~violence involving bloodshed~

This chapter is a bit...bloody

[Heavily unedited]

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       Ben had seen in a book before, a quote written by Salvador Dali. He had creased his eyebrows then and turning his lips down in disinterest. He had dismissed it as nonsense. But now, with his body rocking back and forth and his eyes as wide as saucers and fearful, he started to doubt if those words were nonsensical.

He closed his eyes as a scream made way up to his scratchy throat, the words reappearing behind his eyelids.

"When we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another"

"When we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another"

"When we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another"

It was like a mantra in his head, and voices kept repeating them, each louder than the other. He stifled his mouth with his hands, curling a fist around it to stop his whimpering. He looked around the room and although Susan had left his room not too long ago, he felt like someone was here, watching his every movement, scrutinising his breathing, calculating his every move. He stood up on his wobbly legs and made his way to the window, his feet scratching the surface of the tiles.

His eyes were unfocused as he ran a hand through his hair, the curls passing through his fingers shakily. He tried to remember if what he had seen in his dream was real. An image of a little boy, standing at a dark corner, Ben reaching out to him, taking small steps towards him and the boy smiling; but instead of a set of teeth, sunken gums scarred Ben's vision and he stood still as though hypnotised.

It had been real, Ben reminded himself. But weren't dreams figments of his imagination?

But how could he imagine the boy walking up to Ben in his hypnotised state, smiling cheerfully and whispering in his ear that there were demons that even he couldn't conquer?

What demons was the little boy talking about?

He released a loud breath from his mouth, swirls of fog forming on the window. Dreams were always unreal. His father had made him believe that when he was young; every time he had nightmares and screamed and his parents would comfort him. Nigel had always stood at the corner, face blank as his emotions.

Ben drew back slightly from the window but not before running his hands along the window's lintel, leaving a trail of crimson with it. He snatched his hands away quickly, staring down at the lintel in horror. He stumbled away from the window and gripped the edge of the table with the painting on it. Ben stared down at the red angel and without thinking, slowly lifted his hand.

The scream that was lodged deep into his throat resurfaced as he stared at his crimson coloured hand, where a deep gash ran from his thumb to his little finger. But that was not what made him scream. The little boy sitting on his bed with a shimmering knife beside him did. The knife was covered in blood, so were the boy's gums as he smiled.

Ben stumbled over to the door, a spring to his step, a shiver in his bones. He clutched the door handle with his blood-covered hands and turned. Ben's eyes widened when the door wouldn't budge. He turned again and again until the handle felt slippery because of the liquid running down his hands. His forehead broke into sweats and they trickled into his lips. He couldn't tell if the saltiness was as a result of his tears or his sweat.

The boy tsked as he walked towards him, steps as light as a feather. "Did you really think you could escape from me? There are some demons you can't conquer Ben." He stepped closer to Ben and in a childish voice said, "Look at your hand"

Ben stared unblinking, unmoving, his fingers darting around for a weapon.

"I said look at your hand!" the boy snapped.

Ben shook and slowly looked at his hands. There was no difference, no change, no pain. Ben furrowed his eyebrows.

No pain.

The boy smiled again. "See, you get it. There are some demons you really can't conquer Ben"

Ben looked down at his hands in horror and confusion but before he could react, he fell. He fell into a dark abyss until he found himself waking up, a puddle of sweat found on his pillow, heartbeat wild and frantic and the sudden urge to vomit.

He held up his hands and saw that they were clean, not an ounce of blood on them.

He started to question if what he had seen had been a dream or a hallucination or if possible, both.

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-Ada