was over 30, though her record said she was 27. Red hair, glasses, narrow mouth.
- Now, now, what a reflex! They needed four years to decide it was not a natural death after all?
- Maybe they just finally employed the right person for the job.
- Listen to me, detective. I knew very little and now I know even less. Maybe I don't want to. Maybe I just want to live. Those who knew, are dead.
- Knew... what?
- Some experiment. We were on fourth year of psychology. Less of actual studies, more of academic work. Professor Otto Herman was a psychotherapist, specializing in dreams. Three of our students were helping him in experiments. They found that guy, with some kind of... nightmares, and professor was injured during the first experiment. He was taken to hospital. The next day the three organized some kind of action, to show support to professor. Donating blood. We all loved him, he was the best teacher we had, so the response was overwhelming. The next night they were all dead. That's about all.
- That experiments...
- I put enough effort in forgetting what they were about to never try to recall them.
- Did you... receive any threats?
- Will plain "yes" satisfy you?
- But...
- No "but". If you want me dead, push harder. Good-bye, detective.
I just nodded and left. I went to the hospital. It looked like a government's plot to hide some tricks they played on that guy's mind. I checked professor's record. "Internal injury" was listed as the reason. Two blood transfusions, surgery. I asked about the surgeon who operated him. He still worked there, finding him wasn't difficult.
Still with some blood on his gloves, he greeted me, and when I showed him the record, he just nodded.
- I think everyone has one such case in their job, that boggles their mind forever but is never explained. This is mine. No external injuries of any kind and bitemarks on his liver.
- Bitemarks?
- Like from a big dog. At least that's how it looked. Four holes, symmetrically placed. I've seen many bitemarks in my life and that's how it would look like... except there's no way a dog could bite the liver without breaking skin. It wasn't a hard surgery, but... Anyway, he had stroke two or three days later.
- Three of his students died from stroke the same night.
- No, no, no. If it was a murder, our security would catch it. No way to sneak in at night.
- Thanks. Can you add anything?
- If you find out what bit him, let me know. That case still boggles my mind. Besides that - nothing. I didn't know him or any of his friends. Ah! One thing. The day before his death, and the day after, a bunch of students and several academic workers came to donate blood. We were sending it to other hospitals, we had more than ever before.
- What happened to it?
- Just what happens to all donated blood. Transfusions, blood-based medicines. I assure you we don't have vampires that would drink it.
I bid him good-bye and went to check on the woman's workplace. I thought if I find what connects her with it, I may find the key. A big financial company, her department, a bit of asking around and I knew where to find her boss.
- Yes, that was a strange day. And a blow to our division. One essential employee dead, another goes to asylum.
- Asylum? Who?
- Michael Yearlings. He was a really good colleague, and he didn't look like that. He had some problems with his... dreams, I heard, but last day I met him, he said he had it all sorted out. And the next day Sandra is dead and he leaves me a voice mail message that he has to quit and go to asylum because things got out of control. Can you explain me that?
- Sorry. Except I can confirm things must have definitely gotten out of control. Four more people died that night, just the same way as Sandra. Do you know where he is? It seems he plays the key role in this.
- Luisa! - the boss pressed the button on intercom - Find me where Yearlings is now.
- Yes, boss.
- What could you tell me about that Yearlings guy?
- He was a great employee. Except during health crackdowns, but he always managed to make up for it.
- That health crackdowns...
- He had a major one about four months before that events. He looked like a walking shadow. Then he changed a doctor and got better in matter of... well, he just came to work the next day and did his past week's worth of work. Then progressed in perfect condition for the next four months. Then two days of serious depression, I gave him a week off, he came to work in Friday, and said he had his things sorted out. It all happened the next day. I... That won't help much because I don't remember anything from that, but when I talked with him, he was making some strange innuendos that were driving Sandra crazy. He said... he was to meet some girl... Yes, a student girl.
- Driving her crazy? In what way?
- Ah. How could you know. These two were lovers. Nothing serious, just occasional evening now and then over previous two years. Maybe she got jealous or what. Two singles not interested in any long-term relationship. If I was religious I'd say God punished them for living in sin.
The secretary walked in and put a post-it note on the desk. - That's all we have on him besides his old record. - she said. - Officially he's even still employed, just on... long vacation. Shouldn't we do something about it?
- Why? Does that cost us anything? If he gets well I want him back.
- Ooookay, boss. But he supposedly called...
- He never signed his resignation. And considering his past record I didn't lay him off. Any problem with that?
- Well, no. So, I leave his files as they are, right?
- Right. If we owe him any raise for time of employment, give it to him. It will eventually come into effect after he's back anyway.
- Yes boss.
She left and he handed me the post-it note. Asylum of St. Escobar. Michael Yearlings.
I thanked and said good-bye.
So... asylum. Far suburbs, big, pretty, white manor with red roof. Wind, cold autumn day, clouds running through the sky, plains of dry, yellow grass. Some conifers around the building. Despite the smart looks, it felt creepy.
I parked my car next to two others and a bit unsure, entered the building. Inside it looked more like a small exclusive hotel than a hospital - modern reception desk, many plants, nice paintings on the walls. It was my first visit to such a place, so I was really surprised.
- How may I help you? - the nurse behind the reception desk asked. I showed the police badge and asked if I could talk to one of the patients. I gave her the Yearling's name and she called a doctor.
- So, finally someone got interested in him? - the young doctor greeted me with a smile. - I guess he's been waiting for someone like you. We still have... - he looked at his watch - about half a hour till he wakes up... of course if you're not in hurry, but he really hates to be woken up without a good reason.
- What could you tell me about him?
- Not much. He showed up one day, made a bank order to pay monthly fees, said that he needs some calm place to sleep where he wouldn't have to worry about anything. He would seem perfectly well psychically, except he sleeps 23 hours a day. He wakes up in the morning for breakfast, washing and shaving, then sleeps till afternoon when he eats dinner and does some activity like watching the news or reading a bit. Then he sleeps till three AM when he drinks a glass of water and goes to the toilet. That's all. Sometimes, rarely, he asks for drugs to help him fall asleep. It seems he's very anxious to do that. He's very annoyed whenever someone wakes him up without a valid reason, he just won't stay awake for more than half a hour a time... He seems very worried. He had an obsession for the first half a year. He wanted the local horse slaughter closed. He was calling his lawyer to pull some strings to get this done. But it seems he gave up on that.
