I am exhausted; both physically and mentally I am at breaking point. The endless hours of work, the unrelenting pressure to succeed in a cut throat business are getting to me. It feels as though I have been a machine for the last months going by with a minimum of sleep and a maximum of work. Today it is finally time for me to go to sleep early and leave the turmoil behind me, knowing that it will wait for me in the morning, but confident that it shall be probably dealt with. I take a long warm shower which soothes my body that is much too tense these days, brush my teeth and go to bed.
The bed feels comfortable and within minutes I feel myself drifting away to the realm of dreams and fantasy, a realm where everything is possible and I can be king. There is nothing I like better than sleep and dream, it is my favourite pass time and at times I indulge myself to an extra long nap just for this sole reason. Today I know will be different when I am too tired to even get anything done properly I know have over exaggerated and gone too long with my normal regiment of sleep. Today the sleep I will have will not be a joy but rather a necessity, a dreamless slumber that will serve to fill my energy reserve somewhat before waking me to a new day of work where I will most likely tire myself again and so the cycle of necessary sleep will recommence. This is the way things go these days it is only the weekend where I can sleep longer and catch up on my beauty sleep.
Before I can even sleep properly, a nagging noise is disrupting me; it is a constant high pitched sound that echoes through the room like an ambulance siren, it is in short intervals where it briefly stops only to start once again. It interrupts my slumber, but I decide to ignore it, I know not what can cause this noise but I do not care and I am very tired, so I just let it be. But the noise is unrelenting and although I am very tired as I have only just gotten to bed and it has been a long day, it does not allow me to fall asleep. Usually when the noise is constant I can just ignore it, living in the city has given me the ability to shut down constant noises, such as music etc. But this noise is different; it comes at intervals and doesn’t stop at all, if anything it gets louder. And so a battle commences between me on one side and the sound on the other, it is a battle to see if I can ignore the sound and eventually fall asleep, or if I will fall victim to the noise and end up awake and disturbed but more importantly not sleeping.
It is roughly 30 minutes later when I notice that I give up, as I can’t take it any longer, the endless repetition as well as the very essence of the noise, has proven too much for me. It is now a shivering cry that pierces my ears and my very heart, it sends electrical shocks right through me, that make me both shiver and long for it to just end, to cease if only for a moment the wailing that it sounds like now. I decide to get up and see where the noise is coming from and more importantly what is causing it. I have the strangest feeling it is caused by someone, rather than something, a baby perhaps. I walk carefully through my apartment searching for the source of the cries. My apartment has two rooms, one bedroom and one spare room, a living room/kitchen and a bathroom/toilet. There is a small corridor that connects the two rooms the toilet/bathroom to the living room/kitchen. I slowly walk through the dark corridor; I don’t turn on the light and leave everything in darkness, I know the small apartment well and quickly cover the ground needed to find the source, I walk it half asleep and my eyes are half closed. It takes me a while to realize that I have entered a room that does not exist in my apartment, it is a room that I have never been in before and I have never seen either. However, it is clear that the sound of the voice is coming from somewhere in this room.
I blink several times, trying to get my eyes used to the darkness that is around me, at first glance there appears to be nothing in the small room. I look behind me, to the place from which I came and to my surprise I see that there is no path there, it is as though I travelled through the wall to reach this closed off room. I try to reach for a light switch, my hand searching for a switch somewhere along the walls, but I can find nothing. The walls are soft and straight to the touch. I decide to live it be and focus on the sound. It is clear that it is coming from this room and after several more moments in the dark my eyes get slightly more adjusted to the dark and I see something in the centre of the room. It is dark and about knee high, I can’t make out its exact shape but it is clear that the noise is coming from there. I carefully walk towards it, my feet hardly making a sound on the wooden floor, which strangely enough is the same floor that is in my apartment.
I stand above the structure and find it to be a wooden baby crib, there is a blanket in it and several pacifiers, as well as a small doll. However, the crib is otherwise empty the baby is nowhere to be found. It is now clear to me what the sound is; it is my child, my baby screaming at me. It must need something, maybe it is hungry or frightened, or maybe something has happened to it. In a flash all scenes run through my mind in horror and frantically I search around the crib and the room itself for my child. But it is nowhere to be found, it is as though its screams are the only living reminiscence of it. I try to locate the baby, somewhere in the room but it is clear that it is coming from the crib and that is not there now. I go through the crib with my hand but there is nothing invisible there only the things that I can see.
The screams grow louder, begging me to help somehow but I cannot, an incredible feeling of helplessness swallows me whole suffocating me, my heart beat accelerates and I find it difficult to breathe. My baby calls for, it needs me and I can do nothing. I have to do something or I will go mad, but there is nothing for me to do, there is nothing but the endless screams that beckon me. I scream in rage fuelled by the helpless that I feel as the pitch of the cries increases and the sound changes to something like a wallow of sorrow echoing into my very soul, a sorrow that saddens me and brings me to despair. Acting solely on pure emotion I punch against the wall with my fists, feeling the pain cut deep into the skin but it is nothing compared to the pain I feel in my heart, in my soul. I cry out in rage, in sorrow, in despair, as the terrible screams are breaking, the voice shattering and my soul is crushed along with it.
