The Book

Chapter 1

 I woke up and practically fell off the bed. I scrambled through the sheets and tried to calm my uneven breathing. I hugged myself tightly and tried to banish the images. Tonight was worse, ten times worse than before. Everything had been so vivid, clear, and real. The terror inside me still pulsed with every beat of my heart. Oh, I hated this so much, this stupid nightmare that left me feeling like crap. I looked around the bare dark room and got up, straightening my clothes and just threw the sheets back on the bed. I’d deal with it later; I was desperate for some fresh air.

 I carefully opened and closed my door, tiptoed downstairs, passed two of my friends passed out in the living room sofa and stepped outside. I looked up and took a deep breath. The fresh mountain air cleared the last cobwebs from my head and I walked a few steps down to a swing bench and sat down. It was a beautiful night, the rain from before had stopped and the stars were out. There were so many. As I gazed up at them I couldn’t help but think about my life.

 I was almost officially a psychologist. I thought back to my friends from university, all the coursework we had to go through and the memories we shared. Our closest moments and greatest pranks. I would miss them but I was looking forward to our weekend trip to Amsterdam, it would be the best way to part ways. I would still see them but it wouldn’t be the same, not really. My parents are Mary and Bobby. They’re amazing; both are IT experts at a bank. I’m an only child and very independent, ever since I was little. I loved my parents to bits but the truth was we were never that close. I know there’s a special relationship between mother and daughter, father and daughter, but my parents worked so much that we just never got to that level. We were a happy family, but they never enforced rules or tried to push me to their career path. They just let me evolve on my own. Sometimes I think of them as my best friends rather than my parents; weird, I know. My friends think so too but I’m happy that way, and they are too.

 Right now I’m in the mountains of Bulgaria. It’s a lovely country, full of nature and peace. My parents favoured this holiday destination and I found myself feeling very at home here, coming for a week or two without them, and just enjoying the scenery. Either at the beach swimming or skiing in the deep snow, I never felt more free or in tune with myself than when I was here. It’s how I managed to bully my six best friends to come here for a change of location. We were at a small mountain resort, five or six huge cabins in the middle of the woods with a pool and a children’s playground where I currently was. The sounds of the woods near-by, the twinkling lights from the town several miles below and the stars were keeping me company.

 It was on my 21st birthday that I had my first nightmare. I don’t ever remember much of it, except for those scary first seconds after. I know there’s pain, loss, grief and the feeling of death touching my soul. I used to shake for hours afterwards and cry for the terror to stop. And then I dreamt it every month, on the day of my birthday. I have to say it freaked the hell out of me, and when I couldn’t find a psychological explanation, I told my parents. They were baffled and worried that something was stressing me and this was how it manifested out but nothing was. I wasn’t fighting with a friend, dumped by a boyfriend or worried about exams. Nothing was bothering me. Then they said it’s because of all the books I read. Let me clarify here. My one great passion is reading. From the age of 12 when I was introduced to my school library, I’ve maxed out my library card every week. Children’s book, then teenage, then crime, romance, science fiction, horror, anything I could bloody get my hands on. I loved everything supernatural, and with the whole current mania with it I wasn’t surprised. That’s not to say I like Edward Cullen better than Damon Salvatore though. That’s just silly. 

 Anyway it was the first time my parents tried enforcing a rule to me: stop reading the books and the nightmare will stop. I rebelled, and then gave in. It didn’t work. But for the past week I’ve been dreaming it every single night and it worried me. I know it’s stupid and crazy, being a psychologist believe me I know how it sounds, but I couldn’t help get a feeling something was about to happen. Beats the hell out of me what but, something. It worried me.