Have your dreams ever got out of hand?
Eric is a photographer, writer, and the nice face for a news publishing company named Trevor News. His job carries different assignments for him daily. But none can compete the oddness of a strange case he was...
Erik felt his head throb in pain as he opened his eyes. The throbbing of his head vibrated his already blurry vision, which made it harder to see. But he saw light from within. Pure white light. And it wasn't coming from the real world.
He shot up to his feet in shock as his senses came back to him sharply like a prick to his finger like a thorn from a rose. Ignoring the pain, he took a good look at his surroundings.
He was in a white plain desert where the sky was empty and almost white. The sun emitted an unnaturally intense light, making the place look surreal and shakey. Erik soon realized that he was dreaming. He dragged his feet across the white soft sand and walked. He didn't know where he was going, but he was going to continue walking until he comes across something. Preferably an exit out of this hot messy nightmare.
There was suddenly a hissing sound behind him. Not of an animal, but the sound of an object being dragged across the ground. Erik turned his head to the direction of the noise, and caught what it was. His eyes widened in shock at a single person wearing all black, standing behind him about 15 feet away. Erik kept a close eye on the person, not moving an inch. The two of them remained still, motionless. Staring at each other like two wild animals. But who was the prey in this case?
Erik was surprised to be able to hear the person breathe heavily across from where he was at. Nevermind that, Erik was creeped out by the person's dark presence. It's been so long since he's dreamt of actual people. And of people he never met. It's also been a while since he's had a say in his dreams.
The person moved a step forward. Erik reacted by taking a step back, in slight fear.
As the person took another step, another person--identical to them--emerged from behind. Then another, until they came pouring out behind forming a triangular group. Erik felt his heart quicken, his mind yelled for him in fear to turn and run away. And he listened. He turned on his heels and ran away as quickly as he could with no second thoughts. He peered behind himself and found them chasing after him.
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"Wake up, God damn it!" Erik told himself as he slapped his rough cheeks in desperation. A cold sweat ran down his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists tight, repeating, "Wake up. Wake up." He was beginning to breathe faster.
He slapped his face again; and a cold rushing feeling slapped him across the face. He gasped, finally awake, jolting up from the ground. He gasped, trying his best to remember how to breathe again. Once he got the hang of that, his vision came back. Now his eyes were able to show him where he was currently at-- inside a house. Under a cracked ceiling, lying on a couch, and his stuff sitting on a small coffee table beside him at arm length. He assumed himself that he wasn't kidnapped and, instead, was brought inside that man's house. The one who knocked him out! His memory came back to him like a jigsaw puzzle as he began to remember the past event. Then the same man who knocked him outz appeared in his point of view. He gazed at him sharply, holding his head.
The man cleared his throat. "I see yer awake." He commented. Erik shrugged.
"It's not like I'm sleep talking with my eyes open." Erik stated. Excuse his sarcasm, but when he wakes up annoyed; it's the only voice in his head willing to speak.
The man nodded slowly, squeezing his own hand. Erik noticed that he wasn't armed this time. Perhaps he saw that he was vulnerable at the moment. Which didn't make Erik feel any safer.
"You must've had some kind of knock out, huh." The man brought up. "You were shakin', mumblin' and sweatin' like crazy." He reached down to the coffee table and brought up a cup. "Drink up."
Erik took the cup with caution. He took a whiff of the hot liquid, happy to know that it was tea-not coffee. He took a quick sip, his headache soon disappeared. Forgotten. "It's nothing." Erik reassured, rubbing his cold hands against the hot cup. He narrowed his eyes in realization. "Where are my gloves?"
The man seemed surprised. "I put em with yer things, don't worry." He said, eyeing Erik's hands, then quickly looked away. Erik frowned at the fact that he now knows. But was also glad that he did not bring up the obvious strange tattoo on his hands.
"Thank you." Erik said, standing up from his spot. As he stood on his feet, he felt himself shake uncontrollably. He was soon sat back down by the man.
"Careful son." The man cautioned, helping him sit on the couch right up. Erik held his head, exhaling slowly.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come from the start, sir." He apologized, which caused the old man to scoff.
"You're the first." He stated, surprised. "And call me Owen."
"Owen." Erik repeated softly, thinking about the name.
"You're different from the other paperboys. Something off about you, maybe in a good way." Owen began, looking down at his gun. Erik looked at him and the old man gave him a responsive look regarding the gun. Saying that he didnt use it, yet. "Well, there was that crazy guy who came 'ere askin' 'bout somethin' others wouldn't know about. But you're the first to have kind eyes."
Erik rose a brow in curiosity and unable to shake off a creepiness. It'd be totally understandable if Owen didn't tell him what it was; but he'd be glad if he decided to. "And what is that the crazy guy came asking about? If you don't mind me asking." He asked anyway. Owen looked at Erik with a blank stare and blinked twice, falling his gaze to the floor.
"Somethin' dangerous and powerful..." His voice drifted off, his weary hand twitched as they met eyes. At that moment of eye contact, the man looked terrified. As if he glimpsed inside Death's cold empty eyes. Knowing exactly who he was.
Then he shook his head. "I can't tell you. For your own good." He stood up from his place, taking his gun.
"My-my own good?" Erik looked up at Owen, standing up at the same time as he did. Erik was really confused. They just barely met. How would a stranger know what was good for him?
"Yes. This ain't the place to explain. M-my wife-she's in town and will be able to give you the answers you need." He said and pulled out a slip of paper from his back pocket. "Here. This is her address. Present it to her and she'll know what to do." As Owen stood up, ending the conversation, he sounded much more desperate to get Erik out as he pushed him over to the door. Always peering behind himself, as if something dark was coming. Or an existing darkness soon to rise. Erik collected his things and followed Owen out.
"But what am I to expect? I don't even know what I'm supposed to ask." Erik asked, very confused. But the old man continued to ignore him as he pushed him out-gun gripped tightly in hand.
"Go go. Everything will make sense later. Just leave." He said and closed the door as Erik was out.
Erik faced the closed door, puzzled. Wrinkling his nose, all he could say back was, "Thank you for your hospitality." And he walked away.
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He put on his helmet and secured his things. His tea was now cold,and the silver gray clouds began to drift heavily over him along with the cold wind. It was sunny since he's arrived. How did it come to be so dark?
His eyes caught a glimpse of something. An old cemetery off into the distance right behind Owen's house. Very far away and dark. It looked abandoned. And something in it seemed to beckon him toward it. But Erik didn't have time and ignored it. Time to break the news to the others.