I am lying in my bed, it was a dream. Ever since my baby was born I have been suffering from the strangest dreams, all involving things that befell him. Either directly to him or through something I witnessed, like a kidnapping of someone else’s baby. I had once a completely irrational fear that someone would come into my apartment for some reason. This manifested itself more clearly in a dream where a woman and a man barged into my unlocked apartment (which was unlocked because it was the middle of the day) and take my baby. I would fight them as much as I could; while they would scream at me that the child wasn’t mine but theirs. I know it’s very irrational and illogical but it still leaves me panicky and the thought of something of the sort occurring don’t leave me, but rather stay there to remind me that there is always the possibility that something similar will occur.
It is funny how in dreams I am usually alone and my wife is either indisposed or not listening, or simply not there. I look over to my right where my wife is peacefully sleeping. She is a deep sleeper, always was, so usually it is me that goes to check our baby when needed or if it needs a bottle. The dream has left me too agitated and I find it difficult to fall back to sleep, just then a very soft moaning comes from the baby room. My apartment has three rooms and I don’t know why my previous dream was so cryptic about the third room and its entrance. I yawn, wipe the cobwebs from my eyes and walk towards the baby room. My eyes are used to the dark and I quietly and quickly make my way to the room. I stop dead in my tracks as I see something moving. It is a dark figure although in the dark unlighted room everything appears dark. The figure is hunched over my baby’s crib that is placed in the centre of the room.
‘Who the hell are you and what the hell do you think you are doing?’ I scream in anger and panic. I don’t wait for an answer though; I run forward my fists raised and my intentions clear. I don’t know who the stranger is and I don’t care, whoever he is, he just broke into my house and has threatened the one thing I hold dearer than life itself, the life of my child.
I aim a punch straight at the figures head, but the figure easily evades and punches me in the stomach. The punch is strong but not nearly strong enough to knock me down, or even slow me. I use my left hand to through a jab to his face while preparing the real punch with my right hand. The move works perfectly and my right punch connects squarely with the figure’s face. Strangely the figure says nothing, no cry of pain, no grunt nothing, nothing to even show that my punch connected at all. I steal a look at my baby and notice there is a pillow on his face, I jump towards it and try to knock the pillow away. I know now that the target was my baby; the figure has come to kill my child. Rage bellows in me, pushing clear all rational thoughts and all I want to do now is feel is blood. But before I can do anything, before I even manage to remove the pillow the figure kicks me in my right leg, just above the knee. The kick stops me from moving, the searing pain sends shivers up to my spine and I grit my teeth not to scream. Instead I try as much as I can to ignore the pain and focus on the figure, even though my head is exploding with pain and little white dots spread across my vision, making it blurry and somewhat unfocused. The figure is about a foot to my right; the crib is almost within reach on my left. I feint a kick towards the figure while the rest of my body moves quickly to the crib. But I am not fast enough the half dead leg I am now carrying is slowing me down and the figure is in front of the crib before I can get to it.
I stare at the figure, I know it won’t let me pass and I know that the anger I feel towards the figure won’t let me just leave either. I stand in front of the figure and this time I don’t flinch, I am not distracted, I am here 100% and I will not stop until you are dead! Just like that my mind is made up and I wait. I know that if I will make the first move it will be the end of me, if however I wait and judge the timing and reaction just right I might still be able to kick this asswipe and punch him so strong that he won’t ever recover.
Finally when I am very close to blinking and nearly miss the movement all together, the figure reaches out and stands with his left leg backwards as though he intends to kick me with his right. After the two quick jabs and my severe handicap I know that this is too obvious a move. He won’t just kick me with his right leg; he will most likely do something else. I wait in anticipation and then just as quickly his right leg shoots forwards towards my head. I lift my hand up to block just to see the kick go down towards my ribs, I know I can’t possibly make it in time and curse my stupidity for falling for one of the most obvious kicks in the world. The kick connects hard and I hear a cracking sound as though my ribs are shattered. I try to take a deep breath but instead only gasps come and an incredible burning sensation comes with every breath I take. The pain that accompanies each and every breathe is pure agony and I know I don’t have a lot more in me. My ordeal doesn’t stop there though, as my momentarily lapse costs me dearly. The figure closes the gap between us and throws a barrage of punches at me; they hit my head, stomach, ribs, arms and face, with deadly precision and incredible force. As each of the punches hits home and I try my best to block them I realize that I had no chance from the very beginning. I feel my consciousness fading as more punches hit home and the pain is almost too much to bear. My last thoughts are with my poor baby, not even a year old, what possible harm could he ever do to anyone…
I open my eyes, I am in bed. There is a soft wailing in the background. It was a dream, I wipe the sweat from my brow and as I do so the details of the dream are already fading. I get up from the bed and walk towards my baby’s room. I know its most likely nothing but I always feel better after checking after him. Making sure he has everything he needs and that he is comfortable and breathing properly.
My arm is slightly stiff, I most likely slept on it, I shake it back and forth several times to get the blood pumping again and continue to walk quietly to the room. There just beyond the door I see a figure standing above the crib of my child. Just like that the dream comes back to me, more vivid than ever, I see the figure above the crib. It is trying to kill my child; it is trying to destroy my life. I run forward, this time I won’t scream, I won’t shout, I will let my fists do the talking. The figure doesn’t have time to react and I immediately jump on it. My punches rain on his face and the figure can’t do anything to stop me. I feel an intense sense of pleasure as my punches connect home. I hit the face mostly, but every other punch goes to the ribs. I continue on and on stopping only to catch my breath. Finally when all my energy is expended and my fists are bleeding and broken I stop. I won. I smile a vicious smile and get up. The figure is lying on a heap on the floor, I don’t know if it is still alive or not and I don’t care.
