Dream Killer

He comes to me every night. When my eyes close, he’s there. But he’s there when they open too. Wherever I go, he follows. No one else sees him, but I do. And I can’t unsee him. 

Can’t unsee his eyes. Dark grey. Like death. Almost two black holes. Sucking away at anything and everything around them. Drawing you in. Keeping you locked on a path towards them. No pulling out. You’re gone the second you look into them. When you first see them, you know.

Know nothing will be the same. Ever. Again. Death will be forever on your mind. Lurking in your thoughts. Slithering around your neck, like a noose ever so slowly tightening. Haunting you with it’s sinister smile.

His lips. Peeled back to reveal teeth yellow and crooked. Looking to crunch on souls. Sharp enough to cut through bone. Rip you apart. But slowly. A quick death doesn’t allow for enough pain. And pain is what makes him smile. Grinning as he watches the innocent die in his hands. 

Those hands. Bony. Pale. Like a ghost’s. The kind of ghost that comes back to keep the promises it made when it was alive. Promises like ‘I’ll come back to haunt you when I die’. But they were jokes then. Not now. And he is still alive, at least enough for his hands to work. For they must, in order to use his knife the way he does.

The way he uses his knife. Always keeps it in a thin coat of blood so it’s grace through the air doesn’t distract you from its purpose. Without that coat of blood, it would be a pleasure to watch. Dancing through the air. But no. The coat of blood. 

Blood. Who knows where from. Who from. Anyone. Any person too naive to see him and stop him before it’s too late. Someone like me.

He peers at me from above. The blade of the knife, slick with fresh blood, glistens. A wicked smile slowly spreads across his cruel face, “Don’t you worry. I’ll be back to finish you off.” The malice drips from his voice like the blood from my arm. 

He turns and disappears down the hall to haunt someone else, leaving me slouched against the blood smeared wall. My eyelids begin to flutter as his dark silhouette gets smaller. Red smears my vision as I sink into the darkness at the end of a dream. The last one before he takes me. Just like he promised. 

 Light floods my vision. “The bus leaves in ten minutes. I’m headed to work,” my mom tells me as her usual wake up call.

Once I hear the door shut, and a few minutes later her car door shutting, I rush to the kitchen, yanking open drawers with my right arm. I find bandages and plaster dozens around my left bicep before returning to my room to throw on shorts and a t-shirt. 

As I jog out the door, the world seems tinted red. The bus pulls up and the driver announces, “I’m back.” I freeze on the spot. 

My best friend, Dara stands up from her seat in the front row of the bus, “Hello? C’mon. We don’t have forever.” Forcing a small laugh, I get on the bus, avoiding the driver’s eyes, and sitting next to Dara. “What was that about?” She asks.

 “What do you mean? That was so creepy. He was all like ‘I’m back’,” I reply.

She gives me an odd look, “Uh, yeah. ’Cuz he told us he told us yesterday was gonna be his last day but it wasn’t.” 

“Right of course. He just said it kind of weirdly,” I stammer, trying to cover up my mistake. 

“What are all these bandages for?” She asks. “Is everything ok? Did something happen after school yesterday? You would’ve texted me right?” 

“Yeah, Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

 “So what happened then...? You can’t really need that many band-aids if it’s nothing,” Dara replies.

I avoid her eyes. “It’s personal,” I lie.

“Are you frickin’ serious?” She demands. “We’ve been best friends for years. I know everything about you. ‘It’s personal’ is not an excuse and you know it. Tell me what the hell is going on right now.”

“Fine,” I snap.

“Fine. Go ahead,” she sneers. 

I gulp, “There’s… I’ve been having this dream…”

Dara cuts me off, “Cut the crap! You really think I don’t know you?”

“Please, Dara, you have to let me just finish,” I beg. 

“No. We’ve talked about dreams so many times and I know you think nothing of them. You barely even remember them. Maybe once a month. So, cut it out. Your dreams have nothing to do with like a million bandages on your arm. Last chance. What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On.”

I swallow hard, panicking, “Dara…”

She glares. “Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just see what the matter is myself.” With that, she rips off a band-aid, revealing a tiny section the cut left from his knife. She tears the rest off, exposing the giant gash in my arm. “What are all these band-aids for?” She inquires, eye brows forced down. 

“What are you talking about? Do you not see the giant hole in my arm?” I laugh nervously.

She scoots away from me, towards the window, looking at me like a monster, “What the hell are you talking about? There’s nothing there. Just normal skin. Are you okay? I think you’re-”

The bus stops suddenly. Dara looks out the window, “Where are we? This isn’t a stop.”

There’s a whoosh as the bus doors open. A man climbs the steps. He stops beside the bus driver and scans the bus, holding a knife in his hand. His eyes find mine and his head tilts slightly, wicked smile spreading like wildfire, “Hey there sweetheart. Told you I’d be back.”

I scream. I scream. I scream. 

Dara clamps her hand over my mouth, “Shut up. What is going on with you? Everyone’s staring.” My eyes go wild and I point wildly at the man who promised to come back to kill me. “What are you pointing at? You aren’t okay. I think you’re seeing things.”

The man takes slow steps towards me, grinning. “Happy death day,” he whispers and raises the knife.