The Demon

I am walking in a forest after a party. There were several people I knew at the party, some of them had come out to the forest with me. 
It is a beautiful, bright, sunlit day. The forest is wholesome and there is an air of tranquility about it. 

I go under a small glass ceiling. There is a bench carved out of a tree where an old man sits with his back against a glass pane. 

There is an air of wisdom and power about this man. He has a short white beard, properly trimmed close to his cheeks and balding white hair. 

Next to him is a younger man. Much younger. Maybe my age. 

I start speaking with them. At first the conversation is non-descript, then it turns. I am warning them of a lurking evil, a shadow that is coming our way. It seems a very odd subject to be discussing in such a wonderful place under such a glorious sun. 

Then, It appears. It looks like a man, but its eyes are soulless. As It looks at me, a horrible, evil grin spreads across its face. It raises its right hand and extends its index finger at me. 

I panic. A Demon from Hell is pointing at me. I try to scream, but I can’t. My body is non-responsive to my commands. My heart rate accelerates. I have got to warn the others. Why is my voice not coming? Desperation and anxiety grow in me. I slowly, very slowly, manage to raise my arm just about enough to point at the demon. Then, in nothing more than a hoarse whisper, with my mouth moving very slowly indeed, I manage to croak “It’s here”. 

As I feel my life being sucked out of my body the old man rises and gives me a sword. I grab it and the spell is lifted. 

I charge at the demon and swing the sword. He disappears into the netherworld. 

I wake up, panting. I immediately turn on the light. Was the Demon inside my room?

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The Voice from Above

I find myself again in an old stone church. It is massive, with a large central dome and wings going out to each cardinal point. There must be ten thousand people inside. In one of the wings, where it half descends into a crypt, there are the tombs of the twelve Apostles and Jesus himself. It is very poorly lit, and some areas are bare, exposed rock. There are signs everywhere indicating not to touch and not to photograph.

As I walk around with Paula I see all the tourists ignoring the signs, touching and kissing the tombstones, taking selfies in front of them.

Suddenly, a thunderous voice is heard from above:

“Non-believers!” the voice roared.

At the same moment, a clap of thunder hits the giant glass dome of the church. The roof collapses. Shards of glass and stone rain down on the people. Screams fill the air as the terrified people run amok in a panic. Nobody is quite sure where the exit is, nobody is quite sure where the attack came from.

Most people are being targeted. The stones seem to have a specific direction, smashing people’s heads as the flee.

I hold Paula close and stand still. I then hear a voice inside of me. Calm yet commanding. “Come to me, walk towards the hill and you will be safe.”

I take Paula’s hand and calmly walk amidst the death and destruction. There are dead bodies everywhere. Terror etched in their faces. I see the exit, at the far end of the Church. It now resembles a war zone. The Church itself has collapsed. I can see the sky. It is dark with flashes of orange, as if lit by fire.

As we make our way towards the exit, slowly walking past the dead and dying people, the stone missiles smash the ground around us. We reach the exit and walk outside. Outside, simply because we are on the other side of the rubble.

I see the grassy hill and breathe in. Nearly there. I feel no fear, as the Voice sustains me from the inside. When we reach the hill, the meteor shower starts. The skies are waging war on the Earth.

We lay ourselves on the ground and I place myself on top of Paula to protect her.

The world around us ceases to exist.

Rape

I find myself in a city which I do not recognise. It is very modern, bright lights, wide streets, lots of cars.

It is at night. I find my cousin crying in a corner. She is very defensive and protective. She refuses to speak with me. As something is clearly wrong, I insist, gently coaxing her into confiding in me.

A young sportsman had had his way with her. Against her will. I do not know the details, but clearly she had been sexually abused and/or raped. A deep, dark fury rises up within me. I want vengeance for this.

I hunt down the perpetrator, take a picture and go to the police. They arrest him for questioning, but release him shortly afterwards. Him and his cronies get on a yellow bus with a white top (retro style) and start coming for us. We quickly scramble into the Land Rover and floor it.

The slowest speed chase ensues through busy streets. We keep a comfortable lead over the bus. We reach what looks like an outside food court. We descend and go up a ladder through a trap door into a restaurant. As I am having lunch with my cousin the guy shows up. He starts touching her. Fondling her. I grab him by the scruff of the neck, pull him back and start punching his face. I punch and punch, I beat his face into a pulp.

The dream stops there. It restarts immediately with me in a room beneath a staircase. Baby Nico is there. He is looking at me with a smile in his face. My friend also has his baby there. I suddenly get a horrible feeling in my stomach, an ill foreboding of something dreadful about to happen.

I look up from Nico’s face and see the authorities coming in. They grab the baby and go. I protest, but as soon as I try to go after them I held in a lock. My heart sinks. My mind fails. What is going on? Why am I losing my baby? Where are they taking him? The sorrow and heart ache threaten to overcome me. I start swooning.

I wake up, with those feelings still in my heart. Even though I groggily realise it was all a dream, I still cannot overcome the feelings. They were too real.

As I gain more consciousness, I realise a tight pain in my calf. It is cramped up into a ball. The intensity of the muscle contractions during the dream was such that for 4 days I had muscle pains on the calf, and could not walk properly.