I go to look at the crib where my baby is crying. I pick him up in my arms and softly, cradle him gently back to sleep. When he is finally calm enough and deep sleeps I put him back in his crib and go to turn on the light. My baby is a deep sleeper just like my wife; once he is deep asleep there are not a lot of things that will wake him up. I blink several times before my eyes adjust to the light and I walk to the figure that is lying motionless on the floor. I stare at the bloody mess and realize I have some explaining to do to the police, but still this is self defence so it should be a simple enough case. I stare at the cloth the figure is wearing and notice that they look oddly familiar, a chill runs through me, a fear that I know only too well who the cloth belong to. Reluctantly, I pull the bloodied cloths to the side to reveal who the figure was. To my horror, although in my heart I already know the answer, I see who it is that I have beaten to death with my very own two arms. In a puddle of blood, slime and bodily fluids, like a scene from a gruesome horror film, lies what once was my wife. No recognisable feature remains of her once beautiful, smooth almost opaque like face. Her face which once was her most astonishing feature, easily comparable to the most graceful and elegant marble statue, was now contorted into something resembling a monster. The eyes were puffed up and blue, the eyes themselves unrecognisable anymore, the nose was broken and blood was still streaming down from it like a leaking fosset onto and into her mouth, where her lips had gotten so swollen you could barely tell where they were originally and what had happened to them. Horror movies don’t prepare you though for all the little details that you knew about the person, they don’t prepare you for the true horror that is not just the disfigurement but the fact that what you loved is now gone and no more. But it more than that, I know that the only reason this happened is because of me. I am to blame and so when the police come, I will be taken, I will be judged and I will most likely die in jail.
Tears run down my face, all my wishes and dreams can now only be distant memories or exist as impossible wishes, my love is gone, I will never see her beautiful face again. As that realization hits me, warm tears begin to run uncontrollably across my face; I let them fall down to the floor. The despair of knowing love and losing it hits me as strongly as anything I have ever felt and shock settles in, I begin to frantically push the blood back into my wife’s dead body. I don’t know what else to do, but there must be something that can be done. I break down crying, trying somehow to fix what I have done by blocking the blood from coming out, pushing the blood back in, and even giving my wife mouth to mouth on her broken and swollen lips. My hands become gluey with blood and I try to resuscitate her by interchangeably giving her mouth to mouth and pushing against her chest to get her heart going again like I have seen in countable movies. I have never performed CPR but I have seen it preformed many times in movies so I try to copy the act that I have witnessed and apply it to my wife, all the while knowing that it is too late and that the pile of broken bones and blood can no longer be saved. This does not prevent me from trying and I continue on and on until my hands are painful and my breathing hurts and I can hardly move any longer. I burst into fits of anger and of intense crying. I scream to no one in particular and wake up my sleeping baby as I do so.
I stop my scream shocked with the realization that my son has now lost his mother and that I now his sole provider. Worst than the fact that my life is over; my son will have to endure the harsh life of foster homes and the neverending emotional turmoil that this will entail. I ruined my son’s life…
I am in my bed looking at the dark ceiling. My shirt is drenched in sweat, my whole body is covered in cold sweat and I am breathing heavily. The dream was incredibly vivid and I still am slightly shaky and slightly anxious. I wipe the sweat away and try to regain my calm. Several long and deep breathes later I feel slightly better; I turn to my wife who is lying next to me. Her head is facing me, and her eyes are shut. She looks so peaceful, so tranquil that I am slightly jealous that she hasn’t even noticed my distress next to her. But maybe that is for the better, if she was up she would want me to detail my ordeal to her, something that I am not sure I can just do.
I look at my wife’s face a little longer, I long to touch her, to feel the warmth of her body next to mine. Gently I reach out and remove a flock of her hair from her face, while brushing the hair away I notice that her skin feel cold to the touch, I lift the blanket slightly and utter a scream of utter terror. In my bed lies my wife but only a part of her. Her head lies there facing me while her body, her torso is nowhere to be found, the only evidence to show it was ever there in the first place is a large puddle of blood. I jump out of the bed all the way unable to stop my frantic screaming…
In bed again, I get out of bed quickly and go to the bathroom. These dreams are becoming more and more intense and I find it difficult to control them or even see what their point is, other than torment me. In the bathroom, I stand above the sink and open the tap to wash my face. These nightmares are taking their toll and the cold water brings me back to reality. I wipe my face with the towel and get out of the bathroom. I am slightly thirsty and head to the fridge to get a much needed glass of water or maybe some juice. I don’t turn on any of the lights in the house and head to the fridge. I open the door and stare at the ingredients that are found there. I notice the fridge is really full, find the bottle of water in the fridge door, take it out and close the fridge. I pour myself a glass of cold natural mineral water and eagerly drink it. The water makes me feel slightly better and I am almost ready to head back to bed. I open the fridge door again and put the bottles back in place. I look inside the fridge for something small to munch on and I notice that the fridge seems to be filled to the brim with meat. I don’t remember buying this much meat, I am not much of a meat eater and my wife is a vegetarian so we never have this much meat at home.
