by: Sherrie Hurd, Freelance writer and guest blogger
I woke up from a grizzly nightmare, yet again. It was set in a dark, fairly moldy terrain. The air was filled with the scent of rancid meat and charged with energy. In the sky burned a morbid fire. But it was the light of my bedroom light flooding my newly waken form.
The dream lingered on through consciousness, tickling my spine and causing me to look around the room. I was frightened. Even though the dream was gone and the average world where nothing really every happened, was back. I was in my bed and I was wet with sweat.
To some, this sounds sexy. Well, to me it has become a pattern of dread. I know that when I close my eyes, I will think of it again. I will see hunks of writhing flesh, half animated, yet falling from the bone. I will see this and open my eyes. No, Freddy isn’t coming to get me and there are no chainsaws buzzing in the distance. All I can hear are whispers…
“We have to get another one. We shall try the cemetary across the field.”
This quote may not be exact, it probably isn’t, to be honest. But I know that it is close enough. I know that this story will never live up to the nightmare it has spawned in my head. The way it recaps from chapter to chapter, dragging the razor blade across the skin.
This dreaded nightmare of searching for a better one, has reminded me of my eluding sleep. I watch in my mind’s eye as Herbert West re-animates his former professor. The thoughts of energized flesh that should be rightfully rotting in the ground, turns my stomach. But I remember the story, the original story.
“We have to get another one. We took too long this time.”
The words grow course and rip through my peaceful mind. I feel like I will never get to sleep. There, the dream awaits. I know it is waiting to kill me, just to see If I should rise again. I whimper and pull my legs up to guard myself in my bed womb. There is only so much gore I can take. If one more corpse is reanimated, I shall scream!
“There was just too much this time. I shall alter the dosage.”
I see a shadow in the door way, but the shadow is wrong. There is a flat terrain atop the shoulders. I smell something akin to roadkill and vomit. Could it be? I want to climb into the walls and find sanctuary, but I know that I have gone too far this time. Light suddenly fills the room with the loud sound of a click. I get a glimpse of my teenage son, bending low over his bowl of popcorn. He is trying to eat from the bowl with his face.
“Mama, You want to watch a movie with me?”
I am relieved, and it looks like I shall be up for a while. Maybe the movie can drown out the dead voices in my ears.
“So, what are we watching, son?”
My teen sets his bowl down on the dresser and hold his hands out to explain. He always talks with this hands. I mean, if you cut them off, he would not be able to talk.
He starts his explaination. “Well, you see, we had to read this book in class.”
“Oh yeah, what was it?”
“Not sure, I think it was by H.P. Lovecraft. ReAnimator…or something like that.”
I am numb and so I smile weakly at my son. “That’s okay sweetheart. I think I will try and get some sleep.”
I mean, who tells their students to reads H.P. Lovecraft? Hm, maybe there is hope for the school system yet. At least I can discuss this with the corpses in my dreams tonight. What’s say it boys, want to go get another one?
An army of dead scream in unison. A jaw falls off here, an arm over there; we are just horrifically awesome. As I finally drift off to sleep, I am smiling. I can smell them all dancing in my dreams. There amongst the busy throng of the dead, stands Herbert West. He looks angry.
“Damn, it wasn’t fresh enough!”