Adventures Of An Amateur Ghost Hunter: Riverhaven Sanatorium

07 October - The Dilemma: Recurring Nightmares

Dreams, which once only existed in my head, transformed out of nightmarish fantasy and into existence. An unfortunate consequence of a previous rendezvous. My mind spiraled, attempting to gain traction and formulate a plan. A cure endured as a fanciful idea, something which remained beyond reach. I knew how to treat the symptoms, at least, and the one person who would be able to help me. Jackson.

My hand shot for the cell on the nightstand, knuckles knocking into the bible. It slid across the smooth oak surface and fell to the floor with a bang.

"Ally, shut it already!" Drew hollered from his room down the hall. "First you're screaming and now you're throwing things around. It's four am!"

"Sorry!" I called back.

Cringing, I carefully retrieved the phone and unlocked the screen. Within seconds, the home screen disappeared, replaced by a text thread. I bit my lip and took a deep breath.

The last few texts, dated approximately a week ago, glowed in ominous foreshadowing against the black background. I hadn't sent Jackson anything, nor him to me, since the morning after the first nightmare, an almost identical version to tonight's. The very morning after we'd visited the sanatorium. A paranormal investigation disguised as a first date, we'd nearly died of mystery fueled excitement, rotten floorboards, and caved-in walls. All lunacy and adrenaline. Now, death loomed as an inevitability. Ironic.

"Nothing to lose." I sighed, nibbling my bottom lip as my thumb flew across the keyboard.

One message. A single cry for help.

Hey, I need to talk to you. It happened again. It's getting worse.

As if he'd been awaiting my text, Jackson's response appeared instantaneously.

I'll be at your place by eight.

Returning the phone to the nightstand, I snuggled beneath my sweat drenched comforter in an attempt to get some decent sleep. Counting sheep and meditation amounted to nothing against shaky nerves. Restless tossing and turning created a tsunami. An arm here, a leg there, and off the comforter sailed, a white flag of surrender. Though I set the phone alarm for seven-thirty, my eyes refused to seal until the sun rose. Barely an hour. No chance for dreams. At last, peace. Short-lived peace.

A jolly jingle interrupted the snooze-fest like the seventh trumpet announcing the apocalypse. Barring my teeth, I snarled and slammed the dismiss button on the screen.

"Damn! I'm up, you good for nothing piece of technology." I grumbled, "Like I could've gotten any sleep anyway. Ugh."

Nothing good ever came easy, not for me anyway. Sighing, I leapt from bed and tugged the comforter towards the headboard, a half-assed attempt to hide the bloodstains. In a sleep-deprived induced haze, I collected a change of clothes and entered the hallway.

Catty corner to the left, directly beside Chantelle's door, the bathroom waited. Empty. My eyes shifted left then right. With the coast clear, I darted into the bathroom before anyone else could claim the first shower. All hot water for me, no ice bath. A pleasant circumstance of the nightmares, though, one I hoped wouldn't last forever . . . or the remainder of my life? Whichever came first, I supposed. Grim thoughts.

Twenty minutes later and golden locks dripping wet, I exited the bathroom, changed from pajamas into the typical wardrobe of bootcut jeans and a black loose tank, feeling somewhat cleansed.

"Yo, some rando-dude is here for you," Drew muttered, slinking from his bedroom.

His voice bouncing against the floorboards and along the hall nearly had me jumping from my skin.