Nightmare
The sunshine envelops the serene town of Werriborou, brightening people’s happiness and lifting up their souls. Nelson was in class with his arms crossed on the desk, using it as a pillow.
His face warm from the divine ray of sunlight that streamed through the window. Suddenly, the teacher roared, ‘Nelson, wake up!’ He jolted upright and goosebumps prickled his skin. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
Not sorry, he thought. She’s the worst teacher—always yelling. Nelson felt the urge to go to the toilet; despite that he already done a little bit in his pants from getting yelled at. Nelson glanced at his watch, his eyes widened; class was about to end.
He snatched a pen off his desk, and quickly jotted down the notes that were on the board. Unexpectedly, the bell went. Everyone stood up simultaneously and pushed the chairs back, as it screeches against the wooden tiled floor like a crayon.
So, he went outside with all the other kids, he sat at the bench near the playground, by himself eating his sandwich. He dreads his new school; he hates it. He thought about faking sick just to draw. He’s only an artist because he gets endless ideas, when anyone asks where he got his ideas from. They gasp.
But now, everyone ignores him, like he is some shadow, perhaps an entity... Nelson chewed his sandwich and turned to look at the kids playing tag on the playground; His eyes followed a girl, that was running from the tagger. But something caught his eyes... his eyes shifted upwards. He stopped chewing, his eyes widened and chills crawled down his back.
He met eye-to-eye with a dark figure, a shadow standing on the playground. Its white eyes, a dominant force staring into his soul, it was just like him... Nelson turned, and ran as fast as he can to the bathroom, hoping he will lose it there... Gosh he was wrong...
Nelson pushes open the boys’ bathroom door, greeted by the unpleasant smell of urine that’s seeped between the tiles, also another layer of sickening smell coming from the mould that was draped down the walls.
He ran through dodging the toilet paper that was scattered around on the brown and dark-grey chequered floor. Nelson then fumbled to the stall door, he then locked himself in, he sat and slouched forward on the toilet seat; resting his face on his palms trying to reflect back to what he’d seen. His head hurts from the endless thoughts swirling in his mind.
He finally puts it together. The shadow man... The door slammed open. Nelson’s heart skipped a beat, and jumped from fright. He took a deep breath in, and held it, trying not to make a sound; you can say either wise to his heart throbbing.
He exhaled slowly out his nose, practicing the box breathing method that he had learnt in class. As his body shivered, so did his breathing. He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding, and exhaled slowly and quietly through his mouth. Repeating the process over and over.
Slow footsteps came closer to his stall. No kids walk like that. God, does anybody? Through the gaps of the cubical door, there was a shadow dancing towards him. And then, the footsteps stopped. It was standing in front of his stall... Nelson looked down slowly, its feet were poking out from the other side. Its skin was pitch black, and its toe nails were long and jagged. Nelson looked back up and masked his face with his hands, sobbing. Praying that this nightmare would end.
‘God, please help me.’ Amidst him, the lights began to flicker continuously. Suddenly, it stopped. He peeked between the gaps through his fingers, noticing through the gaps of the door that there was no shadow there anymore.
He looked down, and there were no feet poking out from the other side. He slumped backwards on the toilet seat, and plummeted into his thoughts. I need to go sketch fast, he thought.
A gnawing unease settled in his gut, telling him that something had just begun... By the time he finished his last classes, and heard the bell going, he rushed straight home and sat at his desk. His desk had scattered piles of drawn sheets of nightmarish figures, all of them honing a cross beside it.
He sketched furiously on the partially drawn page in his sketch book. The image of the dark figure with white eyes slowly took shape on the page. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he conjured every chilling detail.
His hands shook, his heart racing, and goosebumps caressed his skin. His mom called from downstairs, ‘Nelson, it’s time for bed!’ He jumped, smudging his artwork. including the cross he had drawn beside it... And then, he went to bed...
Later that night, Nelson groaned, tossing and turning in his bed. He returned to lying on his back. His eyes fluttered open and he tried to move, but... he couldn’t... the only thing he was able to move, was his eyes. Amongst his peripheral vision; there was a dark, ominous figure standing in the corner of his room. Goosebumps thrived on Nelson’s skin, realizing
... it had horns? Another sleep paralysis... it started to approach him slowly, the closer it gets the more his heart punches against his ribcage, like a baby kicking inside. The hairs on his body stood on end. The figure looms over him, as its white eyes bares down on his soul. ‘You can’t run from your shadow,’ it spoke, with a chilling hiss. ‘You can’t run from yourself.’ This entity doesn’t just haunt him; it is part of him—a dark reflection of his deepest fears that forever ensnares him from his nightmare’s grasp.
“The haunting truth aren’t forces, but often reflections of the battles within us, and how trauma can take control of our lives, a chilling reminder that sometimes the hardest thing to escape is ourselves.”
