I had this dream the night before last. Normally I don’t remember my dreams after a couple minutes into the morning but yesterday this dream ran through my head all day long and as I tried falling asleep last night. I had avoided writing it all day because I wanted to forget it—not realizing until the night that I could get rid of it by putting it on paper.
As far as the story writing aspect—it did turn out pretty well but that doesn’t come easy for me unless it’s from a dream. It’s simple enough to describe what I remember but I’m sure I couldn’t have done that well had I tried thinking this story up. I guess my imagination is good on a sub-conscious level only.
Isn’t it strange what I avoided writing chased me down and turned out being probably the best short story I’ve written so far? The story knew it would be good; it just had to convince me. It’s a bit strange since it’s pretty much a horror story but the more I’ve thought about the dream I can see what real-life events brought the story together.
“Where there is no imagination there is no horror.” — Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I was with much of my extended family (they were my relatives but not the faces of the relatives I have in real life). There were about 15 of us in a turn-of-the-century, white, lakeside house. The floors were wood, painted white but partially distressed and all the walls were painted white as well. The west side of this small house faced the lake and most of the west wall was filled by a row of six glass doors. The glass doors provided a stunning view to the lake.
I don’t know who they were, but we had enemies. Someone wanted my family dead. I had tried warning my family about this enemy but no one would listen. An older lady in my family who had told me of the danger stood with me in the kitchen sadly watching out the glass doors to where those we loved carelessly played in the water under the summer sun.
Evening approached and the setting sun cast its evening colors into the white house. As everyone began piling indoors after enjoying a fun day in the beautiful weather down by the water, a sweet-smelling breeze wafted through the house from the open glass doors. Most of my family breathed in deeply to fill their lungs with the sweet breeze but then, one by one they fell to the ground.
The old lady and I quickly realized this was a noxious poison being blown into our bodies by our enemy. She told me to cover my mouth, hold my breath and run outdoors, to the woods far away from the house. I did as I was told and she ran with me.
I can’t even describe the gut-wrenching feeling I had as I jumped down the couple wooden steps from the kitchen to the living room, then turned the corner and ran for the front door. I ran for my life as I was leaving my family falling dead behind me. I couldn’t save them. I could do nothing. Nothing. Nothing! By the time I knew what was happening there was no time left to even warn them—they had breathed too deeply of the poison. My newborn twin nieces died just as soon as the breeze entered the room.
Days later this older woman who saved me said it was alright to return to the house. I was a little scared the poison might still be lingering but as we approached the house she told me we would be able to smell it enough to be warned, and that it wouldn’t still be strong enough to kill us unless we stayed. We only smelled the decaying bodies of our dear family lying strewn about the floor in the odd assortment of dark-colored play clothes they’d spent their time in. We began to gather the bodies of our family up to bury them when I found the strangest thing.
The twin girls were laying side-by-side in a white box on a table. Even though they were days old before the attack, something about the way they were laying in the box was suggestive that they’d been there all their lives—that they’d been born in the coffin-like-box. Stranger yet is that they were twelve or thirteen years old when I found them. They had gorgeous long, blonde hair and each wore a simple but beautiful white dress.
The last thing I remember is feeling that I and the old lady were still in danger.
I wonder if the little girls were the only two to go to heaven of all the relatives in the house. Is that why they were the only two wearing white? Babies do go to heaven. I can’t shake the picture of them lying in their box.