The Child

I'm walking towards an old style crib as I listen to her young terrified screams. I can't tear my eyes away from the dark figure in front of me. His pale slender fingers are gripping the side of the baby's crib as a faint hum comes from his throat. I don't recognize the crippling song. The windows are wide open alight with the raging storm outside. The curtains, unaffected by the strong wind, hide lanky shadows. The only thing that lights my path is the occasional lightning that manages to shake the Earth. I only just realize, I'm covered in a light pink babies top with matching bottoms. On closer inspection, there are multiple large pale white hand prints not only covering clothes, but also my skin. My hair follicles stand on end, when the door behind me slams shut, trapping me in the nursery. The room, although I can't place it, seems eerily familiar. As I creep closer to the crib, the dark figure doesn't move in the slightest. I slowly peek over the edge of the crib. I'm appalled to see there's nothing inside. I feel a hand around my lower neck. Suddenly, I'm looking up at the hooded man and elevated off the ground. This is when I realize that I'm the young child whaling. The hand creeps up my neck and presses down. I'm frozen with shock. I wake and remember it was all a dream, the same one I see every minute of the time deemed necessary, while in Hell.