I take out some of the pieces of meat and look at them carefully, they appear strange, I can’t make out what part of cow or pig or other animal they are of, or what kind of meat this is. I know for sure that it isn’t chicken as I see no wings and the meat is red and not white. It resembles more closely pig rather than beef but it is hard to say. I take out all the pieces of meat and try to organize them as I think they should go. The fridge is really full it is almost as if at least a whole animal went in if not two.
After additional examination of the meat I realize there are two different kinds of meat here, a large one and a small one. Most likely an adult and a child like a mutton and a lamb or something of the sort. I put the pieces together but I quickly realize that these pieces of meat or of something altogether more horrific. The bones that are protruding at areas and they resemble human bones. Also at other points the cuts were not done professionally, the cuts of meat are not nice thin slices but rather large chunks of meat. A cold feeling of dread comes over me the more I go through the meat and the more I discover, the more I loath to touch it and the more I fear what I shall find.
After an agonizing game of meat scrabble, I wash my hands clean of the whole affair and go to wash my hands in the bathroom. I turn on the light and wash my hands from the pieces of meat and the blood that glued on to my hands. When I am done washing my hands with water and soap I dry them carefully on the towel that hangs next to sink. I look at the bathtub and strangely the curtain is shut. I never close the curtain because I have watched too many horror movies and a closed curtain can only mean one thing a dead body or something terrible. Maybe a monster or other, it therefore annoys me that my family keep on closing the curtain, even though I tell them to keep it open. I never tell them the real reason though. I just say that keeping the curtain open let’s you see everything better and keeps the bad humid smell away from the plastic curtain. Although that is probably not true, I think keeping the curtain open will keep the smell away rather than closing the curtain.
I haphazardly walk towards the curtain and with one quick movement open it. In the bathtub I find a cascade of blood that runs on the white bathtub and the white tiles. I stare at it in shock not knowing what this is and where it comes from. The blood covers everything and is still slightly wet and slowly draining. The blood on the tiles is dry as is the blood on the rim of the bathtub. I leave the scene of horror in a hurry and try to clear my mind. What is the meaning of this? Where does all the blood come from and what should I do?
Suddenly a thought strikes me; if the fridge was filled with strange pieces of meat what was the freezer filled with? I completely neglected to look at the freezer the previous time I went to the kitchen…
I slowly walk towards the freezer, my head spinning, my feet stumbling and my mind in a daze. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I know what I will find in the freezer. Instead of going straight to the freezer I go to my bedroom where unsurprisingly I find it to be empty. My wife is nowhere to be found. I walk as calmly as I can to my child’s room and find it similarly empty. There is now hardly any doubt who the meat belongs to and what it is, but still I can’t stop myself from walking to the freezer and opening the door. It is almost like I am an outsider not in charge of my own body but rather an observer. I stare in pain my eyes squinting as the hand reaches out and opens the freezer door…
Inside two heads stare at me, the eyes are open wide in horror. The heads belong to my wife and son…
I sit up in the bed and look over at my sleeping wife. I get up and walk through the apartment, I take several more steps and reach out to turn on the light when I find out that my hand doesn’t respond. It stays at my side irresponsive to me. I test out my other limbs responses and find that similarly to the arm, they are all irresponsive and I can’t move anything.
If I can’t move anything, who is moving my body? This thought runs through my head as I realize that whoever is walking around, is looking at each room and taking stock of everything, as though he wants to take everything or steal. Or maybe he is just trying to find the exit. Suddenlly he stops and enters a room. It is the bathroom; he turns on a light and looks at himself in the mirror. I see myself staring back at me, but somehow I am now no longer in control of my body and am forced to sit here and bare witness to whatever this individual is going to do. My hand goes up to my face and it is rubbing it, it then slaps its cheeks several times until they become pinkish red, utters several grunts and then leaves the room to continue investigating the house. I start a little nervous and I try to use all my force to push, pull, and move or even tug the person away from the body that he and I posses. But it quickly becomes a futile exercise as the person continues to walk around my house unperturbed with me witnessing everything though his very own eyes.
I try to look around me, I seem to be stuck in some kind of dark place on my own, and it might be my very own mind I don’t know. But I am alone in this room there is no one around certainly not the man that has taken over.
The man suddenly stops when he reaches the living room, he looks around clearly searching for something, his eyes fall on the phone and he takes it in his hands. He dials a number I can’t see exactly what it is except that it is a lot of numbers and waits for someone to answer. Several rings pass by until someone picks up. A conversation ensues in a language I have never heard of, but its a very rough language with many throaty sounds.
The person that has taken over my body sounds angry and it takes several moments before the person on the other side of the line reaches some sort of agreement with him. I don’t know if it is an agreement or not, but at least the annoyed, angry voice of the person that has taken over me has calmed down and he is now talking.
‘Come on darling, come to bed. Whoever you are talking to I’m sure it can wait till morning.’
It is my wife who sleepily walks out of our bedroom and into our living room. She can only sleep if I am lying next to her, me not being there must have woken her up.
