I never get nightmares (that I remember when I wake up), and this one is one of the worst I've ever had--but it was bad in a more psychological way, which is what made it so terrifying, even thinking about it now.
It actually might make good story material so I'm writing it down as fast as I can before the details start dissipating.
I'm just sitting at home--alone of course--when I get a message from one of my friends on Facebook, which looked exactly like Steam for whatever reason. I don't remember the time of day exactly, but it may as well have been night.
Anyway, my friend (who I haven't spoken to in awhile, even in real life) simply asked me how I was doing, and how my "family trip" went. I haven't gone on a family trip since last summer--but in this dream, I have. Apparently, I just got home from it, even though the rest of the house is empty--which I had
a priori knowledge of, for some reason. I never checked the house--I just knew I was the only one there.
I tell him the trip went "fine" and that I had pictures to show him--and this is where it gets fucking terrifying.
My friend says something to the effect of "all right cool
" and I open up my imgur account to access my photos. I have pages and pages of them--which is rather unlike me; if I'm taking photos during a trip, I usually only take one page's worth, but I had...
many. More than 8.
The first page of photos were innocent enough, but looking at them gave me a sense of ugly forebording.
Very poor quality, low resolution--partially because they were all taken in a dark place. The first picture was of an Asian tour guide, smiling like a child with his arms stretched out welcomingly. He looked young--24, 25--and he had very bad teeth, like he needed braces. Standing behind him were a couple of blurry figures I identified as passersby tourists, their faces obscured by darkness. The whole rest of the photo was black, the shadows creating a dark, penumbrous gradient over the tour guide's happy, enthusiastic face.
From this picture, I "remembered" (that is to say, I remembered something that never happened) that we took a trip down an old mine shaft that had just opened up as a tourist attraction. I've actually been to one of these as a kid, and it was interesting--but heading into the mine itself, in those cold, dark brown tunnels that lead to nowhere, kinda spooked the hell out of me. Very chilling experience.
That's why it was so dark in the pictures--we're in a mine shaft. Either
that mine shaft--the one I've been to in the real world--or a different one I created in my mind, I'm not sure. I didn't recognize anything.
The next few pictures on the first page were of my family. My mother, father, and sister, positioned like so:
About 12-15 of just these, in slightly different positions. Mom and dad's actually sitting on a bench, but I didn't want to draw too many unnecessary details. Mom and dad aren't smiling at all in the last 2 or 3 pictures.
In the next 30 or so pictures, we're beginning to move into the tunnel. Just a bunch of blurry figures and faces. People are wearing brightly colored jackets--I saw lots of blues and greens. Some were wearing hunting caps and grey sweaters. All of them wore jeans--some faded, some not. But none of their faces were clear.
This cuts into the second page until I see something a little off-putting--a clear picture of an unrecognized middle-aged man, sitting down, facing the camera, squinting. His back leaned against what looked like a trash can. Legs sprawled. Purple jacket, faded jeans. Snapback cap in hunter's camo. His left hand was planted stiff on the ground, gripping the dirt as though he were in pain. His right hand partially covered his flushed, mustached face. He looked about 45. On the back of his right hand was a big, bloody gash carved into a crude "C" shape. No one else was in the frame.
The rest of the second page was nothing but blurry figures--but much more blurry than before, like they were running. By the looks of things, however, we're noticeably much deeper in the tunnel.
Third page is where things get bad. Bodies, everywhere--all of them curled up or spread-eagle on the ground. Young men, older men, a few women. All of them taken in bizarre Dutch angles. Closeups of pale faces with bloody scratches on their cheeks--and my sister was among these. Her eyes were wide. There was no fear in them; just anger. The next picture was her again, head tilted back--jugular severed. Lots of these with other people.
I skipped to page 5 or 6--and to my horror, it didn't end there. More bodies. Just so many dead people in dark rooms, their clothes congealed with blood. The photographer stood over each one, so I caught a glimpse of his shadow looming over all the bodies. There just wasn't an end to it.
On page 8, there was a baby... and I had to stop there. That was a little too much. Yeah, the baby was dead. I saw its face--it was like that one scene in Trainspotting. It was awful.
I close the imgur tab immediately after that and message my friend. "Hold on... I think I have to call the police."
Behind me was a door that led to my parent's bedroom. I hear it open, slowly. Instinctively, I turn around to see my mother looking straight at me--heavily breathing, frenzied expression, large kitchen knife in her hands.
I wake up.
HOLY FUCK that was the worst dream I've had in years. I'm sure it sounds silly, and I tried to capture the fear as best as I could in text, but I really don't think I did it any justice. It was fucking horrible though. Nothing happened in the dream--it was just all the implications of the shit I was seeing--and then of course, the end. Ugh. And it all felt lucidly real.
Fuck dreams. Have any bad ones lately?
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