- So he's both psychically and physically fine except he sleeps a lot?
- Did I say... Oh, I haven't. One of most curious things about his physical health. He has some red marks on his arm, like burns, all the time. Sometimes, especially after he's awake longer than usually, parts or all of his body covers in network of red lines. The thin lines vanish, the spots on his arm don't. They are similar to burns, they seem harmless, though he says they hurt a little. He didn't agree for examining them or applying any medication though.
- Do these marks on his hand look like bitemarks?
- No, why? Ah... now when you mentioned it... Actually, you could consider them such. Two reddish spots on his forearm, not far apart. I never thought of them as bitemarks though. More like cigarette burns.
- Do you have any of his older medical files? I mean, from before he came here?
- Not really. He brought a box with some documents, tapes and such, and he said these are recordings from his meeting with psychoanalysts, but he left it in deposit and didn't agree for us to look at them.
- Did you try to heal his problems with sleep?
- Not really. He didn't agree. He said somebody needs to sort out some problems with the real world, and then his problems with sleep will be gone. By the way, it's almost time.
He led me upstairs, then to a small single room in a far wing. A bed, two chairs, a table, some ivy plant in a pot on the window, a glass, a bottle of mineral water a small framed picture on the table. There was some kind of monster in the picture.
- He says it's his girlfriend - said the doctor. - I wish I was sure he was joking. - Okay, I'll leave you. A nurse with dinner will show up in a moment, the smell of food wakes him up.
I smiled to myself at the mystery of incredible biological clock revealed. The man on the bed was nearing fifty. Neat hair, clean. I sat on the chair. I looked at the picture. Now that was one creepy best. "You have backed me into a corner. Try pushing a little harder." read the sign below. A nurse pushed a cart loaded with plates with food.
- Oh, hello. Mister Yearling rarely has any visitors. Okay, this should wake him up. Hot cabbage salad, some potatoes, a big pile of carrot salad. We don't have many vegetarians here.
- He's a vegetarian?
- Yes, I am. Hello.
- Good afternoon, mister Yearling. Detective Max Towsky. - I reached to shake his hand.
- Just Mike. - he shook it.
- Call me Mulder then. Everyone calls me that way.
- Ah, I see. Mysterious cases, secrets, FBI.
- Actually, just metropolitan police. But there was a series of unexplained deaths and you seem to be the only person who could shed some light on them.
- What series? I don't recall anything like that anytime recently. - he said calmly, while starting to eat his dinner. The nurse left.
- Well, not recently. Almost four years ago.
- Ah, that series. Oh well, in this case I won't be able to shed much light on them... unless you do me a favor.
- And what would it be?
- Get the horse slaughter that operates near this city closed.
- You still haven't abandon hope?
- Oh, I never did. Actually, I would be able to solve the problem myself in some... ten years. But you see, this room is not the kind of place where I'd like to spend next ten years and you could speed up things a lot.
- What does that slaughter have in common with that deaths?
- Not much. But it's very important from other point of view.
- What point of view?
- First close it.
- That's... not quite an easy task.
- Do you have a notebook?
- Yes, why? - I took my notebook.
- Write. - he began thinking. - 17th January, this year. At night. 13th October, last year, shortly before midnight. 14th November, the year before. And... 16th May, the same year. About 8PM.
- What are these dates?
- Deaths. Check in your files for missing people. These died on terrains of the meat factory or the slaughter itself.
- Who were they?
- No idea.
- How do you know?
- The deal.
- Excuse me?
- We got the deal. You get it closed, I tell you everything.
- There is a... journalist. She seemed very afraid and she meant something along the lines that if I learn the truth, I will die.
- I can't exclude this possibility, although that's not very likely.
- But I'm not bound to die?
- Next time you visit me I will tell you if you're bound to die or not.
- Thank you. - I shook his hand and left.
Not for long.
I was back in the morning. I met him awake. He was shaving.
- This material you gave me... A real bomb! - I said.
- Really? - he asked calmly.
- Yes! The whole factory is property of Marco Magrioli, a local mafia boss. Two of the people missing were his enemies. Two others were to be witnesses in cases against him.
- Oh. - he said without emotions, while wiping his chin with a towel.
- I hoped you could give me more informations. Like, where you got that info from, and...
- Sorry, I can't. - he said, lay down on the bed and covered himself with a blanket. - Now would you please excuse me, but I have my inner beast to feed. - and he closed his eyes.
Now this was a hard task. I was shivering at thought how Magrioli was disposing of corpses. Considering most of city's meat supplies came from that factory, I didn't wonder why Mike was vegetarian. I personally pondered giving up meat.
I began pulling strings. First, all kinds of inspectors plus internal control inspectors of their organizations, so any corruption wouldn't pass unnoticed. Then getting some of our people to check the place. Unfortunately all ended up with ridiculously low fine for mistreated animals. I visited Mike.
- I tried my best, but he's a pro. We can't do much. Maybe if we caught him red-handed...
- Can be arranged.
- You'd give us an info when he wants to kill someone?
- No. Only when he killed someone already.
- That will be too late. A day after murder there will be no evidence.
- And half a hour after murder?
- You can inform us he killed someone half a hour after he does...
- Actually, maybe two minutes after he does.
- ...but not before... - I was sitting with my jaw dropped. Now I had an X-files guy. - You can tell when somebody dies there? - the idea loomed on me. - You can tell when anything dies there. Now that must be one terrible feeling.
- You're almost right.
- Almost?
- The deal.
- Ah. Okay, so, how do we do it?
- I don't know how you manage it in the Police, but I can give you a call a minute or two after our victim goes flatline. With some luck, maybe even a minute before.
- So if we are really fast, we could save him?
