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[Writing] A short story - Rider Lock - 01-29-2010
wrote this for a writing assignment about a year ago
it's based on some bible passage my teacher wanted us to base a writing on, but not being a christian i put my own spin on it
spoilered because it's long
![[+]](images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Spoiler June 16, 1980.
It always starts the same way.
Bones. Thousands of bones. They lay scattered about a great chasm of immense proportion. The sky is overcast, save for a brief break in the clouds. I look up towards the sun, trying to make sense of it all; the sun's light shines in the shape of a hand- rather, an angry fist. How I came to be in this place I do not know, and I don't think I will. Something compels me, willing me to want them to come to life. I try to ignore this feeling but it is too great. I speak, murmuring, hearing words come from my mouth, knowing the words but not understanding.
I wake up.
The dream happens, coming and disappearing like a thief in the dark, slowly taking a bit of my soul with it. Sometimes it stops, and I think I am free; the dream comes back, sometimes days, sometimes months, but it always comes back. The dream gets longer each time it occurs, but it always happens in the same order. Bones, an angry hand, and a force compelling me against my will to perform some dark necromancy that man does not and should not know.
July 30, 1980.
The dream again. By now, I know it is a dream and yet it cannot be stopped; it is a juggernaut- nay, even juggernauts would be halted in their very tracks by this... abomination. My heart aches. I hear myself speaking the words I know but do not know, but this time I do not wake up. The sun seems to be fire raining from the sky, as if it is crashing into the very Earth itself (or rather, the other way around, but this is no time for semantics); sweat pours from my body, but the heat is not the cause. As I am finished chanting, the ground seems to quiver. I think of earthquakes at first, but then I realize that it is not the ground moving- it is the bones. They twitch, shuffle, and shake, nothing much. They have started to slide now. Oh God. I cannot move; I wish this curse on the bones as well. They seem to be arranging themselves. Oh God. They are forming human bodies. Oh God. The skeletons stand, seeming to face towards me. Oh God. They begin walking towards me, wiry tendons growing from their joints, wrapping around the bones to hold them together.
Oh God.
I wake up again, still tormented by their hellish, empty sockets, the clicking, rattling sound that their bodies made as they walked towards me, arms outstretched; I fear I will not wake up next time.
Despite this, I carry on my life as normal, visiting my son at his mother's house; taking care of my own three-year-old (step-daughter, her mother passed away shortly after I married her), Marcia; working as an accountant during the day and working as a housekeeper at night. I laughed after writing that last sentence; our house is a mess ninety-percent of the time anyways. I must keep writing this down, though. I fear that I will lose who I am if this dream fills up my mind.
September 20, 1980.
Oh. God.
His is the hand, I see. I didn't realize it in the previous dreams. This doesn't make the meaning any clearer. I still went through the dream of the walking skeletons. God didn't help me; instead, it feels like he was the one compelling me to bring them alive. I don't quite know how to feel about this.
Today is Marcia's birthday. I asked her what she wanted yesterday; she answered, “Mommy.” I don't know if I can do this. Why did Sheila have to disappear like that? Where did she go for those two months before they found her body?
Maybe the dreams are regret. For what, I don't know.
January 3, 1981.
I had the dream again. The skeletons got muscle tissue this time. They looked almost human... well, obviously, they're human skeletons. I wet myself during the dream this time. Heh, forty-two and still wetting the bed. Even Marcia had grown out of that by July last year. God has not shown me what He intends to do in the dream. Is it really Him, I wonder? Or is it his enemy, Lucifer, Satan, Mephistopheles; that devil known by a thousand names from a thousand places in a thousand times.
No.
It must be God.
He says He is.
And I believe Him.
March 14, 1981.
Got practically no sleep, but the dream came again. This has been a terrible week today. Robinson didn't show up on Monday, nor the rest of the week. He isn't answering his phone calls, and the rest of us had to pick up his slack. Worked overtime, fell asleep about four in the morning. And, of course, the dream came again. Some of... them... grew skin this time. Sheila was one of them.
Am I losing my mind?
I guess not, since I can still question my sanity.
Robinson better come back this Monday.
March 28, 1981.
They found Robinson yesterday. He'd been completely skinned, muscles, tendons and all; in the picture he looks exactly like the skeletons of my dream.
I also had the dream last night. Robinson appeared next to Sheila, rotting, his bad teeth still showing after death.
Please let there be no more.
May 30, 1981.
The dream came again. I can't even form the words to describe it. More deaths in the paper this past month, each of them showing up in my dream. I can't take it much longer.
On the bright side, Marcia got out for summer break. I think we'll go to the cabin, so I can just get away from the world for a while.
June 4, 1981.
Marcia. In my dream. She's missing. Don't know what to do.
