Wildest Dreams

n in e t e en

9:45 pm

My grandparents have just gotten to sleep and I, on the other hand, was thinking of ways to confront them tomorrow. I want to know everything before the chance is gone, before I fall asleep and never wake up again.

I sat on my desk, the handwritten note of my mother under the light in front of me.

"They know something, Viv" was the first sentence. This was the kind of note you pass to your friends when you want to talk about something in the middle of class. Viv, short for Vivian, must be her friend.

"You worry too much 🙁" was Viv's response, written on the right side of the paper.

"I can't stay silent about this, they're scaring me."

"Then tell them!"

It ended there, and it was only short. I had the hunch that they were talking about my mom's parents. I have no idea if she ever told them or she kept all her suspicions to herself. What she was feeling at this time, I was in the same position right now. I've been having second thoughts ever since the first murder, my friend's death.

I have to dig deeper into this if I want to avenge my friends, and maybe even my parents.

1:48 am

I went out of my room holding a flashlight to light the way. Tip-toeing my way around the pitch dark corridor, I made sure to not wake up my grandparents when I passed their room and opened the door to the office. I left a creak open just in case.

The trapdoor on the ceiling made me uncomfortable in the room, even thinking that the light I have with me is something I couldn't trust. Gulping, I made my way to the desk and opened its drawers. I carefully placed everything back to where it was after discovering nothing about the Springwood Slasher or Fred Krueger. I moved to the other folder cases, reading reports about car mechanics, phone services, and insurance but nothing about what I actually needed.

There was a sudden movement of something small beside me. I pointed my lights at it, dropping down to the floor to see... that nothing was under the table. It probably was just a cockroach or spider.

I sat up, sighing, and returning back to the pa—

"Ah!" I instantly covered my mouth before anyone could hear my scream. I almost dropped my flashlight, staggering back to the floor. My heart beat fast and loud in my ears while I try to catch my breath.

When I sat up, I saw the face of my mother looking straight at me but it turns out that it was just a picture. I stood on my feet and took the frame in my hands. She must be around my age when this picture was taken, noting that she ran away from home before her graduation.

I placed the picture back on the table when I noticed a box underneath. It was the same one from what Grandpa brought earlier. I had a strange feeling with this one, like it was telling me to pick it up. And I did.

The first thing I saw when I opened it was a single photograph of a man, taken in broad daylight, as he entered a building. He looked oddly familiar and his face sent goosebumps, making me feel like throwing up. I flipped the picture and saw "Springwood Slasher 10/19" written in blank ink.

"So this is him?" I mumbled. "My grandparents took pictures of the Fred Krueger?"

I moved my light to see the other contents of the box—folded notes and yellowed papers. I picked them up and read them silently.

"Boiler room, first underground level, leather factory—" I gasped when a tack got deliberately removed from the board, making papers fall to the table. I hurried to put back the documents into the box then pushing it back under the table. Quickly turning off my flashlight, I got out of the room, hoping my grandparents were not woken up by the noises. I entered my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

"I've seen too much," I breathed out as I sat on my bed. The clock read 2:51 am.

#  #  #

Sleep? What is sleep?

It's something I haven't had for nights ever since my parents died, yet I don't feel lacking of it. I feel awake before going to bed, and I don't need coffee when I woke up. I let the day pass by as if sleep is something unknown to me.

So if I don't have it tonight, what's the loss for me?

I kept my door locked the whole night with my desk lamp the only light open inside the room. Wrapping myself with the sheets of the bed, a whiff of Glen's scent caught my nose and I was momentarily distracted from existing in loneliness. I grabbed the pillow next to me, which Glen was hugging earlier. His scent stayed on it and I felt safer being alone in the dark.

"Can I go to the cows? Please it won't take a while."

"Of course you can. It's our farm. Your mother and I will be waiting here when you get back."

"Got it! Bye Dad! Bye Mom!"

I instantly opened my eyes before I could fall deeper into the dream. Rubbing my eyes, I stood up from the bed and walked around the room to keep me awake. My bare feet dragged along the carpet and kicked the books and clothes laying around.

I stopped in front of my desk, where my parents' framed picture stood upright. Hesitantly, I picked it up. My fingers grazed over their faces. Somewhere buried at the back of my head, I could hear their voices.

"I miss you. I hope we meet again." I placed it back on the table before tears could start flowing.

Sighing, I faced the window. My fingers fumbling with the fuzzy wool of my gloves. I decided to remove them. The scars and fresh wounds seemed to be less visible in the dim light. If I didn't know, I would be surprised how much my hands have felt rough and almost numb. I placed my hands against the window. My breath hitched at the contact; it was cold.

The window was intact and smooth — very much unlike my life.

I stood there in the silence with both my palms against the glass. The street outside was quiet and empty. No wind was blowing, no leaves were rustling, and the orange streetlight lighting only small areas of houses, plants, and the road.

With a deep exhale, I pulled my hands away and sulked back into my bed, wide awake waiting for the morning to come.