TerroRElm

By: Anagha V

The most intriguing part about a dream is that there are no questions to be asked, no matter how absurd the context is. You could grow legs out of your nostrils or be married to your crush. Whatever bizarre scenario is conjured up is to be swallowed like the pills Doc asks you to.

My anecdote about this confounding creation of my subconscious mind is more or less similar. You might be one of those people who experience affectations with nightmare post truck with a movie or series of the horror genre. In which case, I dedicate this to you.

 With Love,

Asking where it began is irrational, but here is all I remember.

I was lying on my bed, and it was dark. Luminescence from the street lamps penetrated through the thin glass windows of the top floor and fell across the wall. It even lit half of the staircase that faced the same direction as the emanating source. I must have heard something, or I might have simply been restless, for I got out of bed and walked out of my room. The windows were to the right of my exit, a few feet away, while the stairs were to my immediate left. The shadows of the foliage of the elm trees that stood covering the lamps danced on the walls. You seem to be driven insane by the shadows that are always out of proportion in such imageries. But that wasn’t what caught my eyes. The hall lay as empty as an abandoned cemetery, and yet, creeping amongst the other happy shadows on the wall, was a woman. Now, normally the presence of a character as serene would ensue pleasantry in a dream. She was tall, for it definitely wasn’t a faded shadow, and she was present right there, with the shadow, even if her presence could barely be felt. She was so intangible that, initially, I couldn’t fathom what she yearned for. Her crooked hands were raised, and she had fiercely long nails, for I could see the shade cast by them too. And I figured. She was angry, her shadow looked angry, I could say. She was tired of having no form, tired of waiting for the dark despite how the darkness had become her salvation. I felt her eyes piercing right through me. If stares were knives, I would have been stabbed to death. But I wasn’t frozen, and I wasn’t scared. I did not scream or run away, but I walked back into my bed and lay there. Now, not to brag, but that seemed like the most sensible thing to do, which you wouldn’t find even in a James Wan magnum opus.

It must have been dawn when the next thing happened. As in the dark, the sunlight now appeared to illuminate the walls, despite the street lights being out. I wanted to see if the lady was still there and it was disappointingly affirmative. She saw me, and she felt me, and she took it to be the cue. She turned and walked downstairs, but since the rest of the stairs were drenched in darkness, I soon lost sight of her. Maybe she failed to scare me for whatever harm she may cause to befell me, but I saw her going away, and I knew for once what it felt like to be afraid. I was on the verge of tears, for somehow not foreboding the lady, to be drawn to me, and away from everyone else, seemed to be my fault. I managed to rush down floors without missing a step, and I saw her lurking by the entrance of my house. My mom was outside, by the porch, helping my dad into the car, for he was to leave for a long day’s work. I merely felt glad as the wicked lady wouldn’t follow him, for she dies in the sunlight because she’s weak and timid. I knew I need have no more fear for the daylight was strongly breaking in, and she’d be gone for the better.