The Terror of Looping Through False Awakenings
The doorbell rang at 1:39 this morning. It echoed inside the dream briefly and finally woke me up. When I reached the door, no one was there. Had the doorbell rung? Was the act of physically getting out of bed just another dream?
I fell asleep and resumed the dream state once more. Another interruption. I heard people trampling against the front door. The light coming from underneath revealed that the shadow belonged to a man. He was tall and brawny. Strong enough to break down the door. I dialed the police and waited.
They would there in minutes. The man screamed, “Let me go! Let me go!” when the officers arrived. I should have been relieved when the first officer knocked on the door to check on me.
Don’t open the door, a voice said. But I unlatched it and thanked the officers for removing the crazy man. Both officers were lanky and young, uniforms fitted tightly around their bodies. The one with darker skin tipped his hat. He wanted to come in and I felt I could not refuse him. After all, didn’t he just do me a favor?
There’s some uneasy tension between us. I assumed it was confined to my mind and ignored the sickness bubbling in my stomach, even when the officer began to take off his shoes and spread himself across the sofa. He asked for tea with a wave of his hand.
The second officer came moments later. He must have left his shoes by the door. I grew queasy by the sight of his bare feet. He removed his shirt and said, “Look at me. Take a good look at me and don’t forget this,” but I was unable to look at his face. He was a con man. They were a team.
His hands reached my throat swiftly and choked most of the air left in my lungs. I stared at the first officer. He was jumping up and down on the sofa with a gun in his hand. The second officer tilted his head sideways and studied my face. He burst into a menacing laugh which serenaded me into the darkness that followed.
Another knock on the door. I felt more terrified than before, still unable to determine the dream from reality. I approached the door, my hands clutched tightly across my arms, and looked through the peephole. A unknown woman stood there, shaking her head and adjusting the violet veil over her face. I refused to open the door. When I tried to speak my voice was gone. I looked through the hole. An empty hallway. But the left side of wall was covered in strange artwork.
My heart, pounding through the surface of my chest, asked for some relief so I went back to bed and pulled the sheets over my head. A child all over again.
Someone banged their skull against the door. I saw the woman wearing a blue veil this time as she turned away and disappeared. More artwork. I got the impression it covered the entire wall. I unfastened the chain on the door and took a closer look.
I fell to my knees at the sight of a grand shrine. Pictures of young men and woman who’d been killed by those officers. A young girl named Rachel found with a broken neck beside her brother. Shootings and brutal stabbings. There are over two dozen photographs displaying their mutilated bodies, parents in tears, flowers everywhere.
I’m mad by it all. As if I’d known all along that the woman in the veil was Rachel. There were others who’d knocked on the door, asking for my help. I could not answer because my heart was failing and my mind entering insanity.
This series of false awakening finally ended around 7:30 this morning. Even now, as I sit and write about this experience every sound, every creak in the wood is making the adrenaline secrete and my blood pressure rise. I’m still afraid…