The things we fear most in our waking lives are always free to follow us into our dreams, but the things we fear most in our dreams are never capable of following us back to our waking lives. Our nightmares, no matter how frightening, are imprisoned within the cages of our dreams and our Id.
But what if they could escape?
Zack awakened feeling very cold. He lifted his head and stared at the light streaming in through the cell door's window and wondered what time it was. He blinked away the sleep and realized that his blanket had fallen to the floor. As he began to roll over to reach for it, he saw a shape in the darkness crouching on the other bunk.
"Matthews?"
The shape moved its head to look at him.
"The hell are you up to, meat? I swear, if you're doin' somethin weird, I'll shiv you right now!" As he squinted, his eyes began to re-adjust to the low light and the shape crouching on the bunk next to him was very clearly not Matthews.
"Wh- what the hell?" He scrabbled backward on his bunk, trying to push himself through the wall behind him. His eyes completely adjusted to the darkness, he could see the creature quite clearly. It was shiny, like a bug, and it had tiny white beady eyes on a head that looked like a cross between a man, a rabbit and a spider.
Zack held still, praying that it would stop looking at him. Its eyes narrowed and it worked its jaw, there was no mouth that he could see, but he could hear it smacking. There was a loud, meaty pop and it looked as if it dislocated its jaw, then another as it turned its head to look back down at its feet. Zack allowed himself a quick glance to follow the creature's eyes and saw Matthews underneath its huge, clawed feet, struggling to breathe. Snapping his eyes back to the creature, he saw that it was doing nothing else; it just crouched on top of Matthews' chest, staring into his eyes.
Mentally reviewing his options, Zack concluded that: Even though he couldn't stand Matthews, he knew for sure that he didn't like this thing, and if he could get it to let him up it would be two against one. Besides, he thought as he scanned the room for something to throw, Matthews has got to be a better cell-mate than a bug monster.
Finding nothing in sight, he slid his hand between his bunk and the wall, keeping his eyes on the monster across from him. He began feeling around for the shiv he had made out of melted styrofoam when he saw the thing's big rabbit ears twitch. He froze, waiting for a response, but continued groping when none seemed evident. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally found the makeshift weapon as its point tore into the heel of his palm. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and, distracted by the pain, reflexively snatched his hand back to cradle and examine it. The realization crept over him like a lengthening shadow and his eyes grew wide with horror. With as little movement as possible, he turned his head to the other bunk, hoping against hope that the creature had not heard him; though even without seeing it, he could feel its eyes boring holes into him.
The next few moments felt like a lifetime. As Zack's eyes met the creature's, he held his breath and wished that his heart would stop beating so loudly in his chest. He felt as if bugs were crawling all over him, under his clothes and in his mouth, and he fought the urge to scream. He closed his eyes and whispered the Lord's prayer and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. During his second recitation, he opened his eyes hoping that everything was just a hallucination from that fruit mash Murk had fermented in his toilet bowl; as he did, the thing layed its ears down and narrowed its eyes. There was a horrible sound, like the squeal from a boiling lobster, and Zack could feel his dinner welling up into his throat. Then the creature leapt towards him, its clawed fingers reaching for his throat; he shut his eyes tight, put his arms in front of his face and waited for the inevitable.
Zack jerked awake and sat bolt upright, looking frantically around the cell. Nothing; nothing but Matthews asleep in his bunk, writhing and kicking from the nightmare he had just shared with everyone within sixty feet. He sniffed the air and cursed Matthews' very existence, he had both soiled himself and vomited in his sleep again. Cursing under his breath, he stood up and walked to Matthews' bunk, staring down at him with hatred burning in his eyes. He wanted to strangle the homely little [censored], or at least beat him to a pulp, but he knew that it would only result in debilitating pain and paralysis for himself; Matthews was the most powerful mutant psychic the Zig had ever seen.
_________
The next day, crowded off to one side of the enclosed courtyard, several residents of cell block Z congregated behind a support column.
"Look," muttered Zack in a low voice, "we gotta do this soon, I don't think I can take it anymore." He looked at the gathered faces earnestly. A few nodded agreement, whispering vulgar affirmations of the idea, but Murk and Jimmy shook their heads. "Whassamatter with you two? You guys suddenly develop a conscience? Goin' straight?"
