I have a lot of nightmares and this is one of the worst.
I'm with some family members, cousins, all my age. We walk down a dirt road to my dads. I want to surprise him and hide, but he always know I'm inside the big tire. He brings me over to the donkeys and gives me a little boost up onto one of them so I can ride it.
I ride with the cousins around the farm, and go to this old old tiny town, with only a few buildings. We play around in the one room schoolhouse and climb into the attic for fun.
But my memories start coming after me. They are horrible memories of people disappearing and being killed. I want to save the kids being taken. We leave the animals and run over to the warehouse, the one that we heard people take their kids to and leave without.
We get inside with some food, because part of us still thinks this is all just a game. It gets dark and we eat some pie to pass the time. People start arriving.
A mother with her little boy walk into the warehouse and we offer the boy some pie. His mother yanks him away and screams something at us that sounds like nothing we ever heard. She drags him into the back room that we couldn't enter before and then the most horrible noise.
A gunshot.
The mother exits. We stare at her and shy away. She has this deranged smile and doesn't seem to see us there.
Two more people come in. Disturbingly, this is a little boy of 9 or 10, and his blonde headed baby brother of 3 or 4.
Again we offer some food, and the older brother shoves his younger one back while he yells at us in the same strange voice.
They go in the back room. Gunshot. Big brother leaves with a smile.
I can feel something horribly Wrong in the back of my mind. Like something is coming for me, but I don't know what it is.
We run over to the other end of the warehouse, hoping to leave and get out because we can't do anything, and we know something is after us.
Finally, we turn around and see it through the door of the warehouse. It's floating, and black with red lights mixed in. If we weren't so terrified it would be pretty. It rushes toward me and wraps around me. I try to yank it down, but my hands can't get a decent hold on it. Instead I'm yanking on white yarn.
I look at my cousins and they are doing the same, yanking black or white yarn. I watch as one of them pulls the last strand from seemingly nowhere, and it rises up and creates the shape of the thing she fears most.
I look at my own yarn, and try to pull my hand away. It's stuck. I yank and yank, trying to just get away. But more and more yarn creates a pile at my feet.
It's coming. I'm going to die afraid.