June 30, 1981.
i see now. i am in control of my dream. god's plan all along has been revealed to me. to send those who deserve to die to the afterlife.
i have sent them to their maker.
oh god
It always starts the same way.
Bones. Thousands of bones. They lay scattered about a great chasm of immense proportion. The sky is overcast, save for a brief break in the clouds. I look up towards the sun, trying to make sense of it all; the sun's light shines in the shape of a hand- rather, an angry fist. How I came to be in this place I do not know, and I don't think I will. Something compels me, willing me to want them to come to life. I try to ignore this feeling but it is too great. I speak, murmuring, hearing words come from my mouth, knowing the words but not understanding.
I wake up.
The dream happens, coming and disappearing like a thief in the dark, slowly taking a bit of my soul with it. Sometimes it stops, and I think I am free; the dream comes back, sometimes days, sometimes months, but it always comes back. The dream gets longer each time it occurs, but it always happens in the same order. Bones, an angry hand, and a force compelling me against my will to perform some dark necromancy that man does not and should not know.
July 30, 1980.
The dream again. By now, I know it is a dream and yet it cannot be stopped; it is a juggernaut- nay, even juggernauts would be halted in their very tracks by this... abomination. My heart aches. I hear myself speaking the words I know but do not know, but this time I do not wake up. The sun seems to be fire raining from the sky, as if it is crashing into the very Earth itself (or rather, the other way around, but this is no time for semantics); sweat pours from my body, but the heat is not the cause. As I am finished chanting, the ground seems to quiver. I think of earthquakes at first, but then I realize that it is not the ground moving- it is the bones. They twitch, shuffle, and shake, nothing much. They have started to slide now. Oh God. I cannot move; I wish this curse on the bones as well. They seem to be arranging themselves. Oh God. They are forming human bodies. Oh God. The skeletons stand, seeming to face towards me. Oh God. They begin walking towards me, wiry tendons growing from their joints, wrapping around the bones to hold them together.
Oh God.
I wake up again, still tormented by their hellish, empty sockets, the clicking, rattling sound that their bodies made as they walked towards me, arms outstretched; I fear I will not wake up next time.
Despite this, I carry on my life as normal, visiting my son at his mother's house; taking care of my own three-year-old (step-daughter, her mother passed away shortly after I married her), Marcia; working as an accountant during the day and working as a housekeeper at night. I laughed after writing that last sentence; our house is a mess ninety-percent of the time anyways. I must keep writing this down, though. I fear that I will lose who I am if this dream fills up my mind.
September 20, 1980.
Oh. God.
His is the hand, I see. I didn't realize it in the previous dreams. This doesn't make the meaning any clearer. I still went through the dream of the walking skeletons. God didn't help me; instead, it feels like he was the one compelling me to bring them alive. I don't quite know how to feel about this.
Today is Marcia's birthday. I asked her what she wanted yesterday; she answered, “Mommy.” I don't know if I can do this. Why did Sheila have to disappear like that? Where did she go for those two months before they found her body?
Maybe the dreams are regret. For what, I don't know.
January 3, 1981.
I had the dream again. The skeletons got muscle tissue this time. They looked almost human... well, obviously, they're human skeletons. I wet myself during the dream this time. Heh, forty-two and still wetting the bed. Even Marcia had grown out of that by July last year. God has not shown me what He intends to do in the dream. Is it really Him, I wonder? Or is it his enemy, Lucifer, Satan, Mephistopheles; that devil known by a thousand names from a thousand places in a thousand times.
No.
It must be God.
He says He is.
And I believe Him.
March 14, 1981.
Got practically no sleep, but the dream came again. This has been a terrible week today. Robinson didn't show up on Monday, nor the rest of the week. He isn't answering his phone calls, and the rest of us had to pick up his slack. Worked overtime, fell asleep about four in the morning. And, of course, the dream came again. Some of... them... grew skin this time. Sheila was one of them.
Am I losing my mind?
I guess not, since I can still question my sanity.
Robinson better come back this Monday.
March 28, 1981.
They found Robinson yesterday. He'd been completely skinned, muscles, tendons and all; in the picture he looks exactly like the skeletons of my dream.
I also had the dream last night. Robinson appeared next to Sheila, rotting, his bad teeth still showing after death.
Please let there be no more.
May 30, 1981.
The dream came again. I can't even form the words to describe it. More deaths in the paper this past month, each of them showing up in my dream. I can't take it much longer.
On the bright side, Marcia got out for summer break. I think we'll go to the cabin, so I can just get away from the world for a while.
June 4, 1981.
Marcia. In my dream. She's missing. Don't know what to do.
June 30, 1981.
i see now. i am in control of my dream. god's plan all along has been revealed to me. to send those who deserve to die to the afterlife.
i have sent them to their maker.
oh god