- No. If I do, it means you won't save him, no matter how hard you try. By the way, you're not death-bound. Of course that doesn't mean you can't die. It just mean you have a good deal of chance of surviving next several years.
- Now I'm glad to hear that. Okay, here's my phone number - I gave him my visit card - Call me. I'll mount a team.
- That may last a year or more...
- I don't think so. There is a new case against Magrioli in court. And new witnesses. Honestly, I'm sorry about the one who has to die.
- We can't do much about it anyway.
- We'll do as much as we can.
We did. And we won. Magrioli in prison, for much heavier charges than originally, including first degree murder. I didn't have to pull any extra strings, once his method of disposing of corpses got to the press, the whole factory went out of business. A coffin full of sausages spoke harder that any vegetarian propaganda. I got a call from Mike. He invited me to visit him in his flat, he also asked me to keep him anonymous.
I excused myself from banquet after the great victory. I was happy about the promotion I got, but I couldn't wait to hear the promised truth. I went to Mark's home, a small flat on second floor of an old building. The flat was very usual. Typical living place of a single man. The only thing that felt unusual, was a big picture of the monster, just the same as in the hospital, only much bigger, hung on the wall. Coffee, biscuits... Mike prepared me for a long story.
- This... monster...
- Beast.
- Okay, beast. What is its meaning?
- This is her story...
Four years earlier
- Doctor, I need help. It's my second week. I'm walking dead. I sleep at most three hours a night, and then that recurring dream...
- Every night?
- Over last two months it was happening occasionally. For last two weeks, every night the same thing.
- And you took your medication?
- It only made it worse. I couldn't wake up and felt my body ripped, piece by piece, devoured by that monster. The pain... - I rubbed sweat off my forehead - unbearable. I need help! Doctor, I can't stand that much longer!
- It's a very difficult problem, mister Yearlings, and I don't know if I could find a solution. Classic medicine did about all that could be done. We could try hypnosis, that's not really scientific...
- I don't believe that if you tell me to dream about something else, I would. It's just too strong...
- You know this is a rare case and not really covered by science. It's certainly dangerous, but as far as I can tell, not much else can be done. Either this, or we surrender.
- Okay please, do this then.
- I'll consult my colleague, who knows much more about hypnosis than I do, please see me tomorrow, I should have some arrangement by then.
- NO! Doctor! YOU MUST HELP ME!
- Okay, okay, let's see what I can do.
Doctor picked up his notebook, looked for something for a while, picked up the phone and dialed some number.
- Martin? Robert's here. I've got a... rather desperate patient who is in some serious distress. Recurring nightmares, heavy sleep deprivation, yes, yes, only made it worse, prolonged feeling of genuine pain. Yes, he is in very bad condition. I can tell just by looking at him. What? Ok. Mister, where do you see this beast attacked you? Which body part I mean?
- It shredded my body to pieces, devoured it bit by bit. It attacked my neck first, from behind. And slashed my back.
- Could you remove your shirt and show me your back?
- But that was a dream, doctor?
- Yes, but please just do it.
I removed my suit and shirt. Doctor came up and looked at it for a moment, while still holding the receiver by his ear.
- Yes, Martin, I see them. Four red spots on his neck, two on each side, very clearly visible. And rather vague triple slash across his back.
Doctor touched my neck. It hurt. I didn't realize that before.
- Ouch, that hurts, doctor!
- Yes, they are painful. Look like some burns. So... How soon could you do it?... But could you do it today yet? Yes, he's very bad. Deep shades under his eyes, two-three hours of bad sleep a night, for two weeks. Okay, moment.
- Does a visit at his home, at 9PM suit you? Martin will try to hypnotize you and watch your dream.
I agreed.
Later that day I drove to the house in the suburbs.
- My god, you look like a ruin. - A man in his late forties greeted me, opening the door. - We are to work together, so just call me Martin.
- Mike. Good evening, Martin. I hope this will work.
- Yes. I have some plan. Let's sit down, have a tea and I'll present you my idea.
We walked to the library. It was a big room, dimly lit by a single, artistically carved green lamp, walls covered with bookcases, a big desk, two deep armchairs and a couch around a table.
- Please, have a tea. Sugar? - asked my doctor.
- No, thank you - I took the cup and sipped slowly.
- So, my idea. We can't delete it, we can't block it. You must face it. - said Mike.
- But how? All I can do is running.
- Have you heard about lucid dreaming?
- The name rings a bell, but I don't remember...
- A dream, where you are fully conscious it's a dream. You can use this knowledge to your advantage. You're mostly omnipotent. You can wish to be invulnerable, infinitely strong, you can make things happen with your own will.
- And I can kill the beast? But what about the next night?
- If you succeed tonight, it's almost certain that as soon as you see the beast again, you can beat it just the same.
- Seems like a plan, I'm deadly scared, but...
- Hypnosis. We will support ourselves with hypnosis to induce the lucid dream. I'm not going to use anything really sophisticated that would easily fail, I'll use an old, trusted technique, reality check, only with little support from hypnosis to help it.
Martin put me into the trance, but told me to remember everything and so I did. It was simple, he turned the light on and off several times, quickly. That was easily recognizable through closed eyelids. I was told that this means I'm most probably in a dream, and if something chases me, I should turn, face it and beat it to the pulp, because it can't hurt me and I'm way stronger than it is.
- So, now just go to sleep, on the couch here. I will watch your sleep and if we see you're getting nervous, I will give you the flash signals. Just for a test, close your eyes...
I closed my eyes. I saw the light flashing and the thought of unreality of the dream struck me hard and reassuringly. And then some really awful doubt came...
- Doctor... That marks. They are real!
- Your mind makes them real. You certainly heard about stigmata. Saints who thought about Jesus so hard, that wounds were appearing on their hands. This is just the same. The strength of the dream, belief in its reality. Your brain hurts your body. You need to understand it is NOT REAL! It's only hormonal reaction of your organism. Your belief in existence of the wounds is so strong that organism immunity system activates all defenses in the area, and the system unable to find the infection chews through your own body. All you have to do is to disbelieve the pain.
- Now, try to have some sleep - said Martin.