The person that has taken over my body does not react and continues to talk to the guy on the phone in the foreign language. I wait for my wife to figure out it isn’t me and run away. I try to scream at her that she should run as fast as she can, grab our kid and get out of there. But she does not yet realize it is not me that she is with, but a stranger.
‘Who are you talking to? What is that strange language you’re talking in?’ My wife looks at the person who is supposed to be her husband with suspicion. ‘Are you alright?’ she adds her voice is concerned.
The guy continues to talk on the phone until the conversation is finished. When it is done he looks at my wife, gives her a vicious smile and walks calmly towards her.
‘Please, talk to me. You’re scaring me.’ She begs, but it is of no use. The guy either doesn’t speak English or refuses to. He continues his walk towards her, his face contorted into that strange unfamiliar smile, a smile that although it was created with my body I don’t recognize.
I try again to scream to my wife to run, to get away, anything. But it’s not working, I’m locked out of my body, like a puppet on a string, I’m doomed to be nothing but an observer and no matter how much I struggle to free myself from the chains I cannot. I am trapped.
The person, who has taken over me, is now fearfully close to my wife and both she and I are cowering in fear from whatever may happen. The person stops just in front of her all the while the vicious smile doesn’t leave it’s face. He stares at my wife and then with a quick movement slaps her hard across the face. I scream in anger as my wife is sent flying by the power of the slap, to the ground. She scrambles on the floor and tries to regain her footing. She looks up into the eyes of who she thought was her husband.
‘You are not him, I don’t know what happened but you are not him!’ she says and quickly tries to run to the kitchen. The person runs after her, he is much faster than she is, he grabs her hair and pulls it back strongly. My wife utters a scream of agony as the hair is strung back and pieces of it are pulled out.
The guy laughs a hollow and dark laugh as he removes the hairs that are in his hand. My wife who hasn’t recovered yet is at a disadvantage she is on the floor holding her head. The person does not waste any time and kicks her hard in the head. My wife falls heavily to the floor I can hear the air gasp coming from her mouth, I can feel the kick connect and I scream in agony. This isn’t enough for the person though. It is only the beginning.
He walks to the kitchen and gets a long sharp knife. He drags my wife into the bathroom by the hair. My wife tries to struggle but it is useless she is in pain and is not thinking clearly. Her feeble attempts at escaping are reduced to using her nails on my hand and hardly anything else.
The person arrives at the bathroom and kicks again in the stomach. She folds in double but doesn’t have time to even respond, as the person flings her into the bathtub. She lands there heavily gasping for breaths, a knife flashes in my hand and slashes expertly across her face. My wife screams in pain, she lifts her arms trying to protect herself and receives deep cuts from the knife that travels quickly into them leaving them in tatters. Her fingers are torn and fall useless into the bathtub. I scream continuously as I witness this horror and can do nothing to stop it. I try to avert my eyes but for some reason my eyes even when closed see whatever my body has done. The knife goes up again and this time it cuts through the wrists. My wife’s screams echo through our home, while the blood pours freely from her wrist to the bathtub’s floor.
I stare at the scene in shock my mind has left me, I am no longer sane. The things I see, the things that happen before me cannot be real, I refuse to believe them. The blood runs down like water and I am sure my wife won’t survive much longer. At least the suffering will be done and the world will become normal again and nothing would have happened.
The cries slowly fade into slow mellow weeps that at times gurgle from the blood that drips into my wife’s mouth. The sick bastard takes the knife and starts to cut my wife into pieces, the knife is nowhere sharp enough for the job he uses it for, but what it lacks in sharpness the person makes up for in strength and skill. He first cuts off all the limbs, at this point my wife is dead already and still I cannot look away. I am assailed by all the senses that go through the person at the time he is butchering my wife like a disgusting animal. He is enjoying himself, the sick pervert, he actually enjoys cutting my wife up. He doesn’t regret it at all and he continues to work on her as though he is playing with a new toy.
After the limbs are severed from the torso, he cuts the in the middle and continues on to cut the ribs and neck. The head he leaves intact. He is so focused on his disgusting work that he doesn’t notice the crying, but he does now. He stops his work and puts his knife down by the bathtub. Again I look onto in horror as the person walks in what looks like a twisted version of me, into my baby’s room. He is now bloody, I can see his bloody hands and I know he most likely looks like a horrific version of me.
He enters the room and walks straight to the crib. He looks at the baby whose crying uncontrollably in the crib and lifts him up in his bloody arms. I try again to regain control, to push scream do anything to save my baby, but it isn’t working. The person that has taken over my body takes no notice and just continues on as though nothing has happened.
The baby’s cries grow stronger and stronger, as though he feels that this person is not his father. He carries my child to the bathtub and posses him next to the remains of his mother. The baby’s cries are heartbreaking and I try to advert my gaze from what I know will happen. But even though I close my eyes I see the images that the killer is seeing, nothing helps and I am forced once again to see my loved one die. This time, I know that my mind will snap that I won’t be able to keep sane after witnessing this murder. I scream and shout in horror and in pain, for that is all that I am capable of, but the horror is unrelenting.
