By SAVANNAH TILLMAN, Feature Editor
As I jolted up in my bed, my heart felt like dozens of small tap dancers in my chest. I clinched my knees together and pulled them up against me. This is the fourth night in a row that I have had that unbearable nightmare. Each time I wake, the feeling of anger, terror and pain fill my thoughts.
I’m too scared to even close my eyes because each time I do, I see that face. Oh my God, that retched face! I have never seen anything so hideous in my life. His charcoal eyes pierced my soul. I try to look away, but I just can’t. He has a scar that spreads across the entire left side of his face. It looks as if he has been severely burnt because there are skin grafts in the several sections along his cheek bone. There was an inch-long gash in the middle of his top lip that looked infected because it festered with a yellow mucus that casually seeped from the edge.
He wore a black trench coat that looked as if it had been used as a garbage bag because what looked like cabbage, maybe some chicken noodle soup and an orange peel stuck to it like glue. The soles of his shoes, which were covered in dry mud and missing their shoe strings, were being held together with duct tape. His shoulder-length dark brown hair was covered in a dark gray soot and he had it tucked behind his ears, adding to the drama of his demeanor.
This man terrorized my dreams and haunted my thoughts. For the last four nights, my dreams followed the same path. I was trapped in my closet and hearing things like pots, pans, glass and chairs being thrown against the walls. I could hear a man’s voice taunting me. He sounded as if he had smoked four packs of cigarettes a day and he would eerily yell out, “Yoo-hoo, where are you? Come out!”
Suddenly my bedroom door flies open and heavy shuffling footsteps drag across my carpet floor. All I can do is listen to him destroy my home. Then, for what seemed like a few seconds, silence filled the room. My breathing got heavier and heavier. WHAM! My closet door is thrown open and the door knob slams into the wall.
I lose control of my body and cannot seem to move. I look up at my intruder and my eyes meet his. He grabs me by the throat, yanks me up and throws me to my back. The air is knocked from my lungs and I begin coughing and gasping uncontrollably. He squats down over me, but there was no expression written on his face. It’s as if he didn’t know emotion and he didn’t care what he was doing. That’s when I notice a dagger in his hand. Both sides of the blade were dull and stains accented the silver with the color of a red ruby. Even though he gripped the handle tightly I could see it was wrapped with black electric tape.
He raises the dagger and as I go to scream out, I abruptly wake up. Why do I keep having this dream? I haven’t had more than six hours of sleep in four days. I’m emotionally and physically drained.
Forcing myself to lay back down, I then closed my eyes. An hour passed and I can’t go back to sleep. “Ugh! Julie get back…,” I began to grunt out when I got interrupted by a loud CRASH.
My heart fluttered and I set up quickly. Trying to get out of bed, my foot got caught on my covers and my face caught my fall. As I get to my feet, the constant crashing of glass and tables boosted my adrenaline and I darted to my closet.
“Yoo-hoo, I can hear you in there,” said the intruder.
His voiced echoed throughout my home like a record stuck on repeat. Taking big, deep breaths, I managed to keep my heart from lunging out of my chest. My mind raced with images of the nightmare. I didn’t want to die but what could I do? A flickering lightbulb went off in my mind and I soon realized that I had stashed my grandfather’s army knife in a shoe box, in my closet. As I begin to shuffle through the dozens of shoe boxes, I could hear the man enter my bedroom.
“Did you think that I wouldn’t hear you in the closet, you stupid woman,” he said.
As I discover my grandfather’s knife, my closet door flies open. I didn’t have any time to waste, so without a thought I spring forward at him, carelessly. “AHHHH,” I let out a scream, as the dagger enters my left collarbone. I had without a doubt, forgotten about his dagger. As he pulls the blade out, he throws me to my back and my knife falls out of my hand.
My eyes lock with his once more, as he squats over me. Who was this man who had violated my home and my body? My nightmares didn’t do this man justice. His reality was much more dramatic. The scar that was on his face twitched with every heavy breath he took. His teeth were a butter-yellow color and he was missing his whole bottom set. He was a brawly 6-foot-2 man, who had long fingers and dirt underneath his ragged nails.
Continuing to make eye contact with him, I slowly moved my hand toward my knife, that was beside his right leg. With one swift movement, he raises his dagger. My nightmare, once more, played in the back of my mind. There had to be a reason I kept having it. Maybe it was for this very moment. Maybe it was to save me from having the same fate. Maybe, just maybe, God was trying to warn me.
I took one final stretch toward my knife and before he knew what I had done, I plunged my grandfather’s army knife deep into the man’s chest. For the first time, emotion swept across his face. I couldn’t tell if he was in shock or if he felt pain. Blood flowed out of the wound and covered my pink satin nightgown. He began to gurgle blood out of his mouth and he fell to his side.
Despite the wound in my left shoulder, I managed to pull myself to my feet. Adrenaline was pumping through my body, at a rate of 90 to nothing, and my only instinct was to run. I took off as quickly as I could and didn’t take a second to look behind me. Glass gouged my feet, from the debris, as I ran out my room, through the hall and into the kitchen. The adrenaline helped keep the pain from my mind and focus on my escape.
I flew open the front door and for a second, took in the night air. The feeling of freedom took over my spirit and I continued. I ran out of my nightmare, of a reality, and into the light of the full moon.