I lay down on the couch. It took me quite a while to fall asleep.
And so I was there, in the fog. I didn't even need the light signal, I was lucid. I knew it's a dream, I knew the monster lurks somewhere in the fog, that "out there" there are two doctors watching over my sleeping body, that I'm the god of this place and that I will fight. Just for a test I wished to levitate a bit and that was quite easy. Come, beast. Face me. I won't run tonight.
Yes, I was afraid. This is a scary place. Cold fog. I wished for the fog to be gone, but it didn't obey. And then I felt the chill, the feeling of fear so overwhelming and reaching deep to the bone, cold that in a strong wave rolls through all your muscles, makes your hair stand on your head. It came, faced me and looked in my eyes. The beast with big, curved fangs, cold look, long muzzle, legs bending in grotesque way, ribs showing through skinny flanks, short mane standing along its neck, short, pointy, shagged ears. It was walking up to me, quietly. I gasped in terror, unable to run.
Flashes! The flashes! I have to fight! I can fight and I must fight!
I rushed at the beast. I hit it on its head with my rock-hard fist. It backed up. I was walking up to it and it was going back. I wished for walls, they enclosed us, and I kept going. The beast, snarling stopped and looked at me with hate. I felt a thought in my head: "You have backed me into a corner. Try pushing a little harder." And so, as I did, the beast attacked, but I was prepared. I hit it again, and again, until its face was a bloody mess. I straddled it, grabbed the shagged head and pulled it, ripping it off the long neck. Blood gushed from it and from the broken neck, spreading on the white floor of the fog world.
I stood aside and wished for fire. It covered the corpse and left smoldering ashes, dirty spot on the floor. Wind blew them away.
With one thought I dismissed the whole place. Relax. An oceanside plaza, good restaurant, food, pretty women, soon I forgot it's a dream, but I had fun, I slept well, I was rested.
When I woke up, I paid both doctors their hourly rates for whole night, but I didn't regret it. That was well worth it.
The day was terrific. At work I got all the past week's overdue work done, caught up with the schedule and even went a bit ahead of it, ate a healthy lunch at an expensive restaurant, flirted with Sandra, - secretary of our division, talked to the boss about my past problems and assured him that they are gone, back at home fixed leaking tap, washed windows, read some book, watched the TV for a while, but when they showed a document on slaughter horses, that was so disgusting I just turned TV off.
I felt some thrill about going to sleep. This time there will be nobody to blink the light. And what if I get overwhelmed by fear again? But I wasn't very afraid. I was pretty confident I can handle that.
And I did. Really quickly. I didn't even see the beast. I located it in the fog with my will, crushed it, squeezed like a lemon, feeling its bones snapping in my remote grip. I discarded the dead body, called for a dream with easy, willing, pretty women. It felt sooo good.
And it lasted. I was having a good time. After two weeks I got a promotion and raise at work. I spent a few nights with Sandra. I paid back the loan on my car and started looking after purchasing another one. And in dreams, the fog world and the beast were recurring every night, but they were the most welcome moment, when I can pick what nice dream comes next. Sometimes I was squashing the beast at once. Sometimes I let it live, dismissing the whole world, sometimes I chased it, it tried to run from me, but you can't run from the omnipotent. Sometimes, especially after a worse day, I tormented it, with fire, with spikes, skinning it, making it suffer. It was the kind of perverse pleasure you have while killing a gnat.
Once, while eating lunch in restaurant, I met Dr. Martin. I invited him to take a place at my table. Of course he asked me about my dreams.
- I have them every night, but they aren't a problem. The beast is the victim now.
- Very interesting. They should be long gone now!
- God forbid! They are my pass to lucidity! Thanks to that I have lucid dreams every night, and it feels really good.
- Really interesting. By all means they should be gone, but if they keep recurring and you are okay with them, I guess that's just perfectly fine.
- More than fine. I'm very happy, doctor.
- Martin.
- Okay, Martin. I can dream about everything I desire! I can smash my enemies, I can be a celebrity, and every day, when I walk down a street and see a pretty woman, I know I can have her the same night night!
- Fascinating. Don't let them dim your real life though!
- Come on, doctor, err, Martin. I'm not stupid, I can tell the real thing from a dream. I have a career and I chase the opportunities, not overdoing it, at healthy pace, but climbing the ladder. There is a woman I meet quite often, I'm not into a long-term relationship, neither is she, but I keep my sexual life healthy. I don't eat junk food and try to stay fit, swimming pool twice a week... I don't drink, don't smoke. As a doctor you could show me as an example of perfect psychical and physical health. And dreams are a perfect way of unloading my daily stress, getting rid of my aggression. The beast is a perfect object for that!
- Impressive. If all people were like you, we, psychotherapists would be starving. I'm still very curious about the origin of that dreams.
- Maybe remains of your hypnosis?
- No way. It held only the message about the light signal. Without the light you're all on your own. It was a really simple, shallow, flat trance with very simple, easy order.
- So what is your opinion?
- I honestly don't know. It certainly sits somewhere in your deep subconsciousness, but what does the beast represent? Your hidden fears? Your dark side? Anyway, it's hidden deep and let's better not dig in there, or we could dig up something we don't like. The beast might, I emphasize, -might- be a sign of some disease developing in your body, so just to be sure I'd recommend a thorough medical examination, but that's just my thought, it has no real scientific confirmation.
- Well, I shouldn't be driving doctors out of business like I do now anyway, should I?
Martin chuckled, nodded and we just got to eating, without talking much more. By the time we were finished, I made a suggestion.
- If you are really interested in origins of that dreams, well, if you wanted to perform some experiments, I wouldn't really mind submitting my psyche for the good of the science.
- That's fantastic!
- Just maybe next month or something like this, I'm rather busy at work now, besides I'll follow your advice on that medical examination. You will have my complete medical profile by then too.
- Here's my business card. Just call me when you think you're ready. Ah, and don't hurt that beast of yours too much, who knows, maybe it could come in handy someday! - he joked while leaving.
I did as I planned. As the highest work rush was past, I even took two days off just to pass some really obscure examinations. Doctors were looking at my data, shaking their heads, wondering. They asked me to allow using my data in school books as the ideal specimen of health. I agreed.
