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Bleeding Dreams By: John Miller

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Bleeding Dreams
By: John Miller


The beasts tore into my dream, their fangs glistening in the moonlight, their claws raking the border of my surreal nightscape. I knew they would get inside. The tear they gnawed into the boundary of my dream enlarged and, through the opening, I saw their silhouetted heads. Their glowing red eyes blazed with cruel hatred and keen intelligence.

“Is this why you can’t sleep?” my wife Jeanie asked. “Your insomnia comes from these monsters in your dreams?”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “You’re not real.”

I ran at her and she disappeared into white vapor. I breathed her in and felt her presence fade, smelled her scent and then the dream figure of Jeanie was gone. Now I could think without answering her crazy questions and figure out some way to escape this realistic nightmare.

My dream realm consisted of a small graveyard, illuminated by the silver light of a full moon as it reflected off wet tombstones from the recent drizzle. I stood on a grassy knoll surrounded by some barrier that represented the edge of my dream and, although this made no sense, in my dream it was real just the same. When the sporadic clouds passed over the moon, my dream turned black and I couldn’t see anything. At those times I heard the deep growls of the beasts chewing their way into my mind.

I looked up and froze when I saw a cloud sliding toward the moon. The cloud glowed purple as it seemed to touch the silver orb. I didn’t want the moon shrouded again because everything would go dark and—

I heard something heavy land beneath the hole that the beasts chewed through just as everything went black. This time there was total silence except for the padded footfall of something approaching. I smelled wet fur. Two red orbs appeared, blinked, then lowered and disappeared. Something sniffed. I realized a beast had finally chewed its way into my dream, into my mind, sniffing the ground as it tracked me.

I ran blind. Someone screamed with the sound of my voice and I realized it was me. The cloud passed away and I saw the pointed tips of the wrought iron fence surrounding the small graveyard, but it was too late to stop. Something growled close behind me. Padded paws thumped cold earth as I skidded. I slammed into the fence, doubled over, and felt a row of iron spikes pierce my stomach.

The pain, so intense I couldn’t scream, paralyzed me. Something struck my back—a paw?—pushing me further down onto the spiked tips. More agony. I raised my head to scream but had no wind, but I saw the hole in my dream… saw it widen, and cracks appeared as spider webs through whatever that border of my dream consisted of. Two other beasts dropped onto the grassy knoll, and I saw other things through the giant hole: beasts like the one with its paw upon my back, and other monsters too unthinkable to describe. I realized then that dreams weren’t just things to be enjoyed, but they were castles of defense raised against those forces of darkness outside our dreams.

From behind I felt the beast claw my back as everything went black. I looked up as the darkness turned again to light, expecting to see the full moon, but instead I saw the ceiling of my bedroom. I gasped and sat up, the frozen scream caught in my throat as I rolled painfully off the bed.

From the floor I saw crimson stains on my bed sheets, and agony coursed through my midsection. I pulled my bloody T-shirt up and saw three holes in my stomach where the wrought iron spikes had protruded, but the wounds narrowed before my eyes and disappeared and the blood stains on my T-shirt shrunk. When I looked at my bed sheets they were no longer soaked in blood.



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About the Author


John is a single father with full custody of three sons. His stories/poetry have appeared at The World of Myth as well as other publications: The Horror Library; Monsta Productions; Red Pulp Underground, and he is in two anthologies. His family jokingly attests to his writing addiction.

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