The Church in the Woods

By Vngel W
I had a weird dream last night. It wasn’t like your normal every day dream. It was actually very disturbing to me. I wouldn’t consider it a nightmare, but I know I will never forget it. The thought of the dream now still brings a shiver down my spine.

Before the dream, everything was normal. It was a weekend after a long week of work. Normally on a weekend, I would spend the time sleeping it away or watching television, which of course made my weekends go by real quick. There’s nothing worse than expediting your rest days to the work ones.

This weekend, I decided to mix it up a bit. Instead of my usual lazy days around my apartment, I decided to venture out and visit my parents. It had been at least three weeks since my last phone call to them. I had moved out of their place about two years ago and had been comfortably been able to support myself working as an IT technician. It was the kind of job where we would assist any customers, trouble-shooting any software issues or establish network paths on their computers. Occasionally, the job would require us to meet customers at their homes or locations to provide onsite service. It was a good job that paid decent and kept the lights running, said for the infrequent weirdoes we might’ve dealt with on the onsite service requests.

Today would be a nice mix-up of things and I would be able to go for a nice long morning drive. Nothing felt better than riding in the car while the sun gradually made its way up, the nice cool air felt soothing against my face while watching the sky gain color ever so slightly. The drive itself wasn’t too long. My parents lived about 50 miles away which gave for a smooth trip if traffic permitted.

I thought about giving them a quick heads-up call to let them know I was coming, but refrained. It would actually be better if my visit was unannounced. It would give more to the surprise amplifying the moment. The last time I recall actually seeing my parents was two years ago when originally moving. Back in college, I used to surprise them with random visits from school on the weekends. Of course, my step-mother was always over-joyed to see me, hugging me tight and bombarding me with questions about tests and grades.

So I packed up a few things: toothbrush, clothes for one night, towels, underwear and anything else I thought I might need. I quickly loaded my car and pulled out my apartment area. As expected, the sun was barely visible beyond the horizon. The air was cool, enough to let the windows down a little to allow a small amount to pour through. This was as my request was answered on cue.

The drive itself was smooth and fluent; there were barely any other cars on the road due to the time of day. As early as it might have seem to some people, my parents were early birds. They got up early to maximize their day taking care of small things throughout the day: Cutting grass, morning run, errands, etc.

It didn’t take long before I reached my old hometown. I was met with the familiar setting rendering old memories. Almost at every angle, I could recall some event from my life while growing up. It wasn’t until I looked in the rear mirror that I noticed I had a smile pressed on my face. There was no hiding it I guess, I was happy to be home.

Eventually, I reached my neighborhood turning onto the street my parents lived. From the distance, I could see their house at the far end of the street to the right. I drove down the street glancing left and right attempting to see if old neighbors were still present at their homes. Just from a glance, I could recognize what houses had new people and which ones had familiar faces. Only a few people were actually up and outside: one person in particular was Mr. Harris. He was infamous for always attending his yard. He was mainly seen cutting his grass and did so in a full jumpsuit regardless of how hot or cold the weather shifted. It looked like the ones prisoners would wear except it was navy blue instead of a bright orange.

I reached my parents’ house, parking next to the mailbox. The driveway had my dad’s car in it; my step-mother’s car was usually kept inside the garage since it was a newer vehicle. The house itself was fairly big. It was two stories with all white siding that covered the entire house. It had burgundy shutters to accompany each window and a decent size porch with a bench on it.

After parking my car and walking up to the door, I could already see the inside door open with the screen door closed to allow the cool air to run through. The aroma of bacon and eggs filtered outward along with the sounds of talking and moving around. Despite still having a key to the place, I rang the doorbell. Instantly, I heard my dad’s voice grumpily questioning out-loud who would be visiting at this hour. I could hear his footsteps walking over until he emerged into the entrance hallway. I could see his eyes widen and a smile grow on his face. He called out for my step-mother to come over to him. When she did, I was met with a loud cry of joy as she raced over to the door opening it and pulling me into a vice-grip hug.

After about a 10 minute moment of hugs and greetings, I was finally able to settle in. I brought all my stuff into my old room which was in the basement. The basement of course was finished and had a big television in front of a couch along with the washer and dryer down there. It was almost like a second living room, perfect for having guests over or even a tenant for renting.

The day went by fairly quick. I spent most of the day talking to them about my job, politics in the world and other recent events. It wasn’t until the evening arrived when my dad announced that in his spare time he had managed to convert all the old home-movie tapes onto DVDs. My dad was always the type to keep busy. He worked hard throughout the week and even on the weekends as he was unable to cope with the downtime. It was in these times that he would keep himself busy with small side projects. These projects varied from big projects like installing new floor boards to small ones like planting new flowers outside. Apparently this time, his project had been converting the old tapes before they became too bad to view.

We decided to spend that evening watching the old movies to bring about a nostalgic feeling of where and how we lived. He popped in the first disk and left temporary to use the bathroom. The video appeared to be during Christmas time. The footage was very grainy producing a few white streaking lines across the screen. The timestamp in the corner read December 25, 1991.

