Every night, it's the same dream.
I always find myself all alone in a dark corridor. Always there is this feeling
of dread whenever I find myself there. Always there is this feeling of an
imminent yet invisible threat that I know—or, I don't know—is there. Always
there. Always watching. Always waiting.
I always call out for someone—anyone.
But in vain. I knew I was alone. I always was. I guess calling out was just my
way of confirming it. I knew I was alone. I always was. But I really can't
shake this ominous feeling that I wasn't.
The silence was deafening. Almost
literally. It's as if the blackness of the dark corridor is threatening to
swallow me whole. A yawning gaping maw that lets out so much power that I feel
pressure build up in my ears and in my chest. I can't hear. I can't breathe.
I knew staying where I was would
only worsen the feeling. Sure enough, when I took my first steps, I felt a
gradual sense of ease wash over me. It was odd. I knew what I needed to do. I
knew that taking those steps would lessen the pressure inside me but I just don't
know why. What I knew though was that had I stayed where I was, whatever it was
I sensed when I first arrived there will get me.
I groped my way in the darkness
and soon enough, as if on cue, the corridor became dimly lit with this red
light. Like the one you see in a darkroom—you know, the workshop where
photographers develop their films into pictures. Anyway, I continued walking
along the now crimson-lit corridor until I see a door. It was a light plastic door
with a lockless knob and I opened it no problem and continued on until I see
another one.
This time the door was of wood
with a rusted knob and a chain lock. I undid the chain lock but the knob was so
rusted I can't even get it to turn. Moments passed as I was trying to get the
door to budge but it felt like hours. Little by little, I began to felt that
sense of dread in me again and that feeling that someone—something—is watching
me.
Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
It was calling out to me. Reaching out to me. The corridor was gradually
becoming black again and I felt once again this sense of dark power—this, this
feeling of hopelessness. Panicking now, I forced turning the knob with all my might
but I felt that I'm only doing so little to actually turn it.
The red light is almost gone and
the darkness is once again taking over. I hit the door with my shoulders,
forcing with all of my strength to open the door. I succeeded, but once again I
cannot see. Once again, I cannot breathe. I sprinted, groping my way once again
looking for that eerie red light that became a symbol of comfort for me.
After what seemed like an
eternity I stopped. Don't get me wrong I wasn't tired. I might have sprinted
for minutes or hours or days—I don't know—but I wasn't tired. What stopped me
now was the feeling of an intense aversion towards my destination. An
instinctive animal fear, if you will. I don't know, I just... I just felt that
going to where I was going to was more dangerous. The red light was back
although it was now more sinister. I looked around me. There was nothing. Nothing
but the vast emptiness and what seemed like grimy concrete that makes the walls
of this God-forsaken corridor.
Afraid, I pressed on. And all
this time I walked I got this feeling that I was being watched, and that
watcher was just behind me—no—beside me. I can almost feel its breath on my
neck. It was urging me on.
The crimson light is getting
darker once again and I see at the end of the corridor a steel door. I ran to
it, hoping against hope that it was unlocked. It wasn't. Suddenly, all of my
senses seemed to work in overdrive. I sensed it. I felt it.
It's here.
I tried to open the door but it
had a deadbolt. I kept looking for the key but always there was none. Tears started
to stream from my eyes and my panicking hands tried to turn the knob but to no
avail. I tried pushing the door like I did the previous one but I know that
that effort too is useless.
It's dark now. Pitch black. My first
instinct was to run back to where I came from but I know there's no going back.
Despair crept into me then. There was also no going forward. The darkness was
going to swallow me. Or have already swallowed me—I don't know.
I woke up then. I was sweating
and shaking.
I heard a rustle underneath my
bed. Instantly, my still-shaken nerve cried in terror and I covered myself in
sheets in a juvenile attempt to shield myself. The sensation of dread returned
to me. It was dark—so dark. I closed my eyes for a while and when I opened
them, I was back in the corridor.
It is at this time that I felt my
sanity was slipping. I cannot tell anymore which is real: the corridor or my
room. I remember my room, so that must be real right? What's frightening me
though was how greatly detailed my memories of that corridor are. So... would that
mean that that is real too?
And the monster... God, the
monster. Awake or asleep, I feel its looming presence. Whether or not I open
that steel door makes no difference. It has always been watching me—no, it's
with me. It has always been with me and that's what scares me most. I cannot
see it, but it's here alright.
It's in my head, you see, eating
away at the remaining vestiges of my sanity.
