Nightmare Escalations – a Family Connection.

I had really bad dreams again last night – I’ve still been having these cursed dreams at least three or four times a week, but they’ve been similar, with the same heat-blasted landscape, the hideous soldier, and that blasphemous glowing portal, so I haven’t been writing about them as much, as I don’t like to repeat the same thing over and over. I probably should have been writing down the details as I recalled them, waking sweating and terrified, because I think things have been escalating slowly in this bizarre dreamworld, and last night things occurred that I cannot understand or explain, things that have once again shaken me to my core.

I got to bed earlier than normal – I was tired and there was nothing on TV, so I decided to go to bed and read for a bit, trying to finish up a C J Henderson anthology. I nodded off soon after, and then the dreams began. They started normally – I was walking across that horrific no mans’ land, I could feel the rocks beneath my feet, could feel the hot wind blowing against my skin. There was a hum in the air that was new, nothing that I recalled, but as I said, it might have been present and slowly growing in volume for weeks and I hadn’t paid attention, I can’t be sure.

The soldier appeared again, but this is where the dream started to alter. I saw him sitting, his misshapen tentacle arm writhing unnaturally, but then he turned to me and he stood, with a terrible, fluid movement that sickened me – it looked as if the thing had no skeleton, nothing rigid to support the almost gelatinous form it was taking. It staggered towards me then, one shambling step after another, it’s heavy combat boots somehow making a sickly, squishing sound, like it was walking through mud, even though we were on solid rocky ground.

I was terrified – I have never been so terrified in a dream, but try as I might, I could not stir myself awake. The thing, the creature reached me, stood before me, not a foot away, and I could smell it, smell it’s decayed and sulfurous breath. It made a rasping, wheezing sound that was a poor and horrifying imitation of breath, and it stared at me with sunken, rheumy eyes. It’s good hand, it’s real hand, grasped my shoulder, and even in the heat of the dreamscape I could feel it’s cold through my shirt, like being grasped by an ice pack. It stared at me for so long, I don’t know how long, I was just terrified, until finally it spoke in a raspy, dry, gravel voice that echoed through the dream.

“No escape. You are his. We are his. Yog Sothoth.”

The thing looked down then, and I followed it’s gaze – my eyes landed on its chest and its ragged uniform, and I finally saw it. The name, sewed on a green patch in black letters, right above his left pocket.

Martens

It was my great-grandfather. HE was my great-grandfather. I woke up crying out, waking Wendy again. It was after 2am, so the dreams had lasted longer than I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t get back to sleep, I’ve been up since then, and I keep going through it in my head, those words echoing over and over again.

“No escape. You are his. We are his. Yog Sothoth.”

Was this a warning, or a threat? I have no idea, but I know I have to find out. No matter what.

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About Chad

Just a normal guy with a lot of very abnormal stuff going on.

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