As I look down, I can see my pants. I’m wearing light blue hiking pants, with several side pockets. I know I have a multi tool in the left calf pocket, my mini roll of duct tape in my right calf pocket, and my cell phone and identification card in my left hip pocket. I also have my backpack sitting in front of me with bottled water, a compass, map, protein bars, flares, rope, socks, and other day hiker stuff. I KNOW all of this is in there, even though I haven’t seen it, and don’t at any point in the dream. On my feet is my favorite pair of brown leather hiking boots. My arms are bare. I can’t see my torso or my face. I know my hair is braided, and that I have a baseball cap on. *I’m almost 100% certain it’s my Comedy/Tragedy cap*

I don’t know what startles me into movement, but something scares me. I get up, pack up my blanket, my half eaten protein bar, and my bottle of water, and start to walk quickly towards my right. Towards the peaceful meadow. Then the dream goes to shit.

I don’t know what’s behind me, and when I turn around, all I can see is the meadow and the creek, swiftly fading into the distance as I’m walking at a very fast pace, trying to get to the woods. I know, without articulating the actual thought, that if I reach the other side of the woodland, that I will be safe. Then my feet start to move of their own accord, and turn me to the right. Now I’m facing the dark woodland that was directly behind me when I was sitting. The scary woodland is now filling my field of vision. But the thing is still behind me, and I can feel it getting closer. I begin to jog.

I try my hardest to turn my feet back towards the peaceful woodland, even going so far as to throw my arms in that direction and strain to grasp the air with clawing motions, but my feet won’t turn. They just keep moving through the meadow towards the dark woodland. The only thing I can control is my speed. The Thing feels as if it’s only 5 or 6 meters behind me now, and I start running. I’m in the thick of the woods now, running through the holly bushes with abandon. I feel the leaves of the holly ripping into the linen of my pants, and shredding it. Then into my flesh. Rivulets of blood are pouring from my legs, and soaking into my socks and boots, and I actually feel myself having the thought of “the extra socks in my pack are useless”. That leads me to the thought of “so is the pack”, and I throw it off my shoulders and leave it behind me. Now I’m pumping my arms, and I can see blood running down them as well, and feel and taste blood running down my face, into my mouth; I can taste the coppery, salty, sweetness of it on my tongue. The Thing is gaining on me.

My legs are burning with the effort of running, and with the pain of all the cuts from the holly bushes. I know, in the core of my being, that if the Thing catches me, I will die. There will be no heroic rescue, no last ditch effort of fighting it off, no prayer of survival from the attack. If it touches me at all, I will simply die the most horrific death I can possibly imagine. I will die it over and over again. I begin to scream, and I can feel air whooshing past my face and shoulders as the Thing is trying to clutch me, but missing. This is usually the point where I wake up screaming.

If I don’t wake up at this point, the dream continues:

My legs burning past the point of pain, I can no longer feel the cuts from the holly, and my head is starting to feel fuzzy from the loss of blood, so my speed is dropping. I can hear the Thing making this noise that I assume is akin to laughter. It sounds more like fingernails on a chalkboard, teeth on a fork, and balloons rubbing together, with a dash of gunfire all rolled into one. Then the Thing touches me, and I know I’m done for.

My lungs feel as if they’re on fire, then as if they’re filled with water. Shackles appear on my ankles and wrists, and they have internal spikes that stab straight to the bone. My head is pulled back by my hair, and then my hair is shorn off to the scalp, my scalp is removed and millions of knives are plunged into my skull after they’ve been dipped into acid. I am completely aware of all of this, and even though each event kills me, I am instantly aware again, and the torture goes on and on and on. One method after another, until someone externally wakes me, or my own screams do. I hate the Holly Dream. It’s the single driving reason I don’t sleep more than 4 hours at a time on a regular basis.

Good luck.

Carissa the Tired