As a kid I feared going to sleep because of nightmares. One that recurred often when I was nine had me stumbling up three flights of stairs to our fourth floor apartment. I was pursued by an amorphous dark grey smoky mass which I feared would swallow me up.
It floated up the steps, but it seemed to keep pace with me. I arrived at my door and pounded on it, calling mom, but my voice came out a squeak. There was no answer. I searched my pockets for my door key as the mass gained on me. I dropped the key and fumbled around, finally getting the door unlocked just as the gray hulk reached for my legs.
I flung open the door, dashed in, slammed and locked it, leaning against it to catch my breath. Looking down, I saw the smoky thing oozing under the door and ran into my bedroom, slamming that door, too. The blob crawled under the bedroom door and began invading the bed I climbed on for safety. I screamed. The scream woke me. It also woke my mother. She wiped my sweating head and palms and soothed my terror.
Childhood Nightmares
Finally, mom suggested before I fell asleep each night I should keep saying “It’s only a dream.” over and over until I was asleep. I did that, and fell asleep faster than usual. Three weeks or so later, the nightmare recurred.
As I reached the landing of my apartment, I suddenly turned to the oozing mass and shouted, “It’s only a dream, You are only a dream,” and it evaporated.
I never had that nightmare again. When others occurred, the mantra “It’s only a dream” often awakened me.
Many years later I realized the dream was caused by a derelict who attempted to grab me on my way home from school. He grasped my thigh, and put his hand on my prematurely developing breast. I was petrified, horrified, finally pulled away and pushed him hard. He stumbled. I ran home, wondering what I did to cause him to do that. I never said anything about it. Only remembered years later when a homeless man approached me, and I saw him as a shapeless grey mass.
My family had many paranormal experiences, including ghosts, invisible walls saving lives, seeing houses that weren’t there, and more. I wrote a book IMAGICS and other family stories about some of these events – fictionalizing all but the last story, in which my father’s ghost returned home a few hours after he died. I changed family members’ names to protect the guilty and expanded on actual events in most stories. After all, writing’s a matter of taking some truth and asking yourself “What if…”
I’m always amazed by how our imaginations and dreams contort reality to send us coded messages from our deepest feelings. I literally write what I know, as was suggested to me years ago.
Francine Trevens, Guest Blogging about Overcoming Nightmares
Francine L. Trevens
Author of nine books, three prize winners and dozens of articles.
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