Moonstruck

Chapter Two | "Those eyes..."

Adrenaline courses through me, making my heart beat furiously in my chest as I force myself to slow my breath. My hands are shaking. They need to stop shaking, but I can't make them do it, only press them firmly against the bark of the tree, hoping beyond hope that my hiding place is good enough.

For a moment, I entertain the thought that I might have escaped them. That I might be safe, at least for now. Then I hear a branch breaking, behind me but not too far behind, and all hope goes out of the window.

I take a harsh breath, hoping the sound is quiet enough to not draw any attention. Besides them, the forest is unnaturally quiet. I'm not used to it being like this, with no sounds of animals or insects to break the silence. It's eerie and unsettling. I know I'm in a dire situation already, but the silence surrounding me makes everything feel even more foreboding.

I hear rustling, this time closer. Significantly closer. Close enough to know I don't have much time left.

It's them.

There's no one else it could be.

I realize, all at once, as the terror and adrenaline courses through my system, that I have a choice to make. A decision. Maybe the most important decision of my life.

There's another crunch as footsteps approach. As they approach.

I don't have any more time to waste.

I have to make a choice.

Do I hide?

Or do I run?

I awake with a jolt, gasping as I nearly fling myself out of bed. I'm soaked in sweat but I feel so cold, so terrified it's nearly overwhelming, breath coming ragged in my chest.

I raise my hand to press against my heart, feeling it thunder against my palm. In the moment, it felt so strong, so vivid, but already I can feel the memory of the dream slowly drifting from my mind. My breathing steadies, though my heart is still pounding. I almost think of grabbing a pen and pad to scribble down what I can remember from the dream, but I don't have anything in reach and I know for a fact that by the time I can find something to write with, I won't remember the dream at all.

Luckily this is not my first rodeo. I think to myself dryly. I've had vivid dreams since I was a teenager. It's not every night, but whenever I do experience them, they always wake me up, usually in the late night or early morning.

Well... not just wake me up, really. It's more like they violently drag me, kicking-and-screaming, from the deepest sleep right back to being awake.

Despite how intense they are, even the most realistic dreams tend to fade from my memory within minutes after I wake up. It's frustrating. If I'm going to be forced awake, I at least want to remember the reason why. As a teenager I used to religiously keep a pen and a pad of paper right by my bed so I could jot my dreams down immediately after waking, but I got out of the habit back in college when I started taking sleeping pills in an attempt to assuage the dreams.

At first, the pills had seemed like the perfect solution to the problem. For the first time in years I'd been able to routinely sleep regular hours, only waking up when my alarm went off in the morning. Even so, it didn't take long to realize that not waking up from the dreams didn't mean I wasn't having them; all it meant was that now I couldn't escape them. I still woke up in a cold sweat, feeling unsettled and sometimes downright terrified. The difference was that before I started taking the pills, I could at least remember the dreams for a few minutes. Now I couldn't recall them at all- not even for a moment after waking up. I was getting more sleep than I had in years, but somehow I felt less well-rested, worse and worse the longer I took them.