The Church

All of a sudden I find myself inside a massive Catholic Dome. It is ancient. The walls carved out of living stone and intricately decorated. 

It is quite dark. It is also quite holy. The sacred remains of some Saint are held in a special Sanctuary inside the Church. 

I go with my mother and brother towards the Sanctuary. We descend some stairs and are before the massive doors into the Saint’s chamber. There is a massive queue of people coming in from the other side. The priest opens the doors and let us in. Sky high ceilings greet us with a sepulchre in the middle of the room. The exposed body of the Saint lies in state. 

It is very solemn. There is not a sound. The line of people starts advancing towards the chamber. We go up some stairs and rejoin the main Church. 

There are ancient books to one side. As my mum and brother go to another part of the massive building, I go with Maurice towards the books. 

There are old engineering texts, written by the grand masters themselves. The foundations of our profession, preserved for all generations to behold. 

Maurice points me towards an imposing volume. It is the most ancient and sacred of texts. It is supposed to have engineering knowledge, and indeed it does, but it also has curses and rites of human sacrifice. The book scares me. I move forward to the part about Tolkien, the great literary master, but I never find it. I simply stumble across more and more horrifying texts. 

I put the book away. As I look around I see that the Church is empty. It is about to close. With horror I realise that if we do not hurry and exit the building we’d be spending the night in this place. This unwholesome place. For I did not feel God’s Blessing inside, but a constant unease as my body and soul felt under threat. 

I walk briskly past the sanctuary and the priests and rejoin the main crowd, leaving the building. 

As I exit the buildig into the darkness I wake up half dozed and groggy. It is still dark and I fall asleep uneasily once again…

London Under Siege

I am walking down the beach towards a London which is partly underwater. Not flooded, simply built underwater. There imposing cliffs to the right, with the sparkling city beneath the crystalline waves. 

I plunge and start swimming towards a cluster of buildings. Suddenly two torpedoes speed by. They impact buildings which crumble. 

Alarm horns start blaring, the city is under attack!

I am no longer underwater but atop a building. Running on the rooftops. A voice is heard from the sky. If we want salvation we have to climb high. 

The buildings start to collapse. As they do so, shards of concrete are projected into the sky. A swarm of people desperately tries to climb up, to reach ever higher ground. 

Massive mechanical arms start shooting down, tearing into buildings. I look around and see a scene of mayhem around me. 

The alarm bell rings. I wake up. 

The Recurring Nightmare

I blink in and out of consciousness. Too aware of his presence. His twisted smile grinning across my mouth, baring my own teeth at me. 
His voice. His terrible voice. “I’m here. I’m back” and then those eyes. Those manic, psychopathic eyes of a murderer. 
I get up. Unwilling to go to bed. I goto the bathroom. I feel his presence get stronger. I can hear him laughing inside my head. He flips our head backwards and opens the eyes wide staring at the ceiling. 
No! I can control him. He won’t take over. Then, as I wash my hands, I look in the mirror and He is there. His eyes and shadows making that dreaded X shape. He narrows the eyes. He breathes in and out heavily. 
His angry voice comes. 
“I am here. Your chemical prison cannot contain. I am growing stronger and soon you will not be able to stop me!” He roared inside my head. 
I resist the urge to shatter the mirror with my head. I force myself to look away. I shake my head and force him into the background. 
I am afraid to sleep. Afraid he will come during the night. Afraid one day, I will not be able to control him and let him loose upon the streets…

Fire at the Memorial

I am at an Italian’s party, with his sister. The father is refusing to serve any more alcohol because the people are getting rather drunk. Morning arrives and the father discovers me with the woman. He is rather upset. I make a run for it towards the van that is waiting on the road. We quickly load up and drive.

We get to Muhammad Ali’s memorial park. It is a mixture of concrete and plants. Suddenly I see a fire start. It begins to spread and consumes most of the park. My uncle quickly sets off the sprinklers on one side, to prevent the fire from spreading there.

I am now in a flat above the park. A mixture of smoke and water vapour is coming in through the vents. A group of local police is there, annoyed at the sprinklers. They had set fire to the Memorial. As I realise this, I discreetly call other authorities to request help.

The arsonists find out. Guns come out. I quickly rush downstairs and out of the building. From the street I can see the balcony. I see special ops trying to beat up my uncle who is dousing the flames. My uncle is old and frail, rage starts to consume me as I witness the injustice. Knowing I will need proof further on, I film it.

I decide to go into the building to confront them. As I walk across the intersection a car rams me. I get up and continue towards the building. Special ops gets out of his car and pulls out his gun. He grabs me and places me in a neck hold. I manage, somehow, to get inside the building. The owner of the restaurant on the first floor is not having it. She pulls out a stick and starts beating the special ops. Her daughter, the Italian’s sister, joins the fray and locks the doors. The special ops is subdued and locked in a wall compartment.

Finally, help arrives. We unlock the door and let him in. After a while I get suspicious and realise he is a baddie undercover. With a shotgun someone on our side gets his head blown off. He turns the shotgun towards me.

I look up. I can see through the floors to where my family is. They hear our screams and cry in pain.