Dream Sequence

Sheila woke abruptly to her alarm clock’s rhythmic beeping. Her head felt heavy. She knew she had been dreaming, but it faded so quickly that she couldn’t quite remember what it was about. Dragging her legs out from under the covers, she shook away the brain fog and headed into the bathroom.

The mirror greeted her with a familiar face — though her eyes seemed slightly off, as if they belonged to someone else for a moment before adjusting. She turned on the faucet. The water ran too cold for a little too long before warming. In the distance, the coffee maker clicked on. A soft hum filled the quiet house — refrigerator, pipes, something beneath the floor. She couldn’t tell which.

She brushed her teeth in silence, staring at her reflection. The taste of mint felt sharp, real, anchoring. The longer she looked into the mirror, the more she sensed that something had shifted overnight — like her body had been set back into place after being moved. A faint sound came from the bedroom—a voice, muffled, half-sleep: “You’re up early again.” The way he said again stuck in her mind.

A few minutes after she started making breakfast her husband came into the kitchen—shirtless, rubbing his hair with a towel. He kissed her cheek then sat down at the table. As Sheila served him eggs and toast, a faint cry came from an upstairs bedroom. She smiled and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Her husband said, “Don’t forget to give my princess a kiss from me.”

Sheila giggled. “Of course.”

Sheila entered the room, illuminated by the morning sun. She walked to the crib and felt her stomach lurch—it was empty. Her heart dropped. Panic rose in her chest as she scanned the room, breath quickening. Then, from behind her, she heard a soft coo. She turned back to the crib. Her daughter lay inside, smiling up at her.

She shook her head. Get a grip, she thought, as she reached down to scoop the baby up. After changing and dressing her, Sheila carried her downstairs to see her daddy before he left for work.

As Sheila entered the kitchen, her husband Jayce was finishing his breakfast. He pulled on his shirt, then leaned down to kiss their daughter on the forehead. When he straightened, he looked Sheila in the eyes and said, “I love you.”

His eyes flashed crimson.

Sheila’s pulse quickened. Had she really seen that—his eyes turning red? Or was it just her imagination? Regardless, she smiled and said, “I love you, too. We’ll see you when you get home.”

She went about her tasks, starting with cleaning up breakfast. Jayce had finished most of his coffee; Sheila had watched him tilt the mug before setting it on the table. Yet when she reached for the cup, it was full. She glanced at the pot on the counter.

It was still half full.

He couldn’t have refilled it — there would be less in the pot.

A cold prickle crept up her spine. Sheila felt like she was going crazy.

After the surreal events of the morning, things settled into familiar routine. Sheila did chores and kept an eye on her daughter while the baby cooed and played. Toys surrounded her as Sheila picked up items the child had lost interest in. As she bent to gather a stuffed bear, one of the child’s dolls seemed to watch her — its head and eyes following her every move. Sheila froze. Then she slowed her movements, making each one precise and deliberate. The doll’s gaze never wavered. A happy wail broke the tension. The baby snatched the doll into her arms, giggling.

Lunch was the usual baby food and a bottle, and afterward Sheila put her daughter down for a nap. She was relieved to finally sit down for a while. The steady breathing coming through the baby monitor helped her unwind — soft, rhythmic, comforting.

Then the breathing shifted. Deeper. Raspy.

Concern tightening in her chest, Sheila hurried to the nursery. But the baby was fine, sleeping peacefully. When she returned to the living room, the raspy sound was still coming from the monitor. She told herself it must be broken. Then a deep, monotone voice crackled through the speaker — speaking in a language she couldn’t understand. A chill ran through her. She was deeply unsettled, but forced herself to believe the monitor was picking up some stray radio signal.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The monitor clicked, and the soft, slow breathing resumed. Heart hammering, Sheila carefully lowered herself into the armchair. She rubbed her temples and let out a soft sob. She felt like she was losing her mind. Nothing felt right today. And she couldn’t tell anyone what was happening — she’d sound like a lunatic. While she sat thinking about her circumstances, faint fussing drifted from the monitor. Sheila dried her eyes and headed back into the nursery.

