The Dream Journal

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The Dream Journal

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I keep having the same dream over and over again. I wouldn’t quite say it is a nightmare, because the dream itself doesn’t scare me, but I always wake up, suddenly, in a cold sweat and my heart beating. 

The dream itself always goes like this: I’m standing in the middle of a desolate parking lot. It’s dark out, but I don’t hear cars, people or crickets. What I do hear is a slight thrumming sound and screaming frogs in the distance. When I look down, there is nothing below me – nobody, nothing. The only thing that changes every time I have this dream is the looming arrival of a red truck in the distance. Each time, it gets closer and closer.

When I had the dream last night, I could make out the cool whispers in my head:   

Listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us.

I wish whatever was happening to me would just stop. 

It’s affecting my work, my sleep schedule, and my relationship with my boyfriend. We’d only been dating for four months when I first had this dream, and now he’s becoming more and more irritable everyday. He’s a very angry person, and I’m beginning to fear that. He was so sweet when we first met. 

Anyway, I should really tell my therapist about this, because she said weird things could happen as a side effect from my new medication, but i have this deep rooted, anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I think about telling her. 

 

The dreams are becoming more and more real. I hear the frogs every night now, no matter what dream I’m having. I can see the blaring headlights by the end, and the whispers are becoming louder and louder. 

Everyday is tiring, every night is exhausting. I’m less steady, more fearful and panicked everytime the dream continues and the car gets closer and closer. 

Last night, it finally arrived. 

 

Listen to us. The frogs are screaming so loud I can’t hear anything else, and all I can do is watch the red truck slowly come to a stop, three feet from my standing. 

It goes dark for a moment, and then he’s there. He’s standing in front of the passenger side door, hunched over, eyes darkened and body looking as if out of control. 

The voice in my head is getting louder now, listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us. 

They keep repeating their words, getting louder and stronger until I can’t take it anymore. The frogs are screeching, He is stepping forward slowly, dragging his feet, eyes blank and dark. 

He has a knife. 

 

I wake up the next morning screaming. The sweat is dripping down my face, and I forgot my boyfriend had spent the night, and was now getting dressed. While I continued to scream, he just stared at me, shirt in hand, until I stopped. Then, he left without another word. 

I haven’t talked to him yet, and that was two days ago. The blank look revealed that maybe he didn’t care after all. But, whatever it was, it scared me much worse than whatever happened in the dream the night before. 

 

I had a different dream tonight.

I am ‘sitting’ in a chair across from my therapist, in a room I’ve never seen before. When I look down, I can’t see my body. When I look at my therapist, I hear my own voice explaining something, but it’s muffled, almost like I’m behind a door, listening in to a private conversation. 

My voice stops after some time, and my therapist nods, not ever looking away from me before she spoke, again, muffled as well. 

“I hear what you are— what you need—I recommend—now.” When my own muffled voice doesn’t respond, my full hearing returns suddenly, and I can hear the frogs screaming again. I look back at my therapist, and what I see isn’t her. It’s Him.

He’s slouched over, unmoving and eyes dark and blank. I’ve seen them before somewhere. The frogs increase in sound, and suddenly, he’s standing. 

“You should’ve listened.” 

 

I wake up with a jump, still fully laying down for once. When I look over, my boyfriend is still in bed, even though the sun shines fully through the windows. He stares at me, and I stare back. I’ve seen those eyes before.

Somewhere. 

 

The TV is playing in my mom’s house when I go over that afternoon to catch up and have lunch. She commented about my appearance, about how it looked like I hadn’t slept in months, which was kind of true. Other than that, we talked about miscellaneous things until the tv caught our attention. 

“NYPD has released a police sketch of the rampant serial killer on the loose. It has been five months since he has last killed. Another victim turned up last night at 3am. His victims seem to differ, so please, stay on high alert.” We both stared at the screen in shock.

“That looks a lot like your boyfriend, doesn’t it?” 

 

I haven’t returned my boyfriend’s calls for three days now. I’m starting to suspect some correlation between all of the things that have been happening to me. The dreams continue to be insistent, and everytime He appears, he seems more and more off, like his sanity is slowly dropping off his shoulders and dissipating in thin air. 

When I fall asleep on the couch, drunk, alone, and scared, this is the dream that greets me. 

 

The room is dark and warm. A bare window reveals a sliver of moonlight, bright enough for Him to be seen through it. The whispers have changed now. They are saying    run. Run. run. Run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun-

It’s cut off when He opens his mouth, but no words come out. The low thrum of electric returns. 

The frogs stop, finally. Then, we’re alone. 

 

I wake up to banging on the door. The news is on again, this time with the police sketch filling up the entire screen, and it’s blaring a warning of a surprise storm. Rain is slamming against the windows and somebody is still banging on the door. 

I get up slowly, head aching, body still warm and weak. When I open the door and reveal my boyfriend, wet and covered with blood, my body overloads with fear. He’s holding up his phone revealing the dial tone and my name on the screen in caps. There’s blood on his hand. 

“You’ve been ignoring me.” I try my best to slam the door shut on him, but he juts his foot forward and catches the door before i can close it. He pushes it open again, sending me back a few feet, into a wall. He approaches slowly. The words    run run run are a loop in my head when i begin to finally recognize the eyes, and then the knife buried in his hand. When he closes the door, the rain becomes quieter, and I can hear the frogs more clearly now. They haven’t done this in days. 

I realize what has been happening all too late. 

They’re dead on the ground before the moonlight even shows through the clouds and the frogs stop screaming finally. The voices have lost.