The beast didn't run anymore. It just waited for its fate. I stopped having fun while killing it, if I wanted violence I was creating a criminal movie style dream instead. I was just routinely smashing it with my finger, just like one smashes a gnat. I didn't look, didn't bother.
And one night I found the beast isn't moving. It made me curious. I went to it and saw it lying on the floor of the fog world, gasping, much more skinny than when I faced it last time, looking up at me with fear. It gathered some strength, crawled up to me, looking up fearfully.
- Okay, okay, I won't hurt you. - I looked at it. I just dismissed the image, got into my favorite Bahama dream, but it didn't feel right. I still remembered the fearful sight of the beast.
The whole day I was in bad mood. I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't get any work done. I left early, went back home, watched some dull TV show without really paying attention. I kept thinking of the beast.
The next night the beast was worse. It barely raised its head, looking at me. I crouched, looked at it, but didn't dare to touch the dark, shagged fur.
In the morning I called Martin.
- Martin? I have a problem.
- What kind of problem?
- I know you're not a vet, but... I think my beast is sick.
- Now that's an interesting problem. So, you'd like to heal it? I'd never think... it would come to that.
- If we could do this quickly, the beast gets weaker each night. And I have a bad feeling that when I lose it, I will lose something really important.
- Okay, I'll try some heavier hypnosis, why not? This evening?
- Great.
I called in sick, spent whole day roaming the city, trying to get my mind off the beast. I was at Martin's home even before he came back from work, but after short waiting he arrived.
- Hi, Mike. You look bad. What's the matter? - he asked, while getting out of his car.
- I'm worried.
- You kept murdering it on daily basis without a second thought and now you're worried it will die by itself?
- Yes, I'm worried it will die. That all wasn't for real. Now it would be.
- For God's sake, that is not for real! That's just a dream! - Martin argued while unlocking his front door. - Please, come in. Would you mind if I got something to eat before we start? I didn't eat since lunch and I didn't expect you so early.
- No problem. - I said, while taking my shoes off. He gave me a pair of slippers. - But I'm worried this is pretty real. Do you remember as you said there is no reason why these dreams shouldn't pass? What if there is some reason they didn't? I believe there is.
- And what would it be?
- I don't know - I shrugged. - I hoped you could help me to find out.
- That could be very difficult. If there is any reason at all, other than some chemical instability in your brain.
- Here's my medical record - I handed Martin my briefcase. - You don't need to read it, everything is in perfect order. Suspiciously perfect, as one of the professors described.
Martin went to the kitchen and started the toaster, while flipping pages of my record.
- Ah, would you like something to eat?
- No, sorry, my stomach is completely clutched, I couldn't squeeze any food into me. Actually, I haven't eaten anything today, but I'm not hungry.
- In this case, you definitely should eat something. And I'm telling you this as a doctor, not as a private person. Here - he took a pot and a put a teabag in it, then flipped the automatic kettle switch on. - You will drink some hot tea with lemon, and eat at least three toasts. Peanut butter? Honey? Ham? Cheese?
- No, thank you, just a grain of salt.
- But really!
- I always have my toasts just with some salt and coffee, but I guess tea in this case would be better.
A moment later we were sitting by the kitchen table, and I was squeezing a bit of toast down my throat, flushing it with sour, bitter tea.
- So... tell me about the changes in the beast. How can you tell it's sick.
- It lays down, barely breathes. Two days ago it was still able to crawl, today it just looked at me.
- Crawled away from you?
- No, it crawled up to me. Looking at me with fear.
- Did you kill it then?
- No, I just shifted dreams.
- Shifted?
- Changed. I call it like that, when I'm lucid I just recall certain scene and I'm in it. I didn't enjoy the dream.
- And the next night?
- The beast raised its head, looking at me. I forced myself to wake up. I had a coffee, then went back to sleep, had normal dreams.
- Try to describe the beast. - Martin took a notepad, and when I started describing it, instead of writing, he was trying to draw, following my description. I was telling him about the beast from the day of our meeting. I told him what the beast said and he wrote that down. The picture was nearly perfect image of what I had seen.
- And what are the changes?
- It's more skinny. Much more. Just a skeleton.
- So, maybe... it's hungry? You said it was devouring you alive before, now for quite a while it didn't eat anything.
- So... should I just let it kill me again?
- I don't think we need to take such far-going measures. Maybe just imagine some food, or give it a few drops of your blood?
I sighed.
- Right now I wouldn't mind it killing me in that dream, just to save it.
- Aren't you pushing that a little too far?
- That's just a dream, remember?
- Right. But at least try milder things first.
- So, what's the plan?
- I take you into a deep hypnotic trance, let you fall asleep but remain in contact. With some luck I should be still able to communicate with you and I will be able to wake you up. I can give you the light signals if you get lost somewhere outside lucidity too, but getting things done is all up to you.
- You say we should be able to communicate? How?
- Just talking. This will be difficult, but you should be able to speak and hear me.
- Good. So, when do we start?
- Anytime now.
- Now?
- Why not.
It all worked. The first dream was some odd orchard with dry flowers. I almost always had some dreams before the beast but I almost never remembered them. I was lucid, I could hear Martin and I could perform tricks with my will. I tried recalling the fog world. The world, the beast. I wished it to get better. It did, looking all dangerous and wild. I told it to go. It obeyed. I reported my situation to Martin.
- That was easy, wasn't it? - he smiled as I was taking my suit on and calling for a taxi home.
- Yes, what did I worry about so much? - I wondered.
I left, but when I waited for the taxi, I felt a cold spike in my heart.
That was just too easy.
I felt I'm sweating, as the taxi driver was taking me home through the empty city at night. I didn't even notice when it started raining. In my apartment I lay down on my bed. I watched the drops of rain on the window. A silly thought, why the hell did I take a taxi and left my own car by Martin's house dawned on me quite a while later. I couldn't sleep. I stood up and circled the apartment for a while. The cold was spreading. Like a fever. I had left the beast in much better shape than when I saw it first. Maybe it grew too powerful and now eats me from inside? Maybe it now waits for me, lurks in the fog and will strike me, breaking my will?
