When I was a kid, there was a time when I had constant nightmares. Monsters, aliens, evil spies, zombies - I dreamed every single bad thing my adolescent brain could come up with. I remember asking my mom why this was happening, and she told me that it’s quite normal to have a ‘nightmare phase’ when you’re growing up. I remember how that time in my life felt endless, being anxious about going to sleep every night, and waking up scared most mornings. Turns out, though, my mom was right - it did end up being just a phase. What felt like eternity was probably closer to six months. The bad dreams slowly became more sparse, slowly turning into a rare occurrence. Later I looked it up, and the frequency of nightmares reach a peak between the ages of three and six. I was probably closer to six when this all happened, seeing as how I remember it so vividly.
As I grew up, the nightmares became less and less frequent, and when I did get them, they started to manifest real-life problems, instead of monsters and aliens. In my dreams I’d lose my wallet, sleep in from job interviews, have my laptop break, and the like. Sometimes I would miss the nightmares of my childhood, when they were an escape from the real world, instead of a manifestation of its worst attributes.
Anyway, there was one dream that stayed with me through the years. During that nightmare phase, I dreamed of a monster invisible to all the grown-ups. In it, I would be hanging out in my room, playing with toys. Suddenly, I would sense something coming after me, in that weird dreamy way where you just know something. Scared, I’d run to my sister’s room and ask her to help me. She would yell at me to stop bothering her. She didn’t believe me. I’d run downstairs to the living room, where I’d find my parents drinking coffee and reading newspapers. I would tell them that something is coming after me, something horrible, and I need help. I was screaming and jumping around, trying to do anything to get them to help me. But they wouldn’t listen. My parents would tell me that everything is fine, and not to make such a big deal about this. Neither of them even looked up from their newspapers. I was afraid for my life, and no one believed me.
I could feel the thing entering the top floor, coming for me, coming to take me. In sheer panic I’d run to the bathroom at the other side of our house and lock the door. I could hear the thing coming closer as I screamed for help, but to no avail. Everyone ignored what was happening to me. The thing reached the bathroom door and started to smash it with its huge, deformed appendages. Each hit from its greasy flesh cracked the door slightly more than the last, tearing holes as pieces of wood seemed to explode in all directions. I would cry, my eyes so welled up that I could barely see, resigned to die. There was no escape, and nobody was coming to help me. That’s when I would wake up, with that feeling still encompassing my whole body.
I still have this dream thirty years later. Not as often, of course, but maybe once or twice a year. As the years passed, the dream tenderized, and the potency of its dread faded. It became a routine, a film you’ve seen a thousand times over.
My son recently turned five, and he has been seeing more and more nightmares. I told him all about the nightmare phase, how I’d had it as well, and how it would end soon enough. I told him the nightmares I had as a kid mostly seemed silly now that I was older, and that would happen to him as well. I reminded him that monsters aren’t real, and even if they were, I would protect him and kick their asses. He didn’t completely understand the fact that monsters aren’t real, but instead he was very enthusiastic about me fighting them off with my legendary jiu-jitsu and karate moves - his idea. Dads really are superheroes to their kids, and I still hope to be one.
Three days ago he had gotten pretty tired during the day, so we put him out for an afternoon nap. He seemed to fall asleep quickly.
After a while, as me and my wife sat in the living room with our phones in hand, he ran down the stairs, clearly frightened. His pajamas were soaked in sweat, and his eyes were wide. He told me there was a monster coming after him, that he needed me to come and kick its butt. “It’s just a nightmare”, I told him, “there’s no monster, but I’ll check your bedroom closets later if you’d like.” He screamed “NO!” There’s a monster here NOW coming AFTER ME!!”
When he got like this, it was best to ignore the screaming. I didn’t want there to be a precedent that a tantrum would get him whatever he wanted, so I just repeated what I said; that it’s just a nightmare, and that I’ll help him later if he calms down. He screamed for his mom, who only told him to do as I had said. Promptly, our son ran into the bathroom and locked himself in. “I’m sure he’ll calm down in there and come out soon enough” I told my wife. “Let’s hope these nightmares pass soon, I bet it’s making his brain more wired up than it already is. It’s a crazy time being a kid.”
