30 Reasons To Read

Episode 17: Nightmare

I sat on my bed, rigid as a statue, fresh beads of perspiration forming on my forehead. They slid down the side of my face, landing on my wrist with a soft plop that seemed deafening in the silence. The night was eerily quiet. What happened to the clock? Oh yes, my clock never made those familiar tick-tock sounds when this happened. It worked silently, as if it were an indifferent observer, watching me struggle in my own terror.

This time, it was going to happen again, only worse. It always did. I have dreams-visions that show me the future. Sometimes it's as mundane as tomorrow's exam questions, other times it's something more... ominous. People call it my seventh sense, a gift. But tonight, it felt like a curse. This wasn't a dream; it was a nightmare.

In the vision, I was jolted awake by the doorbell ringing in the dead of night. Startled, I rushed down the stairs. My parents were standing by the front door, whispering urgently to each other. Finally, my dad opened the door. A young woman stood there, drenched from the storm outside. She was older than me but younger than my parents, exquisitely beautiful but with a shadow of worry on her face. She asked if she could stay the night, stranded as she was by the rain. My parents, generous as ever, immediately welcomed her in.

My mom offered her some food, and they chatted for a while. I joined them briefly, then excused myself, returning to my room to sleep. But barely ten minutes later, I was woken by a bloodcurdling scream. I sat up, disoriented, and only when the scream came again did I fully grasp what was happening.

I ran downstairs, heart pounding, and what I saw made my blood turn to ice. My mother lay in a pool of blood, mutilated and charred beyond recognition. Her lifeless eyes stared back at me, accusingly. In the far corner, the woman was crouched over my father, a knife in her hand, slashing and stabbing him. Blood gushed with each stroke. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth open in a silent scream. He was already dead.

Bile rose in my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but a strangled sound managed to escape. The woman stopped. Slowly, she turned to face me, rising to her feet. Her eyes locked on mine as she took a step forward. I stumbled back, knees trembling, and then-boom! I woke up, drenched in sweat, tears streaming down my face.

The vision replayed over and over in my head. I should warn my parents, call the police. But I knew better. I had tried before to stop something I'd seen. A simple stumble I foresaw ended with my friend's arm shattered in three places when I intervened. You can't stop what's destined. It only makes things worse. I knew my parents were going to die, horribly. And I couldn't do a thing.

As I sat there, lost in thought, the doorbell rang, cutting through the silence like a knife. My heart stopped. I glanced at the clock- eleven minutes past two. The exact time.

My hands trembled as I made my way downstairs, slower than in the dream. When I reached the hallway, my parents were already opening the door. The moment I saw her, I knew. It was the same woman, the same haunted beauty masking the evil underneath. The same words, the same pleas, the same invitation into our home.

Tears blurred my vision. My parents were leading her to the living room, oblivious to the fate that awaited them. I turned and fled back to my room, slamming the door behind me. Sobs tore from my throat, uncontrollable, violent. They were going to die. And there was nothing I could do.

Unless... No, I had to do something. I couldn't just sit here and let it happen. But what could I do? If I tried to stop
her, it could get worse. But what's worse than death? My death?

A sudden clarity washed over me. It didn't matter. I would rather die than let them suffer that horror. I took a deep breath, wiped my face and stood up.
I had ten minutes. Ten minutes to change everything. I didn't know what would happen but I wasn't going to let that nightmare become reality. I would stop her. I would save them, whatever the cost.

I swung the door open and hurried down the stairs to the living room. We were five minutes away from the nightmare becoming reality. Mom sat on the couch opposite the woman, chattering away, oblivious to the change in her demeanor. The woman’s face was no longer soft and smiling. Her gaze was locked on the knife on the coffee table, the one Mom had set beside the fruit plate. Dad wasn’t there. He probably came out after hearing Mom scream, just like I did. Neither of them noticed me standing behind the wall, my eyes fixed on the woman as she pushed her plate of cookies aside.

I was about to rush forward, to stop her from reaching for the knife, when she suddenly snapped, "No!" Her voice was sharp and commanding. I froze.

"I’m offering you a great deal of money," my mom insisted, her tone almost pleading.

The woman’s eyes flared with rage. "I’m not a f*cking pr*stitute!" she yelled. "And how could you ask me to sleep with your own husband and then offer me money? This is insane!"

I felt the ground shift beneath me. What?

Mom sighed, leaning forward. "That’s why I’m the best wife. I’ve never restricted my husband. I’ve given him the freedom to have anything he wants, just as he’s given me. And tonight, he wants you."

She reached out, placing a hand on the woman’s knee. The woman recoiled, swatting her hand away as if it were a poisonous insect.

"This is disgusting!" she cried, jumping to her feet. "I don’t want your twisted offer. I’m leaving!"

Mom’s face darkened. "As if you can!" In one swift motion, she grabbed the knife and stood up, brandishing it. The woman went pale. I watched in horror, unable to reconcile the image of my mother with the person standing before me.

What kind of offer was this? What had gotten into her?

Before I could process it, everything unraveled in a blur. The woman turned to flee and Mom lunged, trying to grab her. She called out for Dad, her voice shrill with desperation. The woman began to kick and hit, struggling to break free. Mom’s fury exploded as she wrapped her hands around the woman’s throat, squeezing with a strength that seemed impossible.

Then, the woman’s hand found the knife. She began stabbing blindly, desperate to survive. Mom screamed, a sound that cut through me like glass and then fell silent.

Dad came barreling out of the room, skidding to a halt at the sight of my mother crumpled on the floor. His face twisted in rage. He charged at the woman, fists flying. The sickening sound of bones breaking echoed through the room as his blows landed on her. He grabbed at her clothes, tearing at them in his frenzy. She fought back, clawing and kicking, until she somehow managed to flip him over. Straddling his waist, she plunged the knife into his body, over and over.

I stood there, paralyzed, as the horror unfolded. The woman’s sobs mixed with the wet, tearing sound of the blade. Finally, she stopped, her body shaking as she gasped for breath. She collapsed over my father’s mutilated body, her cries the only sound in the room.

I took a step forward, my hand clamped over my mouth. The noise must have been louder than I realized because her head snapped up. She stared at me, wide-eyed and trembling.

"No... I... I didn't... They..." she stammered as I moved slowly across the living room towards the telephone. Her eyes followed me, confused and pleading.

I picked up the receiver and dialled, the sound of each number ringing like a countdown in the silence. She didn’t move, just watched as if waiting for the final blow.

"911. What’s your emergency?"

I wiped away a tear hanging on my lashes and forced my voice to steady. "Someone broke into my house and killed my parents. They took a lot of money. I need help."

I heard her gasp, a small, broken sound.

"Do you know who it is?" the dispatcher asked.

I glanced at the woman, her face streaked with tears. I took a deep breath and looked away. "No," I lied, the word heavy and final.

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