My mother kept dying. Like, repeatedly. Constantly looping. She’d pass away and then get back up and pass away again. It looked exactly the way it did when she died in real life.
There was a gate to hell inside of some door in the corner of my bathroom and it wouldn’t stop opening and trying to suck everything into it. I’d have to force it closed, and one time when I failed to do so I inadvertently stared into the proverbial abyss and lost my mind. Next thing I knew I was in the fetal position in my bedroom, where…
Little black-eyed kids were standing outside of my window, laughing. Occasionally an old man in camouflage would walk up and shoot one of them in the head with a shotgun. They wouldn’t die, though — they’d just get back up and keep laughing, more deformed with each shot.
My grandma and sister would have heart attacks and then get back up as if nothing happened.
The corpse of an old lady walked into our house and kept trying to kill me by hurling her various decomposing extremities at me and laughing like Henrietta from Evil Dead 2. Whenever anyone else was in the room she’d just pretend to be an Avon saleslady. It was at this point that my voice began to wither into nothingness so I couldn’t tell anyone or get help. I tried fending her off myself but she’d just crumble into nothingness and rebuild as if nothing had happened at all.
My ex-girlfriend shows up, but something’s clearly amiss. She’s ghostly white and distant. She says she’ll help, and she leads me to the hell-gate in the bathroom, right? Her eyes start bleeding and her skin begins to rot off. She starts laughing — the same Henrietta laugh from before — and pulls out a massive knife. I guess you’d call it a knife. It looked more like some gigantic, otherworldly animal claw with a hilt attached. She starts carving up my face and whatnot, while the hell-gate tries to pull us in. As it does, my arms and legs shatter like glass and I’m left laying there as a battered, bloody stump surrounded by the broken fragments of my former limbs.
Anddddddd then I woke up because there were people in my living room laughing way too loudly. Not that I mind, on this particular occasion.
Ugh. I’ve been awake for fifteen minutes now and I’m still shaking.
This sounds horrible! Ever since I was 8 or 9, I haven’t had “nightmares.” Like, I have horror-related dreams where I’m not scared because somehow I’m not in my “dream.” I’m rather like an one-woman audience observing everything without feeling.