Chapter Two
Kyrie
I wake up screaming, covered in sweat, and I shiver. Another nightmare, and this one more vivid than the last. It’s not monsters in my dreams that terrifies me, it’s the unending, and all-consuming darkness that fills them.
Flicking on the bedside lamp, I breathe out a sigh of relief as the warm light casts its glow in my room. My heart is still pounding wildly, and my breaths are still uneven and choppy, and I can’t shake the feeling that something was different this time.
As the last vestiges of the nightmare fade away in the light, I try to grasp the details of what happened in my dream to frighten me so much. I roll over and pull open the nightstand drawer, then grab my journal and a pen.
I’ve been trying to keep track of the dreams—nightmares—for a while now, trying to pinpoint patterns and narrow down the cause, but I’ve had no luck. There seems to be no end to them, no matter how much therapy I have, or how many times I’ve written down and wracked my brain over them.
Once or twice could be a coincidence, but every night without fail? That’s seriously fucked up. I can’t get a full night’s rest, because every time I close my eyes they come. It’s been months, or maybe years now—I can’t remember. My bookshelves are lined with mismatched notebooks containing the scribblings of my nighttime terrors.
Heck, I could probably publish them as short horror stories and make a mint… if I felt like sharing. Although, I think readers would get bored of the same horror over and over again. I enjoy rereads as much as the next bookworm, but the same story being repeatedly regurgitated gets old… fast.
I snort at the idiotic prospect. Sitting up, I cross my legs and flick through my journal to find a blank page to write on. As I set my pen to the paper, my mind goes blank, and I can’t recall anything. I always remember my dreams, but this one seems evading me. I pause, pen hovering in midair as I realize there’s been a break in the pattern. With a sigh, I tuck my pen into the open notebook and shut it before popping it back into the drawer.
Deciding to come back to it later, I get to my feet and make my way toward the bathroom. I feel gross and my clothes are now cold from the sweat—I need to wash and change into fresh pajamas.
I set the bath running, and pour some of my favorite, scented bubble bath into the water—honey and shea butter. While the tub slowly fills up with hot water and bubbles, I go back into the bedroom and strip the bed. I don’t want to lie down on sweaty sheets once I’m clean.
Once the fresh sheets are on, I go check on the bath. It’s almost full, and the steam from the water has fogged the mirror and puffs out of the bathroom when I open the door. Shutting the warmth in, I turn off the hot tap and leave the cold running just a trickle. I peel off my clothes and drop them in the hamper, then sit on the edge of the bath and test the water.
It’s hot, but a bearable temperature and I step into the water. I let out a small gasp as the heat spreads up my legs, raising goosebumps all over my skin. As I lower myself into the bath, and lie back, I moan as my muscles begin to relax. I gaze up at the light on the ceiling and think about the dream.
I’m still gasping at the nothingness, trying to peer through the haze that’s fallen over my mind. There was definitely something different about it. I sigh and close my eyes and dip my head slightly beneath the water, just enjoying the warmth and sensory deprivation that it gives me. Surprisingly, doing this doesn’t elicit fear in me; maybe it’s because I’m in control here.
I lie there for a while, letting my tension seep out of me until I feel lighter and more relaxed, and the effects of the nightmare have ebbed. Once I achieve that, I finish washing myself and get out. I shiver as the cooler air touches my skin before I wrap a towel around myself and wring out my hair. It’s the early hours of the morning, so instead of blow drying it, I just brush it and tie it back. It’ll do.
I reluctantly head back to bed, hoping that this time when I close my eyes, I can rest and have a dreamless sleep this time. The nightmares—while they happen every night they don’t usually occur more than once. Actual restful sleep, though? It’ll be a cold day in hell before I’m that lucky.