Nightmares

          I woke up with a coughing fit. My body felt weak and limp. I looked at my left shoulder. The bandage was there, yet the hole from yesterday’s shot healed, as always. Taking an injection every morning never got easy, even if I’ve been doing it since birth. I was diagnosed with a rare disease called chronic myopathia, a disease that weakens the muscles in the body suddenly. Apparently, my case was so urgent and severe that the doctors had to give me an injection with stimulants in it to keep my body running so that my heart didn’t suddenly stop.

          I looked around the room. The beige walls blurred with my small wooden bed frame. I remembered that my room didn’t have decorations. It was as constant as my routine. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and put on my glasses. 

          My mother immediately rushed over, “Raj, get up; I have a meeting starting soon,” she exclaimed; her tone seemed flat as if she was lost in thought with some idea, surely some new business plan that was gonna save a huge company from bankruptcy. 

          “I’m old enough to take the shot myself,” I replied. She ignored me, reaching over and pinning the ghastly thin needle to my arm, expecting me to jump. Instead, dread just rushed over my face; I missed those last couple of seconds of sleep I was in.“I’m sixteen years old. I think I can manage my morning routine,” I added, irritated from the injection that I just received.  I got out of bed and walked over to my closet, beginning my morning routine by picking out a fresh set of clothes.

          “Yeah right. You would cover your arm in blood before figuring out which side goes in your arm,” she responded. By now, I was used to her little quips. 

          “You have to learn somehow, besides, that’s how I learn how to shave,” I argued, somewhat comedically. I still had cuts on my face from my last shaving attempt. 

          “Whatever, even I don’t get injections by myself,” she scoffed. I stared at the wall. I could have responded, but it was pointless. The truth is that she probably didn’t trust me enough to do it myself. 

 

—

 

          My father always had work in the morning. He was a doctor and was almost always out of the house. I remember he used to tell me bedtime stories when I was younger. As a doctor, however, his idea of bedtime stories was a little absurd. 

          He once told me a story about an orphan who lived in a remote village in Portugal. He was a genius. He could solve complex math problems at a very young age. However, he didn’t know how smart he was because the townspeople were jealous of him. They lied to him and said that he was wrong and he was making things up. The other children at the orphanage would tell him that he learned things wrong, and he believed them. He began performing worse than all the other children at school because he believed in their lies. Then, one day, a great flood hit the village. People began to panic as the water levels rose to their necks, eating their houses whole. The boy’s instincts kicked in, and he started using debris from broken homes to build a raft. He was successful and was able to stay afloat. He then quickly started building more rafts for the other villagers. But, when he offered them his rafts, they refused. They underestimated him and thought that the rafts would break. The water level continued to rise, and the entire village drowned. 

          It was not the best bedtime story because it kept me awake at night rather than helping me fall asleep. I wondered what being the boy in that situation would be like, everyone around you lying to you, their lies leading to their own demise. 

 

—

 

          I lugged my backpack to my desk. It was time for yet another day of classes as a high-school sophomore. My first class was math. Every class was the same for me. Stare at a wall, count the minutes until class ends, and repeat. It wasn’t like I didn’t care about school; rather, my train of thought was always more interesting. I would have long-winded debates or conversations. Sometimes, I would make discoveries using only my overthinking. 

          Though I don’t know how much I was learning, considering a decent amount of my mental discussions were about Jassu, a girl in my math class who I had known since elementary school. I’d probably liked her for the same amount of time, though I was afraid of talking to her, let alone telling her how I felt. I don’t really know why I liked her. Maybe the way the sunlight turned her dark brown hair to gold, the way her eyes lit up when she answered a question right, or maybe how she smiled whenever someone said hi to her in the hallways with an energy that lights up every room she entered.

          But I doubt she’d feel the same way towards me. I could tell by the way her smile would slowly fade when her eyes landed on me in the hallways like a light that was slowly going out. I could never understand why that was the case. While I was pondering the glance she gave me that day when I sat down, something strange happened to me. I felt as though someone had punched a hole in my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath. My teacher’s monotone speech about trigonometry began to drift away as my senses began to shut down. All I could see was darkness; the room had bled away like water vapor condensing on a mirror. Then, I heard a voice.

          “There’s nothing YOU can do now. You will know your inevitable demise, young man…” a voice whispered. I heard the wet breathing of some creature in my ear, but I couldn’t do anything. I was frozen in shock.

          “Raj? RAJ! GET UP!” I opened my eyes to see my teacher shouting my name. I must’ve fallen asleep. “Since you want to sleep in my class, why don’t you go to the principal’s office,” he barked angrily. Still confused about the dream I had, I looked at the question on the whiteboard. 

          “24,” I blurted. 

