Machinery, Take Thy Dream

Terror runs rancid in my veins; I’m alone in my kitchen holding a amputated fingertip and a bloody rubber glove. I stand perfectly still yet the only sound I hear is my staggered breathing. Although my mind wants to believe that I am alone, I know deep inside that the perpetrator is still present and that their unseen eyes are watching me intently.

A slam on the front door sounds so loudly I drop the glove and the fingertip. I watch in horror as it rolls under the hutch. I quickly brush the image out of my mind as I tiptoe, empty handed towards the front door.

“This is getting out of hand.” I think to myself. The fear inside me is out of control as I begin to shiver. I pull the door open with all the strength I possess. The screen door is blowing in the wind, banging against the house. Lightning flashes, illuminating the front porch where I see a trail of dripping blood.

I’m too afraid to follow it so I just close the screen door (locking it so the banging will stop) and locking the front door for my protection. I figure that someone is still watching me, or I quickly regain my composure and walk briskly towards the basement where Isabelle is.

I quickly go into the basement, locking the basement door behind me before saying to myself, “There’s no other way into this basement except through that door.” I then jogged down the stairs only for the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. Isabelle was gone and in her place laid the white lingerie stained with blood.

I pick it up fervently; examining it as I stifled a psychotic fit of laughter. The dream catcher wasn’t catching dreams at all. All the images he’d been seeing were memories. They were real life events that had taken place at one time or another. That reality was chilling; it meant that Isabelle and Amy really had killed Jeff.

I feel a tiny pinch on the back of my neck and almost instantly the dark room begins to swirl before my eyes. The ground beneath my feet feels like it begins to sink and I deliriously wave my arms about trying to grab onto something that isn’t gyrating violently. The last thing I remember was falling into someone’s arms and hoping to god that my fate wouldn’t end like Jeff’s.