I imagine God looks down on Earth the same way I looked down on my pancakes this morning: utter disgust. I couldn’t eat (I can’t eat). My priest suggested therapy, and my therapist suggested a priest. Ironic, ain’t it?
The past few nights, I’ve been having this dream. Yet, it felt too real to be fake. I could see, hear, smell…Hell, I could feel what was happening. Some nights I’ve woken up with my leg or arm still tingling from what happened the night before. The only constant I have is the time I wake up from these dreams and the inevitable feeling that something, someone, is watching me. It usually goes like this:
I open my eyes to the sound of radio static coming from outside my car window. The night sky was looming over me with the same feeling of loneliness that’s consumed me since Amelia died. The intense bright lights of the fast-food Chinese restaurant contrasted with the dark and empty town. Not a light could be seen for miles, and the only thing I could hear was that damn radio static. I rolled down the window and tried to order some food.
“Hello?” I politely said, but there was no response, only radio static. “Um, are you guys open?” I asked again. Still no response. They must be closed, I thought while muttering obscenities under my breath. I drove all the way out here for nothing. Instead of pitying myself over some Americanized Kung Pao Chicken, I decided to accept defeat and eat whatever was left in my apartment. No one was behind me, and it didn’t seem like anyone was awake at this hour, so I took a couple of seconds to turn on the radio. When I pressed the worn-out “power on/volume” dial, only radio static came out.
“What is going on right now?” I asked myself. “Fine, no music.” I sighed. As I made my way out of the parking lot, I noticed there was no exit. In fact, the only place I could drive to was this closed hotel. Before I had time to yell or scream, I got a call on my phone.
"”AMELIA”“
It said in bold letters. But that’s not possible. I quickly answer the phone and was ready to fight.
“If this is some sick joke, I hope you know that-“
“John?” The soft, familiar voice of Amelia asked. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I clutched my phone like a bible.
“Sweetheart?” I responded. “How is this possible?”
“Sweetie. Where do you think you are?” She asked.
“I- I’m in town. I went to get some food but-“
“No.” She sternly stated in a much deeper voice than before. “Where do you think you are?”
I looked up and read the hotel sign.
"”SKUNCUIOXIEF”“
“I can’t read it. It’s not in English.” I said. “Where am I?” My voice shook with every word. My body felt cold, ice cold. Radio static surrounded my car. The looming feeling of loneliness was replaced with fear. I wasn’t alone, and yet I couldn’t see beyond the blackened windows and lifeless buildings in front of me.
“It’s okay, dear!” Amelia excitedly assured me. “Sometimes God falls asleep, and an angel ends up in the wrong place.” The radio static outside grew louder.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Hopefully, someone will find you. Hopefully, He’ll wake up.”
And then I woke up.
Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal. Grief comes with stress, and stress brings nightmares. But every night, when I finally wake up, it’s exactly 3:58 am. The hairs on the back of my neck are already standing at attention. One night, I swear I could feel something reaching out to me. Again, I chalked this up to just normal grieving emotions manifesting themselves in a messed-up manner. My subconscious was just sabotaging me.
At this point, I looked forward to my dreams. Though they leave me with an unsettling pit in my stomach, it gives me a chance to hear her voice again. She speaks to me, and it feels like we’re having a real conversation (even if that convo is about my future demise). Maybe nightmares weren’t so bad…at least, I think they’re nightmares.
Last night I drifted off to sleep at 9:30 pm. I knew I would be awoken at the same time, so I tried going to bed earlier in case I couldn’t fall back asleep. But something was off about this dream.
I opened my eyes to a dark road with nothing behind me and nothing ahead. I was driving my car, but I didn’t really have a destination in mind. Simply, I was driving. Not a star could be seen in the night sky, and it looked as if my only comfort would be acres of corn that filled fields parallel to me. Though odd, I didn’t question it. Amelia was bound to call me, and I wanted to hear her voice. But my phone didn’t ring. In fact, there was no sound at all. There wasn’t even radio static. I tried to turn on the radio, but there was nothing. I rolled down my window, yet I heard nothing.
After a minute or two of searching for sound, the low-gas light turned on in my car. “Damn, even in dreams, I don’t get good gas mileage,” I said to myself. As quickly as I noticed the gas, I found myself at exactly where I needed to be. Up ahead, I saw the familiar bright lights of a local gas station. It only had two pumps and a small convenience store. There seemed to be no other cars in sight, not even the owners, but I decided to stop anyways. When I exited my car, I felt the wind brush against my cheek like the familiar hand that reached out to me some nights ago. A chill ran across my body, and I looked up from the pump and towards the cornfield in front of me. Still, there was nothing I could see. There was nothing I could hear. I could only feel the invisible eyes of something watching me.
That’s when the ticking started. Radio static wasn’t so bad, and the silence was ominous. But this ticking sound was insidious.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Then nothing. I stayed by my car, the gas was pumping slower than molasses.
Tick, tick, tick. Then nothing. I finally had enough gas.
Tick, tick. Then nothing. I opened the door to my car.
Tick. Then nothing. I was in my car, and the doors were locked.
Nothing. There were no ticks, no radio; I was back to silence. As I buckled my seatbelt, I felt something behind me. That is when I made the worst mistake since a hotdog eating contest in college. My eyes approached the rearview mirror; I held my breath and put the key in the ignition with shaky hands.
Nothing was there.
Tick, then nothing.
When I lowered my gaze, I caught a glimpse of the creature stalking me. Eyes wide open like a man gone mad. Skin as grey as gravel. A nose bent sideways. Its smile was as wide as its cheeks, with hundreds of teeth in all directions. It matched my breathing, and when it slowed down, I did too. The thing crawled up my car on all fours with its talon-like feet. The neck of the beast twisted as it tried to get a better view of its prey. I closed my eyes shut, begging God to wake me up.
Wake up! I thought. Please, please wake up! Though no doors were open, I could feel it enter my car. Its breath was ice cold, and every muscle in my body tensed up.
And thank god I woke up.
I shot up in my slumber, my eyes fixated on the bedside table. 3:58 am. The silence in my room was comforting. For the first time, I felt as though nothing was watching me.
Before going back to sleep, a notification appeared on my phone. It was probably work; some of those guys are weirdly ambitious. So, I drifted off to sleep as if nothing had happened. The next morning, I was fixing my coffee and checking the notifications.
"”AMELIA”“
It read across the screen. The number must have been transferred already. That’s the only explanation. I opened up the message, expecting it to be someone who butt-dialed me. Hell, I even thought someone was playing a cruel prank on me. Whatever it was, I was ready to send something along the lines of “hey, this is my dead fiance’s number; please don’t text me again.” Yet the message left me with more questions than answers.
“He’s finally awake!” The message read. “He can finally see you!”
What the hell? I thought to myself. But before I could respond, the hairs on my neck stood up again. Just like before, my breath shortened, my hands were shaking, and the air felt heavy.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Then nothing.