"Not like dat at all," Murk's voice was like dragging your head down a gravel path, "I ain't never killed nobody before, an' I don't plan on startin' now; vat's not my M O, mate. I may puts 'em in da 'ospital, but I leaves 'em breavin' at least. I ain't gonna be no part 'o vis bisness, I'm up for good be'avior in free monfs."
Zack clenched his jaw and chewed over Murk's declaration; if he ratted them out, there was really nothing they could do to him. Murk was not only one of the largest inmates in Z block, but he was practically invulnerable. Zack knew the only thing he could do was bluff and hope to God that Murk bought it. "You better not rat us out, Murk!" he hissed, "You cross us and we'll make sure you never get that 'good be'avior' you're lookin' forward to!"
Murk looked down at the finger Zack had shoved in his face, "You like vat fingah?"
Zack pulled his hand back quickly, shooting Murk a dirty look, "What about you, Jimmy, you suddenly findin' yourself a set'a morals? I know for a fact you ain't buckin' for early parole."
"Nothin' like that at all, Zacky, I just ain't gonna mess with no head-case." He shook his head again, "I likes my brains just like they is, now, I ain't riskin' 'em on nothin' as hare-brained as this."
"Whaddya mean 'riskin your brains', Jim?" Tarbones asked.
"He's a psychic, right? If he can put dreams like that into our heads n'stuff when he's asleep, what's he gonna do to us when we try an' jump 'im?"
Suddenly a few members of the gathered inmates had appointments they had to keep and wandered off, muttering excuses.
"Awww jeez, Jimmy! Look what you did!" Zack put his hands over his face and leaned back against the wall.
"I gots an idear." The voice sounded like a 45 rpm record at half speed and seemed to come from all around them. One by one they all jumped nearly out of their skin as they discovered where it came from. Standing right next to them the entire time was the man everyone called Brick, because that's what he looked like; six and a half feet of brick to be precise. He tended to walk around in his undershorts; no one knew why, no one wanted to know why, but it made him easy to overlook because he blended into the walls so easily.
"Mother Mary and Joseph, Brick! You nearly scared the life out of me!" Zack clutched at his chest, "Don'tchu know it ain't polite to go sneakin' around an' eavesdroppin'? Since when did you learn to talk, anyway, stoneface?"
"Been here tha whole time, meatstick, not my fault you an idiot."
"Why you-" Zack stopped short, held back by Murk's giant hand; he looked back at him to see him shake his head 'No' before letting go of his shoulder. Zack made a show of straightening his perpetually disheveled jumpsuit, "So what's this idea of yours, then?" he grumbled.
"Hit 'em wit a rock." Everyone stared at Brick for a moment before a lone snicker was heard, causing a ripple of laughter to spread across the group.
Zack wasn't laughing, "Great plan mungo. A rock, why didn't we think'a that? That's much better than grabbin 'im in tha showers an slicin' 'im open with a shiv, ain't it guys?"
"You forget, sugarplum, I gots tha cell right under yous. I wants him gone as much as yous do."
Zack shuddered visibly at Brick calling him sugarplum, "Where we gonna get a rock, lugnut, we ain't even 'llowed to go outside."
Brick reached down and picked up a two and a half pound weight from the rack, "Folla me."
__________
Matthews frowned as he read Freud's 'The Interpretation of Dreams' for the third time. Sweat beaded and trickled from his forehead as he flipped back and forth between chapters, nearly ripping the pages in his haste. He hadn't noticed that the tables around him had suddenly been vacated, nor did he see the crowd gathering. He did, however, notice a flash of movement off to his left and looked up just in time for the weight to ricochet off of his forehead. His world spun and he couldn't tell if he was falling or flying until the back of his head met the floor. As the world swam back into view, his vision was obscured by the familiar shape of a man with rabbit ears. He reached toward it, "Dead... De-" but the shape was gone; replaced with the shadows of his fellow inmates, silhouetted by the artificial light.
"Izzee dead?"
"Nah. Not yet, anyway."
"Well let's do it before he wakes up and does somfin' wif our heads."
There was a sharp pain in his ribs and he could hear a loud crack as they snapped. 'Why?' he cried out in his mind, 'What did I do to deserve this?' More pain and snapping from the other side, 'Why am I even here, I didn't do anything wrong!' His arrest and subsequent trial flashed before him. He remembered all of the false evidence and testimony, his ineffectual council, and his mother crying as the judge read the verdict. A sharp pain in his right temple snapped him back to reality just long enough to see the faces of his tormentors before his world flashed white and was gone.
