I’m really not stupid. I’m not telling you my real fucking name. You can call me Freddy for reasons which should become all too apparent shortly. I’m not a serial killer. I’m not like those guys. I’m a normal person. I pay my taxes, drink the occasional beer, find golf incredibly boring, can’t afford nice things and even share memes on Facebook. I don’t stand over my victim’s bloodied corpse with a knife or squeeze my hands around their throat. I don’t lure innocent young women into the back of my big white van. No I’m much more discreet than that. I’m a dreamer. It all started off back when I was maybe fifteen. My grandmother was what you might call a hoarder. Anything you might have need of she would have sitting in inch thick dust somewhere in her home. Anyway I found the book when I was helping my uncle move a table for her. It was called Envision and was all about dreams, hypnosis, psychic energy, auras etc.
A section I took particular interest in was entitled Lucid Dreaming: Your Inner Self Set Free. It was a fairly straightforward. It described the act of lucid dreaming which was to dream and to be both aware and in control of the dream. It also had a list of mental instructions to encourage successful lucid dreaming. I was always curious kid so I memorized the list and set to work trying to lucid dream. It took me a week but eventually I would be able to go to this beautiful boat on the ocean and just sail for hours and hours every night. It was wonderful.
Then I started dreaming about girls and their bodies and I would more often than not find my dream self floating above their beds like a horny ghost. It was funny, the book had said I could control my dream reality but no matter how hard I thought the clothes stayed on and they stayed asleep and passive as I leered at them. It wasn’t until I will my hands to grab Stacy from church that things started to change. She woke up but was not nearly as happy to see me as I would have intended. She started to scream. I covered her mouth. She fought back. I tried to hold her still. There was a snapping sound and she was still. This was not how I had wanted things to go but it felt so good. I willed myself to wake up. I was in bed, covered in sweat, and very very hard. I found out about her death on the news two days later.
I stopped lucid dreaming for a long while after that. I got a girlfriend and tried to put the memory behind me. She broke up with me two years later. She said it was because she needed to and I quote “date herself”. A month after that I found out herself was a guy who called himself Chief and smelled like ass and weed all the time. I skipped school and work that day,stayed home and rested. They were found so brutally destroyed that even their families couldn’t identify them.
I don’t just use the dream power or whatever you’d call it for killing. I’ve attended rock concerts floating invisibly in the air. I’ve been to the Grand Canyon. I tried to go to space once but for some reason I ended up at a rest stop in Georgia. Killing isn’t who I am. It’s just an occasional hobby. I don’t even do it that often. It’s been maybe a year now since I last had any of my crazy fun. Anyway I know I’m not the most interesting person in the world and let’s face it you probably don’t believe a word of this. Well that makes you spending your time hearing me out all the more meaningful. I think I’ll try dreaming about you tonight and see what happens.
Written by Gomez Capulet
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