The person, he or she or it, is picking up the knife and I can feel a smile forming on the face. The knife descends and cuts at the baby, once again he is tearing the limbs and my brain shuts down. I am at breaking point and can’t see anything anymore…
When I come to, I see my face in the mirror. It isn’t my face anymore though. It is a gruesome bloody face contorted into a twisted image of morbid satisfaction that I have never seen and hope never to see again. I never thought my face would be capable of such an expression, but still here it is. The person to my horror seems to be looking right at me, or rather at him; he looks into his own eyes which are my own and smiles. He winks and then puts his thumb at the throat slowly pulling it over it as though he wished to cut it off. This must be a message for me and I slightly shudder, but with my wife and child dead this is a fitting end for me, but before he can do anything, the door bursts open and police officers scream that I should get down. A harsh laugh barely resembling anything human, echoes through the house and to my astonishment I find it is me.
Suddenly my hand moves, and I buckle to the floor. The control of my body is mine again and the shock and pain force me to the floor. The police officers are on me before I can even move and they hit me repeatedly over the face and body while they try to put their cuffs on me. I try to speak but my voice doesn’t come out, my body is numb and I feel myself slipping away…
I sit up in bed amazed at the dream sequence I just had. Almost out of habit I look my right where my wife used to be, but she is not there. She hasn’t been there for the last three years. Just like my son who would have been 5 years old today.
I get out of bed and walk through the house. We bought this house together; we saved up for two full years before we could make the down payment for the house, we were so happy here that we simply knew this was the right place for us. A year later we went to our very first family holiday: Me, my wife and our two year old daughter. We went to Israel, the holy land, a country we wanted to visit for a long time but never got around to for one reason or other. This year was the first time everything fell into place and we went on a well deserved holiday.
The country was beautiful and every bit as incredible as we had hoped. We went to Jerusalem as well as to several other big cities such as Tel-aviv, Haifa and even Eilat. Jerusalem was very beautiful, the sights were incredible and the Yad VaShem museum, commemorating the death of six million Jews during the Second World War, was particularly impressive. This museum had a room in it called the children room, where once inside there were no lights, apart from candles that hung along a pathway that ran snakelike to the exit. Then a voice started reading out names and their corresponding age. Each name was a child that was killed in the holocaust, we stayed there for roughly 20 minutes mesmerized and during those 20 minutes no name had repeated. The place left its mark and gave us chills.
Jerusalem was magnificent but being the religious capital of many different religions, nearly everything was closed on Friday evening and Saturday. The evenings were empty many nights and it was quite calm except for the market which during the day until the early evening was incredibly busy with vendors of every sort. On Saturday morning, the prayers were so loud between the Jews and Muslims that it nearly sounded like a war, run by who shouted the loudest prayer. The sights were very impressive, the olive mountain and the Wailing Wall in particular were truly magnificent.
From Jerusalem we went to Tel-Aviv which was the exact opposite of Jerusalem. It is located at the Mediterranean and has a typical Mediterranean atmosphere. There everything was open 24/7, people partied all the time, there were people in the streets at all hours of the day and the feeling you had was that the city really did not sleep, this in contrary to Jerusalem where at night the streets were mostly empty and completely deserted on Friday evening and Saturday. Right next to Tel-Aviv was the incredibly beautiful and ancient city of Jaffa, apparently the two cities used to be called Jaffa/Tel-Aviv, Jaffa belonging to the Arabs that lived there and Tel-Aviv belonging to the Jews. Jaffa being the bigger city was. Over the years however, the Jewish city prospered so much that it became much bigger than Jaffa and the name changed from Jaffa/Tel-Aviv to Tel-Aviv/Jaffa. I loved Tel-Aviv and found Jerusalem too constraint while my wife loved Jerusalem and disliked the buzz and noise of Tel-Aviv.
Our next stop after Tel-Aviv was Haifa. Haifa was a mixed bag of both beautiful architecture and sights, with the ugliness and mess of a big port city. Boats crowded the docks which were clearly visible from the incredibly picturesque German colony, named because the Germans quite literally build a colony there. From Haifa we went through the Dead Sea to Mitzpe Ramon which has a large crater with amazing views from it, on to Eilat, the southernmost city in Israel. The city is located at the Gulf of Aqaba (named after the Jordanian city of the same name) which is the name of the Gulf created by the Red sea. The same Gulf is called the Gulf of Eilat by the Israelis. This city was the epitome of a tourist attraction with its beautiful beaches and hotels lining the coast and the many party locations. Next to the sea and diving opportunities we also went on several mountain tours which were absolutely amazing, with the red canyon being the best sight of the bunch. It was appropriately named as the when we walked down through it we were surrounded by red chalk walls which on the way back we passed from above.
After our relaxation in Eilat we went back up north to the city of Tel-Aviv which is the city closest to the Airport. We stayed there for two more nights, before embarking on the plane, little did I know at the time that we would miss the plane.
After our arrival back in Tel-Aviv, we went to Shuk Hakarmel which is the biggest market in Tel-Aviv. It has many different vendors selling everything from cloths to food and cosmetics and last time we were in Tel-Aviv we missed it. We walked through the market enjoying the sounds and sights and the many shouts of people haggling over prices. It was fun to watch, when suddenly an incredibly loud bang rocked the market place and I was thrown backwards to one of the people standing behind me. I didn’t know what happened and at first was disoriented because I had hit my head hard on something. People were shouting everywhere around me, I think I heard sobbing as well, but at the time everything seemed to pass slowly like I had stopped time and I was outside of it, watching it happen. It took a while for it to come back to normal and when it did, it did so with another bang.