In the video, we could see a fairly big tree in the background heavily decorated with tinsel and ornaments. Below it, a multitude of a presents covered the floor varying in size. Off to the side was my mother, my real mother, very young in appearance. She must have been at least in her mid-20s at the time. I didn’t get a chance to know her. My father had informed me she had died when I was too young to remember. I only recognized her from photos I had seen lying around. It wasn’t until I was old enough that my father explained her death was in fact a murder. Some crazy loon had broken into their apartment and shot her. My father had been shot only in the shoulder. He didn’t really like to speak about and I didn’t blame him. Because of his feelings, I never pressed him more about it.

The Camera in the movie sat fixated without shaking giving the assumption that it was on a stand. Soon after, my father appeared from behind the camera to join her on the ground. He too was young in appearance. It was strange to see them this way and brought about small amount of laughter from me. They both seemed to have their eyes fixated on something. It wasn’t until my dad shifted the camera that I could see that the something was me. There I was; a younger version of myself. Checking the timestamp on the screen suggested that I was 1 years old.

I watched in awe as my younger self hobbled around curiously grabbing small things around the small apartment. Occasionally, he would render a small smile to my parents whenever they called out my name in a soft tone. The moment was nice until the screen went to complete static. The sound was a little distorted, but it was clear the video was not over. I could make out what sounded like a knock at the door from the audio, but wasn’t sure entirely. My dad returned just as this happened and went over to the television cursing at it. He finally ejected the DVD and popped in a new one informing us that the rest of the tape must’ve been too bad before the full record. Yet, we didn’t let that hinder the moment and prepared ourselves as the next disk loaded up.

After a long evening of laughing and admiring our younger images on the home-movies, we decided to call it a night. We said our good nights; my step-mother promised to cook us all a big breakfast tomorrow. I made my way back downstairs and changed into my pajamas eventually lying on my old bed. I just laid there for a couple of minutes just smiling to myself still thinking about the videos and other times I had while growing up. Without realizing it, I found myself asleep.

Now, this is when it all happened. This is when I had the dream. In this dream, I found myself back in the old apartment I had viewed with my parents earlier in the home-movie. It was strange though, unlike the angle the camera appeared in the video, I was standing offset of it. It was an angle that did not appear in the video and yet somehow I could see more of the apartment with greater detail: from the kitchen in the back, its sink full of dishes to the pictures hanging on the wall.

I wasn’t sure how this amount of detail was applied because clearly I was just a child at the time and remembering this would be impossible. There was a possibility that my brain was just filling the gaps of the apartment with places I had seen and been to, but something deep inside me brought up a hint familiarity, like everything being presented was exactly how it was at the time.

Around the apartment, it was clearly Christmas time like in the video. I continued to look around noticing my dad standing behind the camera exactly like in the video and my mother sitting on the floor in view of it. As if on cue, he walked from behind the camera and sat next to my mother. It was literally like being present in the footage, scene for scene.

I attempted to grab my parents’ attention. I tried calling out to them, waving and even touching them, but it was like I didn’t exist. They couldn’t see or hear me and my hands went through them almost as if I was a ghost. My dad then shifted the camera to where, I could hear my younger self cooing and hobbling around to my side. I watched as the younger me began playing with a book curiously trying to figure out the object.

Suddenly, there came a loud banging at the door. The noise startled me, my parents included. I watched as my dad rose and went to check the door. The door itself had a small peek-hole. I recalled that I remember hearing what sounded like a knock on a door from the distorted video. I heard my dad mumble something in a confusing tone. It was something around the grounds of the peek-hole was either being covered or that someone was standing real close to it. At this moment, I got an uneasy sensation in my stomach. For whatever reason, I got the feeling that opening that door would be a mistake. However, before I could react, my dad unbolted the locks and opened the door. He was immediately struck with a barrel of a gun. I watched in horror as he grabbed his now bleeding head in pain. The assailant kicked my father back causing him to fall over next to my mother. My mother let out an ear-splitting scream in fear.

The assailant came through the door shutting it softly behind and locking the bolt across. The assailant gave off a hissing shush sound to my parents, hearing the voice confirmed that it was a man. Afterwards, he stood silent pointing the long barreled gun at my frightened parents. I too was frozen in fear even knowing I couldn’t be seen.

The man wore a long black cloak over his body with a hood draped over his head. A few chains looped from his waist connecting from the front to the back on both sides of his hip. When I looked closer, there were several faint grey inverted crosses on the side of his hood and on the back of his cloak. Was this guy a part of some twisted religion?

I carefully made my way around him; he remained in the same position appearing to not show any indication to my presence, yet I was still wasn’t taking any chances. When I finally reached a good angle to see his face, my heart dropped. He was wearing a pale white mask over his face. The mask was glossy; the eye holes were wide open along with the mouth both completely veiled in black. It gave off an eerie chill; it was as if the mask itself was frozen in a fear, emitting an ear-splitting scream for its life.