I felt a weak cry. A cry of a wounded animal.
I must sleep! Now!
No worse way of falling asleep than trying to force self hurriedly. I lay on my bed with my eyes open, tried closing them, then opened again...
Yes! I ran to the bathroom and found that old, almost unused bottle of sleep pills. I took three at once, drank some water from the tap. I got back to bed. They worked.
I was annoyed with my "preliminary dream". Some train that kept going and going, never stopping. I wasn't lucid, but I was very impatient to get off.
And then the fog world. The beast is here and it's dying.
I knelt by it and stroked the big, black head gently. I wished for it to get better, but it didn't. I wished for a dead deer, it appeared by the beast's muzzle, but the beast didn't move. I touched the muzzle with my hand and felt warm tongue on my palm. I pushed my hand between the jaws. "Bite", I thought. The teeth clutched with effort.
The pain. I didn't remember how much the beast bite hurts. But I saw a spark of life in its eyes. Fighting with will to smash the beast, to push it away, to wake up, I lay there, on my back. The beast struggled to me and bit into my stomach. I felt it gobbling my liver, I felt it crushing my ribs. I wished for the pain to stop, and mostly, it did. I felt light stinging as the beast was feasting on me, but it wasn't the maddening experience like with my hand. The hand did hurt a bit though.
I was still alive and conscious, when only my head was left. The beast's blood-covered muzzle lowered over my face and gave me a big, friendly lick before taking the last bite.
I tried to wake up, but instead I ended in another dream, a common, boring and silly.
In the morning I woke up with headache. My hand hurt me and I saw large bitemarks on my forearm. But I was relieved. From now on: Regular feeding of my pet. And no more violence. I tried to get up, and yelped, my whole body was aching. I was glad I had called in sick.
With quite a bit of effort I managed to get up and stumbled to bathroom. I saw myself in the mirror - my whole body was covered with red traces where my flesh had been torn. They felt a bit sore, but nothing I couldn't stand. I smiled at the memory of the warm tongue. Now this will make Martin curious. And all that stigma-style markings! And those exquisite bitemarks on my cheeks!
Why didn't it work at Martin's place? Why did I fail then? What did I do wrong?
I slapped my head. - Of course! Lucid dreaming! Fake fog world! Fake beast! I should have been waiting for the fog world to come, but I just recalled a dummy instead. I wanted the beast and so came a beast, I wanted it healthy and so my wish was granted, but not on MY beast.
Ouching and hissing I pulled the shirt on, with trousers it was worse, the "neutered pain" area was in much better shape than what the beast ate with my full consciousness. I called Martin and told him about the events. He was quite calm until he heard about the bitemarks covering my whole body. Apparently a vision of a pretty article in a professional paper, with some color photos seemed very attractive. Oh well, I owed to him, that was him who got the idea the beast was starving. He asked me to come in the evening. I ate a good breakfast and decided to spend the day outside. Trying to get my sore body used to walking, I headed towards the city borders. Recreational areas. Parks, sport stadium, swimming pools, horse racing track, speedway track, places for skateboarders, theater. Sunny autumn morning, families with kids on a walk. I enjoyed the fresh air. I bought a soda at a booth, sat on a bench by the path, watching clouds pushed through the sky. I heard someone sitting by me, and saw it's Sandra.
- Hello - she said.
- Hi. Did you call in sick too?
- No, boss just said this is a slow season and I can just take a day out, there is no work whatsoever. So I felt like having a walk... And you, just... Oh, you didn't play truant. What's that?
- That? Oh, just some bad rash. I'll see a doctor about it in the evening.
- Come on, such a regular rash? Just tell me what is that.
- You wouldn't believe anyway.
- Why?
- That are bitemarks.
- What?!! No, you're kidding me again.
- I told you you wouldn't believe.
- But.. but... that would have to be a tiger... or a lion...
- Worse.
- What could be worse? And why are you alive yet then?
- Let's give it up. You will think I'm a freak.
- I already do.
- So... I'll better get going before I make it any worse. - I stood up.
- Just tell me, what did that to you? - she stood up too.
- My own imagination.
- Oh come on.
- I dreamed of a beast who kills me in my dream.
- And it caused... that? Come on.
We started walking slowly further away from the city.
- Remember me from four months ago? The wreck I was?
- That was the same thing?
- Yes.
- But then, you didn't have any... things on your face. And you were a real wreck of a man.
- I had. On my neck. That's why I was such a wreck too.
- You mean...
- I learned to fight the beast.
- But... judging by these marks... you didn't win?
- Actually, I did. It was a tough battle.
I decided telling her I willingly submitted myself to the beast would be a bit too much.
- So, you are safe?
- For another week or so.
- But I thought you killed... did you?
- We both get reborn every time.
She pondered this for a while.
- That would make a good story. A man fights his inner beast. Or a movie. No, that would be a crappy movie. - she fell silent for a while - I wonder how would it end.
- I wonder too. Could you do me a favor?
- Yes?
- Could you support me on that rash story at work. That stuff may repeat from time to time.
- That must be terrible!
- No, not really.
- Really?
- Gives me the macho man feeling.
- Oh, come on! - she giggled. - How does that beast look like?
- Like a... - I stood still, looking at a group of riders racing through the horse racing track in the distance - ...a horse. Oh, no, not like a normal horse. More like a some demonic dog with horse head and long fangs.
- Aww, really?
- Come on, that's just a dream. That was scary at first, but now... - I grimaced. Now it's somehow pretty, I finished in my thoughts.
We walked off the alley and towards the track, through meadows.
- I find it hard to believe that a dream could cause that.
- It's the same mechanism as stigmata of the saints. A doctor explained it to me. False alert, increased organism immunity system activity in affected places.
- That dream must be very vivid.
- And hurts like the hell when I get hurt.
- Really? So what about pinching in dreams?
- A false urban legend. Pinch yourself in a dream.
- And did you get hurt?
- I lost my left hand! See? - I pulled the sleeve up.