          My teacher looked dumbfounded. “…That is correct.” he responded slowly, retreating to his lecture. Normally, if I drift off, I’ve master the art of awareness and could wake up the moment I sense eyes on me or a pause. But, the dream I had seemed too…deep… 

 

—

 

          “Look, there he is!” someone shouted. I turned around. It was Marcus, a junior in high school, about as tall and thin as the lockers that he and I were surrounded by in one of the dozens of generic school hallways that our high school had to offer. 

          Marcus was considered a hero here. He was known for his charity work and community service. For his creative jokes and his calm, down-to-earth attitude. He dressed simply, wore a thick goatee, and surrounded himself with friends who agreed with every word he uttered. He had what I didn’t, though it never bothered me. 

          But, with all his gifts and passions, Marcus wasn’t the nicest person, at least not to me. He would stage protests at our school for charities, claiming he truly cared about the cause, and the other students would leave their classes to attend (it would really just be another fun day off for them). The school would always support him, even excusing his absences along with his army of attendees. I never attended his protests, however. I’d rather attend my boring classes, as my mom would probably go ballistic if she ever found out I skipped a class. One day, he watched me walk directly through his protest on protecting sea life and sent his mob of angry students to bully me into joining them. I calmly entered my physics classroom, watching the swarm melt back to their leader behind me. After that, he decided that I was ignoring his protests because I was close to failing, though I’m sure he knew I was on the honor roll. 

          “Raj, how ya doing, bud? Hope you have time to talk to us since you always have to rush off somewhere,” he noted in an almost mocking tone. His fleet of friends stood closely behind him as if they were armed bodyguards protecting the prime minister of a developing country. 

          “Hey,” I replied half-heartedly. 

          “Is something wrong? Did you not finish your physics problem in time? Don’t worry, I’m sure Mr. Emerson will forgive you.” he suggested mockingly. I could see through his facade clearly. I’m sure he knew what he was doing, yet he just assumed that I was incapable of noticing. Besides, Dr. Emerson hated me; he thought I was lazy and never paid attention. 

          I didn’t respond.

          “It would only be fair, since I know how much ya love him.” Marcus added. 

          “No, everything’s fine,” I responded. I couldn’t let him win. If I responded angrily, he would act as though I was being insane to blemish my name even further. So, instead, I turned back around and headed toward my biology classroom. 

          “Cool. Nice shoes, by the way,” he shouted after me. I could hear muffled snorts coming from his friends. My shoes were beat-up white sneakers from the local thrift store. They were ugly and had mud in all the corners I couldn’t reach. Nobody in their right mind would compliment them. Whispers, snickering, and muffled laughs passed down the hall as I walked out of earshot. 

 

—

 

          The biology classroom comprised of a small room with generic lab and classroom equipment and a single painting of a tiger that hung from the wall that my teacher, Ms. Chen, had hung up as decoration. I sat towards the back, usually. Ms. Chen didn’t assign seats, so that meant sitting as close as possible to the back right to avoid detection by my peers. However, it’s not like they would notice me if I sat in the front anyway. 

          As Ms. Chen began talking about cells and vacuoles, my mind started to drift. I stared intensely at the tiger painting on my left. I wonder what tigers would look like in real life. 

          As I stared deeper into the painting, I noticed a flashing black dot on the bottom-left corner of the painting. It looked as though it was growing. Maybe my eyesight was bad. I blinked. The dot only grew faster. I blinked a couple of times. It had covered the whole painting at this point, and the dot had become a dark void that submerged everything around it. Like ink spilled on a carpet, its darkness started to pour out of the frame, consuming everything near it. In seconds, it had engulfed the whole wall, too. I watched helplessly, looking around to see if anyone else was noticing this. Instead, everyone was still intent on watching Ms. Chen draw a cell on the whiteboard. I tried taking deep breaths. The void began melting away the ceiling and walls that surrounded me as if it were searching for me. “This has to be another dream,” I thought hopefully. My blinking became more rapid. I felt numb as if I was a ghost; all of my senses had shut down. The void had begun floating toward me like a mysterious black fog. It quickly devoured my classmates, who were oblivious to what was happening. 

          Then, it reached me, flooding the room behind me. I was in complete darkness. I couldn’t tell whether I was blinking anymore. I felt myself being pulled to my feet. I looked down at my hands. They were covered in the same dark ink that I was surrounded by as if I had plunged my hands in tar. Then I saw a red flame appear in a flash like lightning in front of me. The red flame began to morph into the burning silhouette of a human but far taller. The faceless, burning silhouette started walking toward me. His walk gave me goosebumps, his body contorting like a demon from a horror movie. Then it stopped.

          The same voice that I heard back in math class began to speak, “Look at you, alone. Helpless. Nobody to save you.” 

          “WHO ARE YOU?” I demanded, terrified. 