As Sheila walked down the hallway, she noticed the closet door was ajar. She reached out to close it — but her fingers fell short. That’s odd, she thought. The closet was right next to the nursery. She’d closed it from the nursery doorway hundreds of times. She took a small step forward, closed the door, and then entered the room to get her daughter up from her nap.

Once cleaned and changed, the baby went back to playing while Sheila resumed her daily routine. She began preparing dinner: preheating the oven, seasoning the chicken and potatoes, arranging them in the baking pan. Finally, she opened the oven. She gasped. There was nothing there. Not an empty oven — an inky, lightless void. Sheila slammed the door shut and grabbed the phone. As she stood there holding it, she froze. Who could she call? What could she even say? Nothing made sense anymore. Carefully — cautiously — she opened the oven door again. The oven rack sat right there, perfectly normal. Now I know I’m going crazy, she thought, sliding the pan into place.

Sheila gathered herself and went into the bathroom. After relieving herself, she washed her hands, then splashed cool water onto her face. She watched the droplets trickle down her reflection. Then parts of her reflection began to follow the droplets. Her cheeks, her mouth — sliding downward, as if her face were melting. Sheila gasped and grabbed the hand towel, wiping furiously. The towel came away clean, but her reflection didn’t. She wiped her face—off. A blank slate of skin stared back at her. She tried to scream, hands flying to her face, but no sound came out. When she lowered her hands, her own familiar features were staring back at her again.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the front door swung open and Jayce called out, “Honey, I’m home.”

She straightened her clothes and called back, “I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be right there.” As she pulled herself together, she heard him playing with the baby. “Dinner is nearly ready,” she said as she entered the room.

“Great,” he smiled, pulling her into his arms. “Is everything okay?” he asked, a look of concern crossing his face. “You seem tense.”

Sheila hesitated. She was afraid to tell him the truth. What if he thought she was having a mental breakdown? Or worse — what if she was having one, and she could lose everything by saying something? But in the end, she decided: if she couldn’t trust her partner in life, who could she trust? “I think I’m going crazy,” she whispered. “I’ve been seeing weird things all day.” She went on to explain what she had seen.

Jayce listened, then smiled gently. “You’ve just been under a lot of stress. You do all the work around the house, take care of the baby, and get very little rest. She’s not even a year old yet — you’re not fully recovered from having her. Give yourself a break. Tell you what: I’ll serve dinner and clean up tonight.” Sheila broke into tears while holding onto him as if her life depended on it.

After dinner, Sheila showered and got ready for bed. When she reached to replace the towel she’d used, the closet door wasn’t there. Confused, she looked around — and saw the door on the opposite wall. Frowning, she opened it, grabbed a fresh towel, and hung it on the rack. Then she crawled into bed. She pulled the covers over her head, wanting nothing more than to forget the day altogether.

The next morning began with the haunting memories of the previous day. The first thing Sheila did was head into the nursery to check on her daughter. The room was eerily quiet. Boxes sat stacked in the corner—boxes she hadn’t noticed before. She inched closer to the crib and found it empty. Panic rose in her chest. She turned toward the door, ready to run, but Jayce was already standing there. Watching her. “She—she’s gone…” Sheila stammered.

“Who’s gone?” he asked.

“The baby!”

His eyes softened. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll try again… when you’re ready.”

Confused and frustrated, Sheila shook her head. “She was here—yesterday.”

Jayce offered a small, pitying smile. “That was a dream. We lost the baby before we even found out the sex. You were so set on having a little girl.”

Sheila ran from the room, heart hammering, breath jagged. She didn’t know where she was going—she just needed to get away. Then she stopped. The closet door was at the end of the hall. That door kept moving. A cold shiver ran up her spine. She walked to the end of the hallway, each step slow and deliberate, and opened the door. A burst of bright white light flooded the hallway. Sheila shielded her eyes, blinking against the radiance. And then, for reasons she couldn’t understand—reasons that felt older than fear—she stepped through.