- Oh my god! - she covered her mouth with her hands. - How did you win?
I chuckled.
- Nobody messes with my right uppercut! - I punched the air.
- I didn't know we have such a brave hero in our office!
- Who fights with his own dreams?
- Come on, I'd piss my bed. Did you see a doctor about that?
- Yes, actually I really have an appointment for today evening.
- What kind of doctor makes appointments for the evening?
- One that that's busy with straightening your dreams?
- Do you sleep at his place?
- Yes, sometimes. Sometimes under hypnosis.
- Hey, isn't that a miss doctor or something?
- Nooo, he's a man, slightly older than me. And not a gay.
We came up to the barriers of the track. The group of riders was galloping in our direction, apparently making another lap.
- So... he hypnotizes you?
- Yes, so I'm still conscious while dreaming.
- So you can do what you want?
- Everything I desire.
- Now that's something...
A loud squeal of a horse broke our discussion. The lead horse suddenly stopped and began backing up, other horses were protesting under their riders just the same. The riders fought to regain control, beating the horses, one horse managed to drop his rider and galloping ran away. A rider managed to get his horse to get by the inner barrier by us, as the horse got a bit further, it went into full gallop, without any more protests, yet another just jumped the inner barrier and carried the rider through the fields. The remaining riders managed to get down and hold their horses, but they couldn't manage to calm them down.
- Interesting, how do you think, what happened? - Sandra asked.
I looked at her in silence.
- My God. Let's go away before something worse happens.
We walked away quickly. I looked through my shoulder, the horses were calming down.
- This is getting out of hand - she said. - You need to do something!
- What?
- I... I don't know! Kill the beast permanently, get exorcised, I have no idea.
- For now I'll maybe just see the doctor.
- Yes, right. I... I must go now.
- Want me to walk me to your car or somewhere?
- No, no, really... - she was smiling, but I felt it. I didn't insist. She was deadly scared. In fact, so was I. WHAT is the beast? What happened to me?
I strolled to the trees of the alley and went further away, to the city limits and beyond, through the woods. Without thinking, I was walking some narrow paths between trees, this area so close to the city wasn't nearly as deserted as I wished it to, many people took the opportunity for a walk. Once I was passing by a group with a small dog on a leash. The dog started barking madly at me. The owner apologized.
The forest was getting wilder, the paths more scarce. I walked through a glade and felt some unpleasant smell. The path led me to the other side. I walked between the trees, heard a lot of flies. Maybe two steps from the path a deer corpse lay rotten. But that wasn't the only source of the noise. Several steps in the other direction I saw some other unidentified shape, another dead animal. I turned back. I didn't like this place at all. A dead bird by a tree. I entered the glade and saw some bones in the deep grass, a rabbit. What I had thought was an anthill appeared to be another, almost completely decomposed deer. I ran towards the point where the path enters the glade. The sound of crackling under my foot was probably some rodent. I couldn't help looking around, and this place was one big animal graveyard! Run! Run away! Get out of here! I stumbled on something and suppressed wave of nausea as the smell suddenly rose. I reached the edge of the glade and kept running for a while, seeing more animal corpses I hadn't noticed before. I kept running, until I couldn't catch my breath anymore, then I stopped and looked around. Again! No, that's just a stump. That pile, no, that's just a pile of leaves. I shook the shock off me. I hurried back to the city, looking behind me more often than I'd like to.
I practically ran through the alley. The Sun was hidden behind some clouds, it got cold and windy. I found a taxi, got in and shouted my home address.
- Excuse me sir, but... what have you been doing? You stink! I'm sorry but I don't want that smell in my cab!
Only now I noticed the smell. I got out as fast as I could, looked around, looked at myself. Remains of some animal corpse, black goo on my shoes. I ran to my home on foot. It started raining and as I entered my house it was pouring already. The smell was unbearable. I stopped by the trashcan, threw my shoes into it, then noticed stains on my trousers and took them off, and after checking the pockets, discarded them too. Just in socks and boxers I ran upstairs to my apartment.
I closed the door behind me and gasped hard. I could still feel the smell, but it was much weaker. I emptied all my pockets, took all my clothes off, and loaded them in a plastic bag, tied a knot on it and went to the shower.
Hot water made all the bitemarks burn. I washed myself thoroughly, then stood for several minutes in the hot water with closed eyes. I opened them. The bathroom was filled with steam, obscuring my view to length of my hand. I closed the valve and looked around. Now, this looks all too familiar. My heart was pounding loudly. I got off the shower cabin, stumbled where the door should be, felt the familiar cold of wood with my hands and shoulders, opened them, ran to my living room, turned around, looking at the clouds of steam coming from the bathroom door, ready to face the attack. I gasped hard, stood there and waited.
- Come on! Come! Show yourself!
Nothing happened. Two minutes later the fog was almost gone. I stalked to the bathroom door. Looked inside. Nothing. I turned around, feeling it's behind my back. Nothing again.
I was exhausted. I closed the bathroom door and stumbled to my bed. I fell on it, rolled onto my back and practically against my will, fell asleep.
And there it was, almost immediately, the fog and the beast. I was curling with fear, powerless, unable to fight, and the beast just walked up to me, with its terrifying jaws at the level of my mouth. I curled deeper, awaiting the pain.
And it didn't come. Instead, I felt the warm tongue on my cheek.
The beast was still skinny, but nothing near dying. It lay at my feet and looked up to me. I stretched my hand fearfully, then touched the mane between the equine ears. It looked at me, but didn't move.
- Why are you doing this? Why are you doing that thing with my life? - I asked.
I saw sadness in the eyes. "Help me. Heal me. Set me free. I'm lost".
- Who? What are you?
The beast raised its head and lay it on my knees. I took the big head in my hands. "Don't hurt me. Oh please, don't hurt me anymore", pleaded the beast.
I caught the head firmly and turned it to face me.
- Stop. Doing. This.
"Please. It's not my fault. Help me."
- How?
The answer was just a quiet, helpless shriek.
I lowered my head and rested my face against the black neck. I extended my arm, put it in front of the terrifying muzzle.
