Deal With The Devil

I wandered through the woods that were only a short step away from my back garden. The once familiar forest that I had played in so often was now rendered alien, totally unlike anything I had ever felt, seen, or heard of before. Light that had once floated through the leaves, gently meandering its way to the mulch on the floor, now cast jarring shadows that had never existed until I had set foot in this foreign world.

Stretching, elongating, thickening, the shadows took on substantial forms. No longer shadows, they appeared almost as black, gaping holes filled only with the darkness that lay on the other side of the universe.

Clawing, hissing, advancing, they snarled and sneered as they staggered towards me, thin slashes of night; seemingly cutting through the very essence of the universe itself. The creatures emanated an icy coldness that leeched the heat from everything that it touched. The air had turned into a swirling mist that crept, twisting and twirling, towards me. Every foot they placed on the ground sent tendrils of ice reaching forward, and the grass stood brittle so that it would be crushed underfoot. They were destroying everything with their bitter coldness, and I felt like weeping as the joys of spring were massacred in their wake.

Almost as slowly, almost as clumsily as the darkness that sauntered towards me, I staggered back, my legs moving through the air that had suddenly become as thick as jelly. I pushed with all my might, harder and harder as I tried to get away from those creatures that just kept creeping closer and closer, but the air clasped its clammy hands around my body, holding me tight in place. I struggled wildly, trying to free myself, trying to move, trying to live. But I just couldn't.

The creatures drew nearer and I could already feel the sharp sting of the cold knapping at my body. Terror seized my heart, and fear froze my muscles. It wasn't the air holding me – it couldn't be – it was my panic, snaking down my legs and taking root in the ground. And I couldn't break free.

One of the beings reached out, its sharp claws extended, grazing the air, narrowly missing my cheek.

I gasped. Pain. I felt pain. The cold that emanated from the beast snatched my body heat away from me. Not cold, like a snowflake landing gently on your cheek, but pain. It was so cold, it burnt. Brittle frost appeared across my face as the sweat that fear had induced froze on my face. Icicles clung grimly to my eyelashes, and I blinked furiously, trying to bat them away, keeping my eyes still firmly on the enemy. If I looked away for a second, they'd be on me, and the pain, the pain would be too much to bear. I tried to suck in a deep breath to release a scream, but my lips were cracked and chapped – my voice likewise – and it hurt to even breathe deeply as the cold constricted my lungs.

A single thought circled around my mind, a mantra repeating itself so I wouldn't be completely lost to the delirium that the fear had induced.

"Wake up… wake up… wake up…"

And I did. But that bit always got me, the bit that I'd hated every year; that I dreaded when I lay my head down to rest. The pain. It was a dream, a dream, so why on earth should there be pain?

Every birthday was foreshadowed by this dream, this nightmare, and it would always end up the same way. As soon as the coldness snatched my breath away, I would wake up, quivering in my bed. I would race downstairs as if the very hounds of Hell were after me, crying my eyes out, convinced that I was going to die, that these creatures would suck the joy, the heat out of the world, out of me.

But then I'd find Dad, sitting in his armchair, a black coffee cooling in his hands. And he'd look up and smile so tenderly, and I would know that nothing could hurt me. That the dreams were just that – dreams. That my Dad would protect me from the winter, from the creatures that bought it with them. And I would be happy, safe in the knowledge that nothing would hurt me; that in his arms lay a safe haven, a world that existed for us, and only us.

We would stay like that until his coffee was stone cold, and I was toasty warm, buried in his embrace. Mum would come down the stairs and shake her head at us, a small smile playing around her lips. She'd make us breakfast. A fresh coffee for Dad. A large smile for me that told me that she was proud, that she loved me, that she was happy that I was here, with her.

My birthday bought everyone closer. We'd be a huge, happy family where everyone was safe in each others arms, and we loved and respected the rest of us.

But I grew older, and the dreams grew worse.

Each year I would reach the point where I experienced the most terror, and each year, that would be the point that I would wake up. But that changed. Instead of waking, I was forced deeper into the dream world, and it was only last nights dream that answered anything… even if it did raise thousands more questions...