2019-07-12 - These Dreams Go On When I Close My Eyes

It had been a really long day and Lyric was exhausted. It was what she always did, let herself get so sleepy that she would fall right asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and she'd sleep the sleep of the dead until the next morning. It kept the dreams at bay. And Lizzy. It worked for keeping her tuned out for awhile at least. The shower had helped relax her and she even smelled good. A single candle was lit beside the bed and it was all safe, so there wouldn't be a fire. And indeed, as soon as she's in her bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin, she falls asleep.

Except was she asleep? Suddenly she was in the room, the scary room. The upstairs room of the Murray House. That room with all of the kids handprints in it. The one that still haunted her waking hours as well as her sleeping ones.

It was hard to breathe. The air was so thick that it was like a grave. A buried coffin. Her eyes fly to the door. It's closed and the windows? Approaching them she finds them nailed shut. With the heels of her hands against the sill, she tries to lift. Desperately! She bangs on the walls, the windows, over and over, crying out for help. Eventually, she's leaving red handprints on the wall with the others with each bank, she'd split her hands open trying to get out or get attention.

Then she hears a sound.. sniffles? No, it was outright crying. Was it her? A bloodied hand is lifted and pressed to her eyes. Was she crying? Not anymore but she had been. Still, she hears crying. Like a baby? A little older than a baby but younger than a child. Toddler! That's what that age group was called. She sucks in a breath, it's labored. There was a toddler somewhere here! She had to help, but how? And how much blood had she lost? She could smell it. Almost taste it. That metallic scent. The rooms starts to spin. Holding the wall for balance, she realizes it's not the wall at all, but the floor. The floor! And she was sinking into it, the house was swallowing her! Her cries get louder until she loses her voice entirely. The toddler continues the cries, the desperation in the little voice reaching out to touch her, like a physical touch.

Suddenly, her eyes blink open and she sits up, gasping for air, hands at her throat and she realizes she was home, in her own bed. There's a feel of a toddler sized hand on her arm, chilled, cold. Dead. The grip to try and bring her back? With her sheet, she scrubs at her arm, trying to make the feeling disappear. Finally it does and she's alone in her room again. The remainder of the night, no sleep will come despite her exhaustion. She curls up in her seated position there on the bed, willing the sun to rise and the shadows to disappear.

(Idea: Compliments of Penny)