I got up and looked around searching for my wife. She was somewhere in the mess that was all around the place, all the stands flipped over and I could see feet sticking out from underneath it. There were people everywhere already removing people that were injured from the rubble or worse… dead. I still did not know what happened all I cared about was my wife, and I tried frantically to find her, but everywhere I went to I could find nothing. She was nowhere to be seen, not under the rubble or somewhere in the middle of the passageways. I screamed if someone could help me find my wife and a person I did not know came to tell me in English that he would help me. He called over several others and they all started removing rubble from where I was and started the hard work of finding the people that were lost underneath it.
At that moment I could not phantom anything, I could only think about finding her and when I would that everything would be fine. In the meantime one of the people next to me informed me that there was a bombing that was the noise we had heard. I later learned that the terrorist organization Hamas claimed responsibility, at the time though that was all very far from my mind.
After an hour worse of digging into the piles of metal and brick and going through many different people none of which was my wife, (this may seem cold. But as soon as I recovered a person and found it not to be my wife, I continued on with my search) it took twenty more labour intensive minutes to find her. I recognized her immediately; her feet were sticking out of the rubble. I could recognize her feet from thousands she has a small beauty mark just on the outside of her ankle and when I saw her foot I knew it was her. I anxiously pushed and pulled the rubble away and when I was done I stared, mostly in shock, at the pale dirty body of my wife that lay there motionless. The people that were helping were working hard on resuscitating her and I let them continue. Close by they found my daughter; she was in the same condition. Several minutes later an ambulance relieved them and took them both to the hospital. I was allowed to ride with them to the hospital. I waited in the waiting room for several hours although it felt like minutes when finally a doctor approached me to announce that they had done all they could, They could not save my wife and daughter, they were gone now and I should be thinking about what I wanted to do with the bodies. He added that he was sorry for my loss. I never realized how hollow that sentence sounded, how absolutely absurd and pointless. How could he be sorry for my loss? He didn’t even know me or my wife so what was he sorry for.
I stood there for minutes on end not sure what I should do, not sure what the procedure was. I was in shock, although I have heard of such bombings I never witnessed one and now I had lost my wife and child. I wasn’t crying I, I wasn’t even upset. I was empty, I felt nothing.
Two days later it hit me, I was at home looking at the news and tears started flowing down my face, after that I couldn’t stop crying for about an hour. Everything reminded me of my wife and daughter, I was a wreck. The worst part of it was that my wife was pregnant with our second child, so it almost as if in one hit I had suffered a triple loss… The pictures felt hollow and it took me a very long time to recover. I have the utmost respect for the people who have faced such an ordeal and soldiered on.
I get up from my bed, it has been such a long time now since then and still I am plagued by all these dreams and manifestations that I don’t know how I shall ever fully recover, but they tell me that I should just take one small step at a time.
Suddenly in the dark I see something moving, a form of some kind. I walk closer to have a look and see my wife and daughter standing in front of me as though nothing happened. My wife is pregnant and my daughter is exactly as though nothing had happened.
‘How is this possible?!’ I call out embracing my wife and daughter in a bear hug.
My wife smiles ‘I missed you so much’ she says, and kisses me warmly on the lips.
‘I’m never going to let you go again!’ I say and hold them tightly in my arms.
My daughter is squirming to get out and manages to free herself from my embrace. ‘I don’t want a hug!’ she declares ‘because this is what you did to me!’ her face then changes and it morphs in front of me from the beautiful two year old that she was to the dead body I had seen dug up.
I scream uncontrollably ‘Please no! It wasn’t my fault’
But it is too late my daughter is nothing more than death incarnate. Her body slowly fades until nothing remains but dust.
I stare in horror at my wife who is still normal and whole. She is still smiling but the smile creeps away and she stares at me with cold eyes. ‘I wasn’t supposed to die!’ she says. ‘We were both supposed to be alive! How could you do this to us? How could you just let us die and do nothing to save us?’
‘But I tried, I promise I tried. I tried to find you as quickly as I could but you were already dead when I took you out. I couldn’t have done anything else.’ I sob uncontrollably as I try to explain myself to my dead wife.
My wife’s face starts to fade into a mask of horror as she becomes the dead body I had seen and then continues on to become a skeleton and finally dust, that blows away in the wind. Her clothes are equally gone and I am alone again in the room. My sobs become loud cries of sorrow and as I cry I realize that my daughter could have never spoken so fluently and I…
‘Honey? Is everything alright?’ A voice whispers in my ear. It is a soothing voice, a voice I know well.
I open my eyes and look at my girlfriend. ‘Just those nightmares again.’
‘Oh baby. I know it was long time ago, but don’t worry I am always here for you whenever you need me.’
‘Thank you.’ I answer and kiss her gently on her lips.
We are sitting in our favourite place, in the large Perks National Park, under a large Oak tree that has since become our little escapist heaven. We have been going out together for several years and she doesn’t mind my troubled past. In fact she helps me cope and comforts me endlessly. She is amazing and I am very lucky to have her in my life.
‘Do you want to head back home?’ she asks her voice nearly pouring.
I don’t answer and just kiss her hard on her beautiful luscious red lips.
Back at her place she goes to take a shower, I don’t know why but she always feels like she needs to take a shower every time she has been out. It is a habit of hers that I don’t understand, but since she is putting up with my excess baggage I am happy to put up with one little extremity from her side.
