Straight from the Vaults of a Dream Journal

In the bed, eyes shut. Now open – heart still beating – breath seems normal, smelling of a new day. But why so dark? How could I ever see in all this sudden darkness? Rising up from the yawning pits and folds of my sheets, I tugged the two rope-vine strings hanging near that giant, square leaf of shade that always blinds my room from any sort of morning light. It clickity-clacked, burned and hissed itself up into a nice fold – an ordered thing – to the ceiling where a slice of morning rushed through the window and warmed the carpet under my feet. And such a spring day it was, as I've ever seen.

Everyone was already buzzing. The air so crisp you could almost picture the sound of grass being cut at the park across the street, as the mower blade sweeps over every individual leaf. I heard once that the smell of it is actually a plant distress signal. And with the dewy wetness of the lawn at this hour, I'm sure it only exacerbates the scent and adds to our pleasure. The neighborhood was walking and talking, some a little faster, rolling off to work, coffee in hand, children at their waist, being dragged by the dog, but all of them busy. I turned away from the window and stretch, stretch, stretched up in the air before I walk around my house and open all the windows to let the sunshine in.

I poured a bowl of cereal after moseying into the kitchen, and sat down with a spoon in hand. I devour my cereal every morning, sometimes using three of four spoonfuls of sugar and always coming back at least once for seconds. This gives me plenty of time to think, contemplate the sunshine, and stare out the window at everyone's business.

I'm crunching away at my second bowl and watching a squirrel with his morning nuts get chased by two birds when I hear a knock at the door. It was a very strange knock, too, for such an early hour. Whoever it was on the other side rapped on my screen like a ham fisted salesman, who, having so many Christmas meats to sell, placed two in each hand and didn't leave a free one for knocking. But it's not even near Christmas, and the salespeople never show up until at least 9 a.m. So why is it so loud...and so constant?

I open the door and standing before me is the most regular looking couple I have ever seen. Surprised to find them both staring directly at me through the screen, I jumped a little as I nudged the door open. They looked new to the neighborhood, or at least I had never seen them before. All the same, they somehow looked as though they could have been here for years. Perhaps they didn't step out of the house too often. Between them was a black baby stroller, covered up from view as if to hide their child from the sun. It was such a nice morning out, I almost felt bad that they didn't crack it open a little bit.

“H-Hello” I said in the most neighborly voice I could muster at eight a.m., “How may I help you folks on this beautiful spring morning?” Both of them paused and stared at me for a few seconds as if it hadn't registered that I had been talking.

The woman cocked her head and smiled at me in a way that I only see in the toothpaste commercials. “Me and my husband were just taking a stroll through the neighborhood with our son, and couldn't help but notice that you were sitting down for some breakfast” she replied without breaking her smile, “May we come in?”

The man never moved an inch, but only stared at me with a blank, dead face and said “Yes, you see my wife and I have been traveling for some time now, and we're really just looking for a meal before we hit the road again.” I glanced behind them and didn't see any sort of vehicle. And what were they doing in this part of town anyway, and how did they know I was eating breakfast? Maybe they peeked in through the windows and saw me.

The constant stare of the couple as they awaited my suspicious reply was suddenly broken when the stroller started rocking back and forth, and heard the baby's cry begin to creep softly out from under the black canopy. The woman turned her eyes up from the stroller to me and spoke softly over the baby's cries “He must be hungry. Will you please let us in?”

Feeling a sudden swell of pity rise up for the couple, I nodded my head and said “Of course, of course, come on in! Make yourself at home. Not sure what I have in the way of baby food, but I probably have enough cheerios and milk for everyone.” I turned around and motioned with an arm for them to come on inside, and turned to walk back towards the entryway. They must have entered very quickly and quietly because by the time I turned back around to see what they were doing, they had already entered and found themselves standing in the exact same fashion as they were outside. Walking over to introduce myself and take their jackets for them, I asked “So, what are all of your names?”

The woman smiled, shook my hand, and turning to the man said, “This is my husband, James, and our one year-old boy, Oliver. My name is Lucy, nice to meet you, too.”

“Nice to meet you all, as well” I said, “Would you like some help with that the stroller?”

“Sure” replied Lucy, “Just let me grab Oliver for you real quick.” She bent down to uncover the canopy from off the stroller, and hold the fussy child. As the canopy came back I saw James leave to bar and lock the door behind us. I started to ask him what he was doing, but when I looked back at Lucy I cried out in fear, as my knees buckled to floor in horror. For in the stroller sat the most deformed, and shrivelled child I had ever seen. His skin was a morbid blue-gray color, with patches of rotting flesh that appeared to be eaten away, as if he had just been dug up after lying stiff in the cold, dead ground. He stared at me with wide pupils, and smiled a sharp, fanged smile. “Wave hello to the nice lady who invited us for breakfast” said Lucy sweetly as she picked him up out of the stroller “You won't have to be hungry for very much longer, dear.”

I screamed and desperately tried to get up and run away but I couldn't. I couldn't stop staring at the couple, or into their baby's hungry eyes. They all moved closer to me. Little Oliver slowly reaches out to my torso as they draw nearer, his palms stretched wide, his pudgy, rotting face full of innocent wonder, and pulling the shirt from off my stomach laughs in the only way a child could ever laugh on a sunny spring morning at breakfast time. In the bed, eyes shut, I can't move.