We all just remained still with what felt like a long hour. Finally, my dad managed to mutter a question to the man asking him why he was doing this. The man of course remained silent ignoring the question. My mother was still whimpering to herself while my dad kept his head low applying pressure to the wound on his head. He repeated his question with more anger in his tone.

The man finally made a move taking out a second pistol from his robes with his other hand. He raised and pointed it in my direction. My heart began rapidly pounding against my chest, more than it was before. Could the man finally see me? Had he always been able to? I raised my hands up in a surrendering pose while backing up a little. When I did, I realized the angle of the gun was slightly off. He was pointing in my direction, but not at me exactly. I turned my head to see that he was in fact pointing the gun at me, the young me though.

My mother let out another loud shriek when the man had the gun in the direction of my 1-year old self. Of course being 1-year old, I didn’t seem bothered by the gun; in fact I was still playing around with the book from earlier, oblivious to the whole situation. What was the man planning? Why did he break in to begin with? He clearly did not want anything from my parents. They didn’t have anything expensive at the time. More importantly, why was he pointing a gun at a 1- year old child?

My heart dropped even further when I heard him cock the gun pointed at my younger self. What reason would he have for doing this? What would it accomplish? My mother attempted to move towards me, but the man refocused his other gun on her, cocking that weapon as well. I looked back at my younger self who in turn looked up at the man giving a blank innocent stare. The man appeared unfazed, solid in his stance. I could see his finger slowly squeezing back on the trigger. Heart still racing, I quickly moved in the path of the gun hoping to obscure his view. I knew this wouldn’t make a difference so instead I attempted to grab the gun, but my hand phased through it like before. I couldn’t touch him.

His finger gradually continued to squeeze back on the trigger. It was like viewing the moment in slow motion, taking forever to occur. Unexpectedly, I found my mind being flooded with images. They were images of people; they looked to be people I knew throughout my life. Almost like a photo album, endless images of moments and faces flashed by. I saw my mother, my father, friends I had known, girlfriends I had relations with, everyone. They continued appearing one after another and as they did I felt a pulsating pain grow in my head. I couldn’t take all the images at once, it was too much and yet they continued. I found myself on my knees as the images began appearing at a faster rate. I was now gripping my head almost shaking uncontrollably until they stopped without warning. The air felt cold, the warm colors around transitioned literally to a grayscale-like color. I looked up slowly and when I did, I saw the flash of the barrel go off, followed by the sound of a loud bang.

I turned around to find the lifeless body of my younger self lying on his back. A pool of blood formed around him quickly. The air was silent; my parents were speechless frozen in disbelief. The man lowered his gun eventually letting it drop to the ground. We all remained silent and completely still.

He proceeded to lift his hand, removing his hood. Afterwards, he slowly removed the mask from his face. My eyes could not comprehend what they viewed. This man, this murdering psychopathic religious nut-case’s face was….my face. He had the same face as me, the current age me. Tears formed in his eyes and slowly made their way down his face. He turned to my parents; a small smiled formed across his face. It wasn’t a twisted evil smile or a satisfied one. No, his smile and his eyes held a deep sense of sympathy. With it, he spoke with quivering words, “I’m sorry….I had to. I…I did you a favor. Forgive me...” A blinding white light appeared out of nowhere, completely engulfing me. I could see a face appearing a mist the white. Immediately afterwards, I was awoken by the alarm on my cell phone. I sat up quickly; the dream was still burning in my mind with every excruciating detail. When I looked down at my hands, I found them trembling. I put them to my sweaty chest to feel my heart knocking around uncontrollably at no end. What the hell kind of dream was that?

After the dream, I couldn’t fall back asleep again or actually I didn’t want to. The dream was just so disturbing and more importantly too realistic. Lucky for me, it hadn’t been too early in the morning. Soon, my parents would be awake as well. This thought comforted me a little for I didn’t want to be alone. As expected, I could soon hear my step-mother adhering to her promise, cooking the large breakfast upstairs. Before heading up, I made sure to compose myself in the best manner I could. I didn’t want them questioning me about the ordeal even if it was just a dream. I wanted to prevent any reason to recall it, at least not at that moment, it was too soon.

I ascended the stairs and made my way to the kitchen where I was greeted happily. I of course lied about how I slept. We ate breakfast silently for the most part; luckily they were deeply involved with the Sunday paper or they were on their tablets. After eating, I thanked them for the meal and promised I visit more often. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible so I told them I had to leave early for work. I packed up my things and said my goodbyes before entering my car. For some reason, speaking this out-loud helped me truly cope with what had happened in that dream. After doing so, I’ve realized that it was just that, a dream. There was no deeper meaning to it other than my mind conjuring up a freakish set of images based off what I had seen prior to. I felt better now and was surprisingly beginning to forget most of the dream.

I was about to turn my car ignition on until I heard my phone ring; it was my boss. He asked me how I was doing and if I was willing to do an extended onsite service for a client, possibly for a week or two depending on the amount of computers. The project involved establishing computer networks and accounts, and mentioned that the client would provide room and meals. Seeing nothing wrong with getting out of the office for a while, I agreed and asked who the client was. He told me this would be a service for an independent church.

END OF PART I