On Easter, I slept in pretty late, and since I needed to wake up for work the next day at the early hour of 1 PM, I decided to take a sleepy pill and get to bed early.
I dreamed I was in a field on a clear, sunny afternoon. I don't know what season it was, but everything was yellow. The leaves and grass, all yellow. The real life equivalent of this field is actually at the end of my street, where there's a pond on the right, woods to the left, and a highway. In the dream, though, all traces of man were gone. There were no power lines, no light posts, and no road. Just a grassy, yellow field. I had the knowledge in the dream that some sort of catastrophe had occurred, and I was one of very few survivors.
My mom was with me, walking through the grass, and my friend Travis was off in the distance. My mom left to go to Travis, leaving me with that big wet field area to my right where the pond is/was. In that area, there was a guy probably about 20 years old, and he was afraid. He only liked me. No one else was allowed near him. I gave him food and helped keep him alive.
I gave him a bundle, started towards Travis and my mom, and then decided to explore instead. I turned around to go the opposite direction. After this point, my mind stopped including Travis, my mother, and that guy in the dream. I found a very quick way I could have gone to give the guy that bundle of food instead of the way I took, and I was pleased that next time I wouldn't have to travel over thick underbrush.
Then ghost children started pouring out of the woods.
They were lead by a little boy, about ten years old, with short, dark hair. I don't remember was he was wearing, but his shirt definitely didn't have sleeves. That's important. I also feel he may have been very dirty, but I'm not positive. I know for a fact that his hands were dirty, with yellowed nails that had dirt under them. I knew in the dream that he had been my son, and that he and the other children behind him - several dozen - were dead.
The boy mentioned something about the parent suffering as the children had suffered, and how I would feel the pain they felt. Using his right hand's middle finger, he tore a very deep gash in his own left arm, starting near the shoulder and going down about three or four inches. It must have been half an inch deep.
I felt a searing pain in my own arm, and I clutched at it as I backed away from them. Typically, pain will wake anyone from a dream, but not when sedatives are involved. I chose a bad night to have sleeping pills in my system. I don't remember if my own arm bled, but it definitely hurt a lot.
I turned to run, and when I turned around, a little girl - about six or so and in some kind of ruffly dress - was standing there. I knew that she was another ghost, and also my other deceased child. She didn't do anything. She just stood there, as I was panicking and unsure of which direction to go.
Some part of my mind recognized that I needed to escape, and even that I needed to wake up, in a very primal, basic sense. I turned again to face the boy and his followers, and since I was clutching my arm, I lost my balance and fell. As I was hitting the ground, I woke up.
I woke in a room that was not my bedroom. It was another dream. The room was a perversion of my bedroom in my old house, which had my bed on one wall, a closet on the opposite, and a window on the wall to the left, with the door on the wall to the right. Only the layout of the room was from memory; the rest was created from nothing.
My bed was a black bunk bed with many pillows, and there was a nightstand near the door with a purple lamp. The room was dark, with a purplish glow from the lamp. It looked like it was sunset outside by the lightness of the sky, though I suppose it could have been dawn, too.
I knew instantly that it was not my bedroom. It wasn't where I was supposed to be, and again, that primitive need to escape surfaced. For those of you unfamiliar with lucid dreaming, breaking free of a dream is like clawing your way up through tar. It feels like you're drowning and struggling to break the surface. Doing it while sedated is even harder.
I managed to break through the layers of fog to wake in my own bed, in my own, real, physical bedroom. Too tired to know any better, I went back to sleep a minute later.
I had a dream about children with their parents on some strange kind of elevator made of chairs. It's strange and mostly unimportant, I think.
I woke up in that dream bedroom again, and it was even more horrifying. There was a large panda plush, and this time Tim was there, holding this panda and telling me to go back to sleep or something. I don't honestly remember, but I know he was there and talking to me. Once again, I had to pull myself out of that dream world to fully wake up.
Over the course of the night, I ended up in that freakish, demented bedroom a few times, and it was always slightly different. I don't know how many times I was there in total. Most notable about the night was a painful dream of creepy ghost children in a destroyed world, and a distorted bedroom.
It was not a fun night.
