#nightmares

Poof! An anonymous fear submitted to deepdarkfears.com/submit - thanks!

Zdzisław Beksiński (1929–2005), “Pendulum” [detail]

☽ the impossible logic that makes sense in the dream but collapses when you wake.

☽ running fast but somehow not moving at all.

☽ teeth falling out, hair unraveling, doors melting into walls, the body as a horror show.

☽ familiar places twisted into something wrong: your house, but endless hallways; your school, but empty.

☽ monsters that are blurry but terrifying, because your brain fills in the worst.

☽ screaming as loud as you can but no sound comes out.

falling forever and never hitting the ground.

☽ waking up breathless, heart hammering, body drenched in sweat.

☽ fragments sticking with you all day, a face, a sound, a feeling you can’t shake.

☽ confusing the dream with memory; wondering if it really happened.

☽ the relief of waking up, immediately followed by dread as you realize the dream mood lingers.

☽ trying to explain it to someone else and realizing how absurd it sounds.

☽ dreaming about people you know, but they act wrong, uncanny, cruel.

☽ dream logic deaths that feel real grief.

☽ sleep paralysis: the in-between, trapped in your body while the nightmare leaks into reality.

☽ nights when the same dream loops, like a broken record you can’t escape.

It is not his voice. It filled Jason’s mind and caused head to throb in pain. The words are garbled, and yet, so very clear.

Bruce’s eyes bleed, and Jason stares on in indescribable horror.

There is nothing there.

It is not as if his eyes have been plucked out. No. It is simply the mere absence of them entirely.

The blood is black and thick as it runs down his cheeks. The next time Bruce opens his mouth, it pours down his lips slowly and drenches the front of his button-up.

No. Not a button-up.

He’s in his suit. This is no longer Bruce. It’s Batman.

But… they’re the same, aren’t they? Truly, what’s the difference?

“Do you wish it were me?” Batman asks again. His voice is exactly the same, yet Jason feels as though it’s more insistent. It wants him to answer. He must speak.

His hands are sweating, yet he can’t move to wipe them off. He can’t move his hands at all; they’re stuck to his sides. “D-do I wish what was you?” He wishes his voice didn’t shake.

Bruce takes a step forward, making Jason stumble back. His unstable footing causing him to crash painfully against the ground.

“Who are you! G-get the fuck away from me!” Jason shouts as Batman continues to stumble unhurriedly toward him.

Blood, blood, blood.

The blood covering the ground wraps around his wrists and ankles in grotesque tendrils of congealed, staining his skin. Marking him. Restraining him.

Bruce’s entire face is obscured as he continues to stumble forward, his mission to reach Jason not impeded by the younger man’s pleas to stay away.

As Jason opens his mouth to scream again, he feels it. His body is starting to sink.

No.

His body is starting to be pulled through the ground by the tendrils of blood. He is being dragged down.

He thrashes, he panics, he screams as his mouth is covered and filled with that black sludge of blood. His body is not his own; it will not listen to him.

The only thing he can see is his father, suddenly pristine in a crisp black suit, pants, and a white button-up. The only thing that marred the scene was the twisted, misshapen grin overstretched on his face and a gaping bullet hole where his heart would be.

And then he laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed that horrible laugh that haunted Jason at every waking moment.

“Death is not the end of our suffering in this life, son.”

——

Bruce was right there, holding him, consoling him, gently rocking Jason as his son desperately clung to his arms and sobbed.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Bruce continued to repeat softly, running his fingers through Jason’s hair and pressing a kiss to Jason’s warm forehead.

Jason had been having mostly fitful bouts of sleep for the past few days after he had come down with a mild fever. He had taken up refuge in the manor to be taken care of.

“D-dad.” Jason hiccuped, wishing he were smaller. Wishing he could fit perfectly in his Dad’s embrace just as he had all those years ago. “Dad, dad, dad!”

“I won’t leave,” Bruce swears, holding him tighter. If being there was the only thing he could do for Jason, then he would do it until his body gave out. “You’re not alone, Jaylad. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason takes in a gasping breath, the tears on his face feel cold as he desperately tries to suck in a breath of air, his sobs disrupting his every attempt.

“Your h-heart! Y-your heart!”

“Breathe, my love,” Bruce murmured softly. “My heart is beating strong. I’m alive right here with you. We’re both alive.” Bruce took Jason’s shaking hand and pressed it against his heart. “I’m not going anywhere. I still have to take care of you and your siblings.”