Reoccurring Nightmare



                 When I was a child, I developed a peculiar set of sleeping habits due to a recurring nightmare. The nightmare always began the same. Me and my cousin would be playing with Legos, laughing and remarking about each other’s creations. Then we would hear a knock. A deep and awkward set of hits against wood, echoing throughout my room would fill my head. I would pause, and suddenly I felt anxiety. A 6th sense of fear and excitement except I thought I had to reason to. It was just my mother surely, respecting our privacy and asking for admittance into the room. I would call out “Come in!” and look to the door. It wouldn’t open. Instead the closet door would open and a disfigured being resembling a man would race out and grab my cousin by the face. He would squeeze, and my cousin’s brain and skull would shatter. Blood sprayed everywhere and I stood speechless. I wouldn’t even react. Just stare at what was left of my cousin. Then the same would be done with me. I would scream out for my mother, not to save me, but to protect herself. I would die before my voice would alert my mom. The last thing I’d see in the dream was a yellowed and wrinkly hand clenched in front of my eyes.



                 This reoccurred for two weeks; each time resulting in waking up to clenched sheets and cold sweat. Soon, on the begging of the third week, I would find a way to fall asleep after my nightmare. I would grab my stuffed bear and let me dangle him over the edge of my bed, holding his arm tight. I would awake to him fallen on the ground. It was a simple solution to my problem, and I quickly stopped having the nightmares and returned to normal sleep. I would feel reassured that I had a firm grasp on my bear, and it helped the anxiety dissipate.



                 Today, now older and living on my own, I went through a couple boxes when I was clearing out my cluttered garage for space. There were a few old pictures I rummaged through, and I found one that must have been my parents taking a picture of me sleeping. The picture was from an older camera, before digital printing was a thing. Although the sides were yellow and torn the quality was still surpassingly crisp. I noticed it was after I had the nightmares so my hand was dangling over the edge. I smiled and was deep in thought for a moment, divulging myself in an old memory. I was about to toss the picture when I took one last look at the bear I was holding.



                 Except there wasn’t a bear I was holding onto.

                 The bear was a few inches away from where my hand was.

                 Instead of a happy smiling bear that brought me warmth and joy there was a different hand grasping mine.

                 Instead of a fluffy brown bear hand,



                  There was a yellow one, wrinkled and clenched.