The Nightmare

by Bella Rum


The Nightmare – by Henry Fuseli

I was screaming, turning in circles, flailing my arms and jumping up and down in terror in the doorway to our bedroom. I finally heard H. He seemed very far away. He was yelling at me in a firm tone, much like you would use with a recalcitrant child about to run into traffic, “Wait, wait, wait!” In my confusion, I thought he was going to hurt me. It took a few seconds but seemed much longer. I finally came back to reason, or reason came back to me.

I dreamed that a man, a friend or acquaintance, came to me and asked, begged me to let him take me to Jacob. Jacob was someone with whom I’d had a relationship of some sort. I don’t think it was romantic, but it was more than casual. I think he was probably a mentor or authority figure, someone I had trusted in the past. I had a sense of foreboding, but I reluctantly agreed to meet with Jacob. I say I agreed, but I don’t think there was any other choice.

The man took me to a farm, a large, old house was at the end of a long lane. There was a barn, a red barn. I saw a man who was bound in a blue canvas harness that was trimmed in white piping. He was hanging from the rafters in the barn. I believe I spent the night in the house.

The next morning I was taken to Jacob. I told him I wanted to go. He forbade me to leave. I began to panic, telling him that I had always been loyal to him, always done what he wanted, and that I wanted freedom. Jacob summoned someone. A large man appeared with a blue canvas harness for me. Screaming in terror, I ran for the door. Then I heard H yelling, firmly, “Wait, wait, wait.”

H was actually awake because I’d awakened him a few minutes earlier. H said that I never woke up, but he had calmed me. He was drifting back to sleep when I jumped up and ran for the door like I was on fire. He said that I was too fast for him. It scared the hell out of him. He was afraid I’d make it through he door and hurt myself by falling over something. He said I was screaming like a wild woman, flailing my arms and jumping off the floor and turning in circles. I was sound asleep. Well, maybe not so sound… of mind, but sound asleep. I tried to go back to sleep, but forget that. I came in here, visited some blogs and decided to tell you what happened. Crazy city.

Thank goodness I don’t have to go to work everyday. I’m not sure what I’ll do today. I may go over to A. C. Moore. It’s only about five minutes from here. Do you have one of those? They are the hub of all things Christmas, my dear. I think I like them better than Michael’s. They have the same kind of stuff: garlands, wreaths, little do-dads of all imagination. They also have games and crafts and….. well, just about anything you could ever imagine, including arrangements for gravestones. They used to be Ben Franklin. I can never remember the name, A. C. Moore. I just call it A. C. Cowling. Nothing says Christmas like O. J. Simpson and that extraordinary white Ford Bronco getaway attempt.