Frightmare

The basement is larger than I remembered, with cavernous closets and cold, stone floors. I walk into one of them-- larger than a bedroom-- to see if there's room for me to store my stuff. The light is dim, and it's spooky, but I tell myself not to be afraid. It's not like it's haunted. Then I remember: it is.

A young, blonde woman walks by me from out of nowhere. She turns and smiles. She'd be pretty, if I didn't know she was dead. Instinctively, from a rush of fear, I swipe my arm out at her to swat her away. My fingers are pointed towards her, and I hear and feel them sink into her dead face with a wet, sucking sound. There is a moment of panic (what if this is a real person I've just hurt?) and I'm about to check to see if she's okay, when she turns on me and I see the knife in her hand arcing towards me. I hear it enter my neck before I feel it, and I feel the impact more than any pain, and this wakes me up.

I'm on the couch at G's apartment, where I've fallen asleep after dinner (again). It's near 6 in the morning, and it's cold. My mouth feels like something's died in it. I wish they'd woken me up to go home this time. There's no going back to sleep now. I find my boots, and my laptop bag, cellphone, keys and wallet, and walk out into early morning darkness and La Jolla fog to find my car. I drive home with my knees, listening to bad AM radio and wishing I'd slept in my own comfy bed.