- Drink.
The beast looked into my eyes.
- Just drink my blood. I can't give you more today.
The hungry eyes were so thankful. It almost didn't hurt.
I woke up refreshed. Most of the morning stigmata were gone, just the hand, face... and two new dots on the opposite forearm.
I took some new clothes on, caught a sniff of rotten flesh, it filtered even through the plastic bag, I swept from the table into my pockets everything I usually carry there, took the bag, went out of the door and locked it behind me. Downstairs the smell from the trashcan was piercing through my lungs, I got outside and caught a deep breath. I took the clothes to chemical laundry and asked for thorough cleaning. I took a taxi to Martin's house, it was almost dusk, but I decided not to go there yet. I just got into my car and drove to the recreational area.
It was cold and cloudy. The alley was almost deserted. Ignoring the signs I drove it to the end, to the forest. In quick pace, trying to get there before the dusk, I rushed through the forest to the glade. When I saw first dead animals, I turned back. I didn't want to investigate much, just to confirm it was real and that I remembered the way. I went back to my car and drove back to Martin. I left the car just in the same place and rang the doorbell.
- Greetings, Mike. Ouch, that looks terrible! - he grimaced at sight of my hand. - You say this stuff covers your whole body?
- Not anymore. All the lighter bitemarks went off this afternoon. Just this and my arm. And two new.
- Two new? How?
- I had a nap in the afternoon. Maybe I'd better tell everything in detail.
- That would be best.
He invited me to the library, there was tea and biscuits, I told the whole story, starting from the fear as soon as I left his door, including the taxi, the struggle for sleep, the annoying train dream, the pain and later my walk, the horses and the dead animals. I told him about the terror with the steam, and how the beast didn't attack me.
- That thing with the glade could be something normal, somebody discarded some poison there and animals eat the grass or poisoned animal bodies. But that story with horses... I find it really scary. I'm not sure if you did right by letting the beast live.
- But... it doesn't mean harm to anyone else...
- I wouldn't be so sure. That dreams of yours had a strong impact on me. Last night I had a nightmare too. I dreamed I was running from your beast. But I made it, I got on a plane and it can't fly.
- She can't fly.
- She?
- She. It just dawned upon me now. When you said Nightmare. That's what she is. A nightmare.
- But you don't have any arguments to confirm your theory?
- If you mean if I looked under her tail, no.
- So... what's the plan for today?
- You're the scientist. The situation, save some abnormalities with my life, is rather stable. Good opportunity for some scientific research if you wish.
- Would you mind me taking photos of that... stigmata of yours?
- Why, no problem at all.
- I'll get the camera. And some more equipment.
Martin walked out, a moment later I heard him rummaging through some other room.
- I got that idea - he shouted - to get that marks of yours on video, as they appear. Like, I record your hand as you sleep and then you let the beast bite it.
Some more rummaging.
- Damned tripod, whole entangled in christmas lights. Okay, I also stay in contact with you, and ask the beast a few questions, through you, if you don't mind.
- She's wasn't very responsive, you know.
- Worth a try anyway!
Martin strolled into the room, loaded with equipment. A tape recorder, a rather old video camera, a big Polaroid camera, a tripod and a bunch of cables.
- Wait a moment. - he vanished in the doorway after leaving this all on the floor, a moment later appearing with an EKG device and an empty cardboard box.
- Hope you don't mind? Too bad I don't have EEG equipment. Stupid me, I could have borrowed it. I should have recorded your tale too. Too long since I did any scientific research...
- Nothing is lost, if you don't find it boring. I slept during the day so I'm not sleepy really. I can retell it whole from the very beginning - I suggested, while Martin was inscribing my name on the cardboard box.
- Great. But first the photo. I'm not sure if the movie isn't old and if I shouldn't go buy a new one.
I rolled my sleeve up and exposed my hand. As he aimed his camera, the same thing struck us, we looked at each other momentarily... then the flash and we both began staring at the picture, as details began appearing from oblivion.
Martin sighed loudly. - Nothing. Just a normal picture. We both watch too many horror movies.
Martin shot a few more photos, including close-ups of the bitemarks on my cheeks. He plugged in all the equipment, turned "record" on on the tape recorder, opened a cabinet on the wall, revealing a TV set with video player, then tested the video camera for a moment, tried playing the tape in the video player, it worked okay.
- So, are you okay with the idea of feeding the beast with yourself for the good of the science?
- Absolutely. Which limb should I sacrifice?
- Does that turn you on or something?
- No - I chuckled. - But I learned to like my beast. I somehow understood I'd be missing something important without her, so I'm ready for some sacrifices.
- Something where it would be visible...
- Like, no old bitemarks? Right now only my legs are bitemark-free.
- I think the hand with just the fang marks will do. For now I will ask you to tell me the whole story.
He took a thick notebook, scribbled something across the front page, wrote something near top of the second page, removed the tape from the recorder, wrote something on it, put it in the box, took another one, rewound it to the beginning and pressed record. For a while he described my profile - name, age, habits (or lack of thereof), then shortly characterized the problem and asked me to tell the whole story from the very beginning.
From time to time Martin was asking some questions and I found them most interesting... Why was the beast always skinny? - Probably because it can feed only when I'm conscious. Even while I was the prey, it barely managed to take a few bites off me before I was waking. This suggested that now the beast was stronger than ever.
- I keep making one, very unscientific mistake - noticed Martin. - I keep referring to the beast as a live being, and treating it as such, not just as a creation of your brain. You've been very suggestive in your tales, but we can't forget that creature is just a dream. We shouldn't assume it's consistent, like when it feeds, it grows stronger, when it starves, weakens and such.
- But it is surprisingly consistent though.
My phone rang.
- My boss.
I answered.
- How's that health of yours? Better?
- A bit, there are some small problems yet, but nothing that would stop me from work if I'm needed.
- Just opposite. There's almost nothing to do until the end of the week, but then we get a major contract and I'll need you fully operational. So I want you to take this week off to cure yourself and show up fully operational next Monday. I gave a few days off
|
|
Bookmarks