The things we fear most in our waking lives are always free to follow us into our dreams, but the things we fear most in our dreams are never capable of following us back to our waking lives. Our nightmares, no matter how frightening, are imprisoned within the cages of our dreams and our Id.
But what if they could escape?
Zack awakened feeling very cold. He lifted his head and stared at the light streaming in through the cell door's window and wondered what time it was. He blinked away the sleep and realized that his blanket had fallen to the floor. As he began to roll over to reach for it, he saw a shape in the darkness crouching on the other bunk.
"Matthews?"
The shape moved its head to look at him.
"The hell are you up to, meat? I swear, if you're doin' somethin weird, I'll shiv you right now!" As he squinted, his eyes began to re-adjust to the low light and the shape crouching on the bunk next to him was very clearly not Matthews.
"Wh- what the hell?" He scrabbled backward on his bunk, trying to push himself through the wall behind him. His eyes completely adjusted to the darkness, he could see the creature quite clearly. It was shiny, like a bug, and it had tiny white beady eyes on a head that looked like a cross between a man, a rabbit and a spider.
Zack held still, praying that it would stop looking at him. Its eyes narrowed and it worked its jaw, there was no mouth that he could see, but he could hear it smacking. There was a loud, meaty pop and it looked as if it dislocated its jaw, then another as it turned its head to look back down at its feet. Zack allowed himself a quick glance to follow the creature's eyes and saw Matthews underneath its huge, clawed feet, struggling to breathe. Snapping his eyes back to the creature, he saw that it was doing nothing else; it just crouched on top of Matthews' chest, staring into his eyes.
Mentally reviewing his options, Zack concluded that: Even though he couldn't stand Matthews, he knew for sure that he didn't like this thing, and if he could get it to let him up it would be two against one. Besides, he thought as he scanned the room for something to throw, Matthews has got to be a better cell-mate than a bug monster.
Finding nothing in sight, he slid his hand between his bunk and the wall, keeping his eyes on the monster across from him. He began feeling around for the shiv he had made out of melted styrofoam when he saw the thing's big rabbit ears twitch. He froze, waiting for a response, but continued groping when none seemed evident. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally found the makeshift weapon as its point tore into the heel of his palm. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and, distracted by the pain, reflexively snatched his hand back to cradle and examine it. The realization crept over him like a lengthening shadow and his eyes grew wide with horror. With as little movement as possible, he turned his head to the other bunk, hoping against hope that the creature had not heard him; though even without seeing it, he could feel its eyes boring holes into him.
The next few moments felt like a lifetime. As Zack's eyes met the creature's, he held his breath and wished that his heart would stop beating so loudly in his chest. He felt as if bugs were crawling all over him, under his clothes and in his mouth, and he fought the urge to scream. He closed his eyes and whispered the Lord's prayer and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. During his second recitation, he opened his eyes hoping that everything was just a hallucination from that fruit mash Murk had fermented in his toilet bowl; as he did, the thing layed its ears down and narrowed its eyes. There was a horrible sound, like the squeal from a boiling lobster, and Zack could feel his dinner welling up into his throat. Then the creature leapt towards him, its clawed fingers reaching for his throat; he shut his eyes tight, put his arms in front of his face and waited for the inevitable.
Zack jerked awake and sat bolt upright, looking frantically around the cell. Nothing; nothing but Matthews asleep in his bunk, writhing and kicking from the nightmare he had just shared with everyone within sixty feet. He sniffed the air and cursed Matthews' very existence, he had both soiled himself and vomited in his sleep again. Cursing under his breath, he stood up and walked to Matthews' bunk, staring down at him with hatred burning in his eyes. He wanted to strangle the homely little [censored], or at least beat him to a pulp, but he knew that it would only result in debilitating pain and paralysis for himself; Matthews was the most powerful mutant psychic the Zig had ever seen.
_________
The next day, crowded off to one side of the enclosed courtyard, several residents of cell block Z congregated behind a support column.
"Look," muttered Zack in a low voice, "we gotta do this soon, I don't think I can take it anymore." He looked at the gathered faces earnestly. A few nodded agreement, whispering vulgar affirmations of the idea, but Murk and Jimmy shook their heads. "Whassamatter with you two? You guys suddenly develop a conscience? Goin' straight?"