After about ten minutes he still hadn’t come out of the bathroom. I called out to him but there was no answer. I assumed the tantrum had evolved into the silent treatment. I walked up to the bathroom door and knocked. Still no answer, not even a breath. I called out again with a firm tone telling him that it’s time to come out. Complete silence. My wife got up and joined me at the door. We waited for a few moments more, and nothing.
I started to get scared. What if he had fallen down and hit his head? All of the things that could be wrong started to crowd my mind. “I’m going to force the door if you’re not coming out, okay? But then we’ll take the cost of the repairs out of your allowance.” I called out, trying to incentivize him to open the door. My wife started to get panicky as well. He must’ve been in there for fifteen minutes or more now. “Okay buddy STAND BACK, I’m going to open the door now.” I didn’t have words to help me anymore. After another silent moment, hoping this would just end, I took a step back and threw my elbow into the door, slightly cracking the wooden frame. My wife jumped, but didnät try to stop me. The second time I hit the door even harder, but it still wouldn’t budge. I thought, fuck it, I’ll just break the whole thing. I’d rather pay for a new door than have something happen to my son - I’m a good dad. Aiming for the space right next to the handle and lock, I kicked the door open, smashing parts of the frame with it. Walking in, we both inspected the small bathroom. It was empty.
Soon the police came and searched the house, finding nothing. Right now they’re sweeping the whole county, and I’m sure if you’re a resident you by now know which one. The story hasn’t left the news for five minutes. There’s no trace of forced entry, no marks of any kind to show him leaving. There’s no window in the bathroom, and his shoes and all were still at our house. Even with all that, the bathroom door only locks from the inside. It’s like he disappeared into thin air. It’s been over 72 hours, so the chances of him being found alive are decreasing. Now the police are starting to suspect us as well. How could we do that? Do something to our own son? What the fuck would all this benefit? We’re good parents, for fuck’s sake. My wife’s a wreck. I’ve barely slept, but last night sheer exhaustion commanded me to blackout for a few hours.
When I fell asleep, I dreamed the same dream I’d always had, of the monster no one but me could hear and see. The dream progressed exactly as it always does, but instead of me being my adolescent self, I was in the living room, sitting next to my wife. Our son came down the stairs, frightened. He told us he’s scared of a monster that’s coming out to get him. I promptly told him to calm down, that I’ll come and check his room later. He ran to the bathroom and locked himself in. A few moments later, I hear a horrid gurgling sound from upstairs. The sound started to increase in volume, accompanied by loud steps. I was frozen in fear.
A huge thing with multiple thick appendages emerged from the stairwell. The thing’s body had portions of… people emerging from its thick skin. Children, I realized from the small size of the body parts, were melded into the creature, in ragged, torn up ways. Bulging, white eyes popped up in a crude circle near the top, and rows of baby teeth ejected from the long appendages. Small bones protruded in jagged formations as puss leaked from intermittent holes. Its many eyes turned to look at me, and for a moment they squinted in unison. It turned away and started to walk, thumping its disgusting body in irregular movements.
I couldn’t move or say anything as it approached the bathroom. I couldn’t get up as it started to smash the door into pieces. I couldn’t say sorry when I saw my son’s face through the cracks in the door.
Sheer terror woke me up. I tried to explain to my wife that I saw it, I saw the thing that took our son. She doesn’t believe me, and I highly doubt the police would either. I got a bottle of expired sleeping pills, to try and get a longer sleep in. I have to go back there - I have to find out if there’s something I can do. I don’t know how this works - whether the thing can kill me in the dream - so I’m leaving this text as some sort of proof of what I’m about to attempt, and what led me to this. Maybe I won’t even have the dream, but I sure as fuck hope I do. It’s the only thing I can do. I might be the only one who can get back there, and I don’t know what will happen. After posting this I’m taking a handful of pills to combat the amount of adrenaline in my body. I need to get to sleep and stay asleep for as long as I can. Maybe I won’t wake up, but I hope to find my son. I promised him I’d kick any and all monster butt, and that’s what I’m going to do. Wish me luck.