Dreams are funny things. Do you ever wake up from a dream with a moment of confusion as to what’s real and what was the dream?
I woke up early this morning, a moment of disorientation, heart pounding, so sure there was someone hiding inside my place, out of sight. I knew that wasn’t really happening but my body’s ‘flight-or-fight’ response was in full gear.
Whatever the dream had been about is long forgotten, but the impact of it had stayed, so I wrote about it to get it out of my mind, to calm myself...after I checked out all the hiding places of course. I’m not stupid; I’ve seen those horror movies. LOL
Here’s what I wrote in the early morning hours. Maybe I’ll make a short story out of it.
She woke suddenly, unsure what had disturbed her sleep, caused her to waken. The room was dark and still, the only light the soft glow of the streetlight that filtered through the drapes at the window.
She felt uneasy, knew any further sleep would elude her now. Her eyes darted around the room, but she could see nothing amiss, yet sensed something was very wrong.
Tossing back the covers she swung her legs over and sat on the side of the bed, cringing when her bare feet touched the cold wood floor. Why is it so cold, she wondered as she stood, her arms wrapped around her body for warmth.
She tiptoed her way across the room to the doorway looming dark in front of her. The silence was eerie, too silent she thought, as if the house was holding its breath. Such fanciful thinking, the house wasn’t a living thing, it didn’t breathe, so why did she sense its indrawn breath?
She made her way down the hall, her fingers trailing along the wall to guide her through the darker dark. When she ran out of wall, she almost laughed in relief. The living room was cast in shadows from the glow of the same streetlight, a brighter beam of light radiating across the floor from the partially open drapes.
A second shaft of light appeared where there should be nothing but darkness. The solid wood door she’d locked before retiring for the night stood open, the source of the cold draft. The chills she felt running up her back were not from the cold, nor were the goose bumps on her arms.
Her eyes searched the room, looking for anything, anyone, that didn’t belong. Heart pounding, she stepped back and reached out for the wall, needing the security of that touch, the wall at her back. All those horrible horror movie scenes were running through her head, confusing her.
Should she leave the house, run into the night, away from whatever danger had entered her house uninvited? Or should she close the door, lock it up tight, and hope she didn’t find herself trapped inside? For damn sure, if she heard a noise in the basement she wasn’t going down the stairs to investigate.
Later, I wrote more.
She heard the front door slam back against the wall and jumped, her heart racing, her body rigid with fear. Someone was entering her house, no longer making any attempt to mask his movements. What to do? What to do?
Her eyes shut tight, her hands fisted at her side, she waited in the dark, hoping he wouldn’t see her if she stayed still and didn’t move.
She could hear him moving about the room, heard something drop heavy to the floor. He was moving through the room, moving in her direction?
“Hey, Babe. What are you doing up?”
She opened her eyes and looked at her husband. “Lucas, what are you doing here?”
“I live here, or at least I did before I left for that business meeting.”
“Why did you leave the door open?”
“Because I forgot this in the glove compartment and went back for it,” he said. He started to hand her the silver gift bag he held in his hand, but held it back, out of reach. “Are you all right, you’re acting strange.”
“I’m just missed you and am so glad you’re home,” she said, wrapping her arms around her husband’s waist, snuggling in to his warmth. “The house never feels right when you’re not in it.”