Remember Me (Klaus and Caroline)

The Stuff of Nightmares

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I dreamed of men with bloodred eyes.

After heading upstairs and cleaning up, I fell into bed. But the instant sleep came, it brought with it those eyes, staring straight into mine.

The sound of my own scream was what woke me from it.

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By the time morning came, I was suffering from severe sleep depravity, but was relieved to know mom was at least at work. That was one less thing I needed to worry about, for the most part.

I tried my best to think of anything else than British men and monsters, but the memories kept flooding back into my head. But the questions that rampaged there couldn't be answered by me. Only by him. I wanted to know who he was.

But more importantly, what.

The answer came sooner than I expected. When I reached downstairs, dangling my foot above the last step, the doorbell went off and my body stilled. I glimpsed the familiar black jacket beyond the glass pane set in the door.

He was back.

Something in me mounted; fear, dread. A bunch of negative feelings that made me want to go back to bed and pull the covers above me. But an even larger part of myself wanted to ignore him; to walk into the other room and cram yesterday into some mental box, encoded so well as to never be reopened again.

But there was also undeniable curiosity, glimmering vaguely beneath the rising terror.

"One truth can shatter reality as you see it."

But I never counted on any including mythical beings in it.

"Get rid of him," I told myself as I fingered the doorknob before yanking it open, ensuring my expression did not give way to any fear.

"What part of 'leave me alone' don't you understand?" I quipped, staring into those mysterious eyes again. Now for the first time in the light, I couldn't decide whether they were blue or green. They were inconveniently pretty, nonetheless.

"The part where I saved your life and there's no expression of gratitude to thank me for it," he replied, not missing a beat.

Dumb accent. Ugh.

"I'm not sure if a thanks is required in this case scenario. Except maybe for a horror film," I added for effect.

"Ah, so you've finally come to terms with it, I see," he drawled with a sly smile. "I must say that I'm impressed by your containment."

"I'm not containing anything," I snapped. "What I saw was....impossible."

Never had I used that word so much in my life.

His gaze shifted from mine to over my shoulder and I closed the door to me, purposefully blocking his view.

"If you let me inside, I might be able to offer some insight into this ordeal."

My eyebrows shot up. At first, I thought he was kidding, because no way was I letting him in. No way in history.

But his expression didn't change, so apparently not.

"What?" My mouth dropped in surprise. "Are you serious? Yes, because I hear it's wise to offer a complete psycho into your home."

"If that makes you uncomfortable, Love, we could talk out here."

My glower turned to a downright scorn at his nickname. "Stop calling me that!" I yelled. "I'm not your Love. Im not your anything, except maybe the person you keep harassing."