BLACK FRIDAY (an anthology of horror tales)

DREAM MAN

The Dream Man is a strange tale

about a woman whose husband

keeps having the same nightmare,

night after night.

One morning, at breakfast, my

husband seemed very tired. His face

was pale and sweaty. When he

reached out to pick up his cup of

coffee, I noticed his hand was

shaking.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Did you

get enough sleep last night?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I'm not

sure if I was sleeping or if I was

awake. Have you ever had a dream

that felt so real that you weren't

sure if it was actually a dream?"

He paused for a long time before

continuing.

"Last night, I had one of those

dreams," he said. "In the dream, I

woke up in a cold sweat. My heart

was racing and I was breathing

heavily. I went to the bathroom to

get a drink of water, but something

didn't feel right. I looked up and saw

that the ceiling wasn't there

anymore. Instead, it was as if I was

looking up out of a grave. I could see

the edges of the grave above me.

There were people gathered around

the graveside, but I didn't recognize

any of them except for one man. He

looked exactly like me. Same eyes,

same nose, same face, same

everything. He bent over the grave

and peered down at me. A broad

smile spread across his face and he

said, "You've lived long enough.

Time to let someone else live for a

while." I went back to the bedroom

and lay down in bed. I can't

remember if I lay awake or fell

asleep."

The next morning, when my

husband came down for breakfast,

he looked even worse. His hair was

disshevelled and his brow was

dripping with sweat.

"I had the same dream again," he

said, his voice shaking.

He wouldn't say anything more, but

as he left for work and kissed me

goodbye, I could see the fear in his

eyes.

I began to get very worried. My

husband had always been a calm and

relaxed individual. Now, it seemed

as if he was turning into a nervous

wreck.

Every night, for the rest of the week,

he had the same dream. Each

morning, before he left for work, he

would tell me about the dream. His

face grew grey, his eyes became

haunted and he began looking gaunt

and sickly. I decided that it was time

to have him see a psychologist.

However, on Saturday morning, he

woke up much later than usual and

when he came down for breakfast,

he looked as if the extra sleep had

done him some good. He appeared

to be healthy and vigorous again.

"Did you have that dream again last

night?" I asked.

He looked up at me. A broad smile

spread across his face and he said,

"What dream? I have no idea what

you're talking about."