          “I am your demise,” it replied, standing only inches away from me, its voice like a deep echo. I couldn’t move; it felt like my body was frozen in ice. Darkness surrounded me. Then, the creature grabbed me by my throat with its left hand. I felt myself suffocating in its grip, fighting to gasp or even wake up. My eyes began to close.

          I collapsed. Almost immediately, I felt the cold tile of our school floor. All I could smell was blood. My mouth tasted like iron; I assumed it was blood. I dared to open my eyes. I was lying on the floor in the hallway outside my biology classroom. The subtle noise of the school air-conditioning confirmed it. I looked at my shirt. It was covered in warm bloodstains. I touched my face; my nose was dripping blood, my lips coated in it, like a lion feasting on a gazelle. I got up and walked to the nurse, trying to ignore the absurdity of the current situation. 

          As I walked towards the nurse’s office, I felt a sense of dread consume me. I felt my surroundings start to blur and look unfamiliar. Nothing felt normal. It was as if I was in a nightmare that I couldn’t get out of. My body felt limp as if I had nearly survived a car accident. 

 

—

 

          The nurse was one of the most appreciated staff members at our school. All the students enjoyed talking to her, and she let them refer to her by her first name, Staci. She was unfazed by any injury, no matter how extreme. Yet, when I opened the door, she looked at me as if she had seen a ghost.

          “What on earth happened to you?” she exclaimed. She immediately handed a box of tissues to me. I sat down. 

          “I wish I could tell you,” I responded with a deep breath, pressing a tissue to my face. The dread suddenly felt more intense. Tears began to well up in my eyes. Why is this happening to me? I just wanted to be normal. I felt the tears spill down my face. I was sobbing.

          “Did you get into a fight? Did a bully do this to you?” 

          “No—I don’t know.”

          “Did your nose start bleeding?”

          “M-Maybe, I—I don’t remember.”

          “Ok. Well, you can stay in here as long as you like. Everything is going to be alright,” she calmly replied.

          Around half an hour later, I convinced myself that what had happened was because I didn’t get enough sleep. I stood up, wiped my tears, and prepared to leave.

          “Ok, so are you gonna tell us what happened?” Staci asked. She handed me a hall pass.

          “Umm, it was just a nosebleed,” I replied dismissively. 

          “Is that why your shirt is covered in blood?” 

          “Yes.” 

          I quickly opened the door and walked out before she could ask me any more questions. I rushed back to biology. When I opened the door, everyone stared at me: some in shock, others in disgust. I walked over to the teacher and handed her my hall pass. Ms. Chen looked at me with a confused expression. When she noticed my shirt, her eyes widened.

          “Oh, thanks. I didn’t notice you leave. I’m sure it was urgent,” she stated while momentarily glancing at my shirt, her eyes still wide. I quickly sat down. I made a mental note to grab the sweater in my locker as soon as class ended.

 

—

 

          The rest of the day went by in a blur. I didn’t sense anything abnormal. I tried to keep myself as caffeinated as possible to avoid any strange dreams. After attending all of my classes—which consisted of sitting in various lackluster rooms and staring at a wall—I waited outside for my parents to pick me up. 

          Then, I heard a voice. “Raj, listen to me. I’m here to help you,” it whispered. I turned to see who was talking, but nobody was around. 

          “Who are you?” I whispered back, slightly worried. The dread was coming back. I started taking deep breaths.

          “Not who but what. I’m here to show you the truth.”

          “What does that mean?”

          “Just listen. Turn right and start walking.” the voice demanded. Though I was confused, I complied. I walked in the direction of the forest next to my school campus.  I kept walking and walking until I was on the edge of the forest. My breathing became heavier and faster. Then, I heard the voice again.

          “Look behind the trees,” it whispered once more. I stuck my head between the trees. I didn’t see much until I looked down. On the ground lay the corpse of a strange creature. It was blood red. A sense of familiarity, accompanied by fear, fell over me.

          I jumped backward and fell to the ground. It can’t be. My heart was pounding. It was the same creature that nearly killed me earlier. Terrified, I backed away on my hands and feet as quickly as possible from what I just saw. 

          “W-what h-h-happened?” I stuttered, the dread crawling up my spine as I spoke.

          “The blood on your shirt is not yours. If you want to know the truth, enter the forest,” it whispered back. 

          I looked behind me. In the distance, other students stood oblivious on the sidewalk, waiting for their parents. I couldn’t possibly explain this to anyone. I would get arrested, maybe even charged for murder. I didn’t have any other choice but to listen to this voice.

          I stood up and took a deep breath. Still shaking, I pushed the branches aside and entered the dark forest.

Raghav Sinha is a freshman studying legal studies. In his free time, he enjoys writing. In the past, he wrote a story titled “War: a short story.” After submitting it to a regional competition, he won a silver key award for the piece. He plans on continuing his work in the future.