Nocturnal demons.

I have not been plagued by nightmares in a long while. It is a blessing because a few years ago they were all that I ever dreamed.

While watching a film (the name escapes me at the moment), I was harshly reminded of a terrible dream I had a few months after I had a miscarriage.

I was living in an old house with my three daughters. They were all under the age of 6. I recall feeling very anxious because my mother was coming to visit with her own twin daughters, my half-sisters, who were also very young. I had never met them because I had not spoken to my mother in a long time.

When she arrived, I was surprised by my half-sisters. They had fairly light skin and blue eyes. (Haha. This is the only part I find amusing, as she was dating a white guy at the time.)

It soon became clear that my mother wanted me to watch her kids while she ran a couple of errands. I agreed. Everything was going fine until I went upstairs to look for something in my bedroom. As soon as I walked in, however, the room completely changed. It looked old and worn down, as if no one had been living there for years. It felt cold and empty. I became cold and scared. I tried to get out but the door wouldn’t budge. I suddenly became terribly afraid for my kids and I was able to wrench open the door. As I ran down the stairs I started calling their names. The entire house was eerily quiet. I rushed into the dining room to find one of my girls cowering beneath the table. I picked her up and started running through the house to search for the others. Every time I turned around I thought I saw something rush behind me. A flash of gold and a rush of footsteps. I found another daughter hiding in the pantry. I kept calling out the name of my youngest girl, all the while my panic growing heavier and more paralyzing. My half-sisters were hiding in the living room. I told them to follow me. For reasons I could not explain, I knew I could not stay inside the house any longer.

I could not open the front door. We had to exit from the back. When I gathered everyone outside, I almost ran back into the house for my baby, the youngest, but the girls did not want to be left alone. I just started crying. I wanted to look for my daughter.

I am not very good at story-telling. The feeling of losing a child, or abandoning it, stayed with me into the waking world. I was crying when I woke up and I felt awfully guilty. I did not even want to wake up. I wanted to stay in the dream. I wanted to keep searching for her.

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