The Nightmare:

The Nightmare:

A dream of Horror

By

Ian Reid

Author's note: I had this dream sometime ago and I can't get it out of my mind.

A gray mist hung in the cemetery, a cold air stinging my lungs. I looked around, the pale silver moon hanging above the ragged and twisted tree. I stood there, my body wrapped in my trench coat. I felt the cold drifting past my face and bite my nose and ears. Soon, I heard a sound coming from behind, and looked, a green hand protruding from the green round. The hand extended into an arm, another arm, and they pushed away from the ground, a face of a monster standing there and lurched for me. Drawing my katana; I slash at the arm, but just through it. I slashed the middle, nothing happened. Seeing this, I ran for the church, seeking sanctuary.

" Reverend?" I call into the stone hallway, my echoes simply answering me. I walked around, the drab gray statues glaring at me. I noticed most of the doors were closed, but one door seemed to have opened a bit. I push it open, my eyes searching the little room. There, the Reverend sat at a table, candles lit around a Pentagram. He held an upside-down cross in his left hand and muttered certain words. Gripping my a katana, I just held the handle, not drawing a weapon in a Holy place. The Dark Reverend lifted his bald head, his eyes glowing with a demonic glow to them. He simply stood, glaring at me. My hand tightened over my weapon, ready to defend my life and soul.

" Foolish mortal," he spoke in an evil hiss," I shall have thy innocent soul to cast into the fires of Hell." I swung the door behind my open, bolting out. I kept running, the doors to the outside world open for. An evil laughter echoing behind. I looked back at the doors, diving out as they just closed. I tried to run again, realizing my trench coat caught in the giant wooden doors. Slipping out of my coat, I grab my katana and looked around, nothing but the cold darkness. I looked to see monsters walking the streets.

I woke up, staring at the gray mass of fur that was my kitten.

' Note to self,' I thought,' never listen to Rob Zombie while writing.'