I don’t like sleeping. I have terrible dreams, easily nine nights out of ten. Sometimes I try to avoid sleeping because of them. It’s not just that I always have bad dreams, but they’re always about abduction and serial killers and child murder and body mutilation and ritual torture. These themes come up constantly, every night it’s usually at least one. I can’t count how many times I’ve watched myself die, or had to watch someone being vivisected or flayed or dismembered.
Last night among many others I had a dream, framed as if it were a TV news story, where two ordinary young brothers disappeared from their room one night. The older boy, a teenager, was found dead later, hung from the ceiling, ruled suicide. The younger boy, a child, was never found.
The only trace was a series of four photographs taken by a triggered nannycam -like device in their room.
First they were both in bed.
Then the older boy’s bed was empty.
Then both beds.
In the last photo, the younger boy can be seen in the dark night, standing outside his window, looking in. This was the last time he was ever seen.
Something about it really disturbed me, especially that last photo. The grainy face of some missing child that doesn’t even exist is burned into my memory. So I drew it when I woke up.
The window doesn’t open, but it was almost as though he had somehow gone out through the window. If he’d gone out the door, why loop all the way around to the window? Why was he looking in? What was he looking at? What happened?
In the dream it was never explained, but I could feel something terrible happened here.
Coincidentally, I have an interest in the unusuals of dreams.