A couple of weekend’s ago Mary screamed in her sleep. After waking her up, I learned that she was having a nightmare about being attacked by a man while she was asleep.
“And your trying to wake me up by shaking me,” she added, “made the attack all the more real.”
I apologized and eventually, we both fell back to sleep. Since then, neither of us have spoken of her nightmare.
Then last early this morning, the nightmare continued – not for her – but for me. Mind you, I’ve never finished anyone’s dream or nightmare before, but as the saying goes: “There’s always a first for everything.”
While I don’t specifically recall pulling into the driveway or walking up to the door and entering our home, I am aware of that feeling, as I do remember walking down our hallway. As I approached our bedroom, I could not only hear Mary scream, I could see the large male figure on top of her.
My action was swift and violent, as I grabbed and jerked him off of her and through our large closet mirror. Amid the smashing sound of the glass, I saw Mary scramble across the bed to the other side of the room and dash for the exit.
That’s when the guy sprang out of the closet and slammed into me. He evidently had a knife which he used to slice into my right thigh.
My reaction, as I look back on it seems almost super-human as I didn’t respond to the pain and instead, hoisted him off his feet and slammed him several times into the corner of the closet, where the door had been. He slid to the floor and fell face down.
A quickly as he dropped, I began stomping on his head over and over until his cranium cracked open like an egg. It was at that second that I jumped awake, covered in sweat and panting as if I’d completed a sprint uphill.
As I lay in bed, recovering from this night-terror, I discovered my right thigh was aching. It is possible I had given myself a cramp in my struggle and it worked itself into the attack.
Where these sort of night-terrors come from, I wish I knew. Furthermore, the violence I show in them is frightening.