"Not like dat at all," Murk's voice was like dragging your head down a gravel path, "I ain't never killed nobody before, an' I don't plan on startin' now; vat's not my M O, mate. I may puts 'em in da 'ospital, but I leaves 'em breavin' at least. I ain't gonna be no part 'o vis bisness, I'm up for good be'avior in free monfs."
Zack clenched his jaw and chewed over Murk's declaration; if he ratted them out, there was really nothing they could do to him. Murk was not only one of the largest inmates in Z block, but he was practically invulnerable. Zack knew the only thing he could do was bluff and hope to God that Murk bought it. "You better not rat us out, Murk!" he hissed, "You cross us and we'll make sure you never get that 'good be'avior' you're lookin' forward to!"
Murk looked down at the finger Zack had shoved in his face, "You like vat fingah?"
Zack pulled his hand back quickly, shooting Murk a dirty look, "What about you, Jimmy, you suddenly findin' yourself a set'a morals? I know for a fact you ain't buckin' for early parole."
"Nothin' like that at all, Zacky, I just ain't gonna mess with no head-case." He shook his head again, "I likes my brains just like they is, now, I ain't riskin' 'em on nothin' as hare-brained as this."
"Whaddya mean 'riskin your brains', Jim?" Tarbones asked.
"He's a psychic, right? If he can put dreams like that into our heads n'stuff when he's asleep, what's he gonna do to us when we try an' jump 'im?"
Suddenly a few members of the gathered inmates had appointments they had to keep and wandered off, muttering excuses.
"Awww jeez, Jimmy! Look what you did!" Zack put his hands over his face and leaned back against the wall.
"I gots an idear." The voice sounded like a 45 rpm record at half speed and seemed to come from all around them. One by one they all jumped nearly out of their skin as they discovered where it came from. Standing right next to them the entire time was the man everyone called Brick, because that's what he looked like; six and a half feet of brick to be precise. He tended to walk around in his undershorts; no one knew why, no one wanted to know why, but it made him easy to overlook because he blended into the walls so easily.
"Mother Mary and Joseph, Brick! You nearly scared the life out of me!" Zack clutched at his chest, "Don'tchu know it ain't polite to go sneakin' around an' eavesdroppin'? Since when did you learn to talk, anyway, stoneface?"
"Been here tha whole time, meatstick, not my fault you an idiot."
"Why you-" Zack stopped short, held back by Murk's giant hand; he looked back at him to see him shake his head 'No' before letting go of his shoulder. Zack made a show of straightening his perpetually disheveled jumpsuit, "So what's this idea of yours, then?" he grumbled.
"Hit 'em wit a rock." Everyone stared at Brick for a moment before a lone snicker was heard, causing a ripple of laughter to spread across the group.
Zack wasn't laughing, "Great plan mungo. A rock, why didn't we think'a that? That's much better than grabbin 'im in tha showers an slicin' 'im open with a shiv, ain't it guys?"
"You forget, sugarplum, I gots tha cell right under yous. I wants him gone as much as yous do."
Zack shuddered visibly at Brick calling him sugarplum, "Where we gonna get a rock, lugnut, we ain't even 'llowed to go outside."
Brick reached down and picked up a two and a half pound weight from the rack, "Folla me."
__________
Matthews frowned as he read Freud's 'The Interpretation of Dreams' for the third time. Sweat beaded and trickled from his forehead as he flipped back and forth between chapters, nearly ripping the pages in his haste. He hadn't noticed that the tables around him had suddenly been vacated, nor did he see the crowd gathering. He did, however, notice a flash of movement off to his left and looked up just in time for the weight to ricochet off of his forehead. His world spun and he couldn't tell if he was falling or flying until the back of his head met the floor. As the world swam back into view, his vision was obscured by the familiar shape of a man with rabbit ears. He reached toward it, "Dead... De-" but the shape was gone; replaced with the shadows of his fellow inmates, silhouetted by the artificial light.
"Izzee dead?"
"Nah. Not yet, anyway."
"Well let's do it before he wakes up and does somfin' wif our heads."
There was a sharp pain in his ribs and he could hear a loud crack as they snapped. 'Why?' he cried out in his mind, 'What did I do to deserve this?' More pain and snapping from the other side, 'Why am I even here, I didn't do anything wrong!' His arrest and subsequent trial flashed before him. He remembered all of the false evidence and testimony, his ineffectual council, and his mother crying as the judge read the verdict. A sharp pain in his right temple snapped him back to reality just long enough to see the faces of his tormentors before his world flashed white and was gone.