I walk around her house waiting for her to finish. She has a nice little flat that has two rooms. One is her bedroom and the other a sort of office. The bedroom is very bare and plain so I walk to the office to look at the paintings that she has on the wall there. There are quite a few from painters I don’t know and there are many different colours to them, mostly though there are reds and something resembling blue and maybe a pinkish hue.
I sit down in the large black office chair and open drawers at random until my hand pulls on a drawer that does not open. I try slightly stronger and I see that it is locked with a key. I am intrigued to what it is and look for the key somewhere on the desk. On the far end I see a little red hearted box, I open it and sure enough find the key in it. I quickly open the drawer and look inside.
I take out all the papers I find in it and go through them. They are mostly insurance papers taken out on different cars, and flats and things. She must have kept it a very long time for I find there papers that date at least 10 years ago. I am about to put the papers back in the drawer when I notice that it is not completely straight. I push the inside a little to straighten it when it comes out and reveals a hidden compartment. I smile at my secret keeping little girl. I look at what I have uncovered. It is newspaper clippings. I take them out and a gasp escapes my lips. All the newspaper clippings are of murders that were committed by a serial killer that was named the trauma killer. He was named that because the killer chose victims who have been through a serious trauma and went on to kill them by cutting open their abdomen and letting them bleed to death.
I stare in horror at the clippings and quickly put them back in when I hear a rustle behind me.
‘I can’t believe you would just go ahead and look through my place like that.’ She says accusingly.
I turn and look. There she stands wearing nothing but a towel, her right hand on her hip and her left behind her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble ‘if it angers you, I will stop.’
‘Oh don’t worry,’ she says smiling ‘I have no secrets from you.’ She runs towards me, her towel falling to floor as she flings herself into my arms. Just before she leaps into my arms I feel something sharp entering into my stomach. My girlfriend smiles tentatively at me and hugs me closely. I feel dizzy and when she lets me go I fall to the floor. Below me a flow of blood runs freely like a water torrent covering the tiled floor.
‘You nearly found me out before I was ready for you, but now luckily you will be in my collection.’ She smiles and in her hand glints the knife…
‘Honey, wake up. Everything is alright.’
I open my eyes somewhat reluctantly, my memory of the things I have just dreamt about is slowly receding, but I know that I have had several nightmares in a row and that it was certainly not an enjoyable experience. In front of my field of vision is the face of my wife. She is looking at me with an expression of concern, I am somewhat apprehensive; waiting for something to show up, or happen to me that would yank me from my comfort zone, to some other place where terror breeds and I will face fears again.
‘Don’t worry honey, you can relax now. You are home with me. Hush. Calm down,’
I look at my wife and listen to her words of comfort, but I find it difficult to believe them. It’s almost as if I’ve been through all of this before and I am only waiting for things to go wrong. I try to act calm however and show no sign of this. ‘I had the worst nightmare.’ I say as way of explanation.
‘I know I heard you, you were shouting in your sleep and you kept on tossing and turning so much that I decided to wake you up.’ She replies calmly, while caressing my hair tenderly.
‘Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done if I had another nightmare. It was becoming a little ridiculous.’ I say smiling.
‘Really?’ she asks ‘would you like to talk about it?’ she adds.
‘No, I think reliving the nightmares again would not be a very good thing.’
‘Alright, would you like me to get you a glass of water maybe?’ she asks
‘Oh, yes please. That would be great.’ I smile a big smile and my wife gives me one back. She gets up and walks slowly out of the room towards the other side of the house where the kitchen lies. I use this time to go and check up on my 2 year old daughter who is sleeping in the room right next to us.
The room is dark but the little sounds of breathing from my little angel are like sweet chimes to my ears. I can’t resist giving her a little kiss on her cheek, which I do and whisper to her that I love her. I then quickly head back to bed and under the covers. Seconds later my wife shows up with the glass of water.
‘Here you go honey.’ She says putting the glass of cold water in front of me.
‘Thank you dear’ I say and gulp down the water quickly. My throat is strangely parched and the water feels good.
‘Do you feel better now?’ she asks.
‘Much better, thanks to you.’ I reply smiling. It seems as though I was worried for nothing the nightmares were just nonsense pacifications of my imagination and nothing more.
My eyes feel sleepy and I hear a noise in the background. It’s a voice talking to me, it sounds familiar but I suddenly feel so fatigued that I cannot move.
‘It seems it’s taking affect already.’ The voice says ‘That’s faster than I thought, but it was my only option. Sorry my dear, but you are not very easy to kill, I tried poisoning your coffee for the last 5 months with very limited results. So I moved to rat poison I don’t think they will look at it, there will be no cause.’ The voice stops for a moment before continuing. ‘You see, everyone has been noticing your reactions as of late, you being late, unfriendly, and very nearly abusive and ultimately a very unpleasant guy. I’ve been telling everyone that you are a prick and hey what do you know even your good old friends believe me. Now all I need to do is leave you here call the police when you die and that’s sweet sailing for us. Bye honey thanks for everything. Have a good one.’
The voices fade and everything drifts away, I am in the sea and a breeze is taking me to places unknown…
He turns around in his bed, let’s out a little moan and continues his sleep unperturbed.