As I quietly woke up, I noticed it was lightly raining out side. The drops were only barely caressing my window. I noticed I was crying as well. The dream I had just experienced had not only terrified me more than any dream before, but left my heart racing, and multiple tears running down my cheek.

I immediately called my mother, desperate to connect and hear her voice. The voice that not only brought reassurance, but allowed me to know she’s okay.

“Hi Sweetie, what do you need?” I breathe deep at the satisfaction and relief that she’s there. “Hi. I just..,” I paused to control my crying, “I needed to hear you’re okay. I had a horrible dream where you died. And I couldn’t save you. I tried so hard, I promise I tried so hard. But I couldn’t.”

“No, I’m okay. Is that all you needed? I’m a little busy at work but I can call you later if you want.”

“Yeah, that’s all I needed. I’ll be fine now.”

“Why are you breathing so odd?”

“I’m crying. I told you the dream was scary..,” Now I just trail off into a mess of sobbing, it’s obviously apparent on the other end of the line.

“Sweetie, its okay; It was just a bad dream, I’m fine, but I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I quickly end the conversation, and then I collapse into my bed and cry some more.

When I was finished, I crawled out of bed to search for breakfast. But before I got there I wanted to remember my dream. What was it that was so frightening? Then it all came back, and I felt like I was hit by a train.

We were all at a youth convention somewhere. We were staying in a nice building, near a small quaint downtown. Next door to us, was a retail store called Giffords. We had already been there a few days before my subconscious showed up. I believe it was the last day. We were all packing our things up, extremely late at night, maybe even early morning, so we could leave in the morning and not have to do any of the packing then.

I remember a man walk in to our room. I say our room, and it was more like an old studio apartment, all the girls were there. He said something to the extent of how he was the building manager, and sorry he was intruding, but he had to inspect a few things. A room full of girls and a creepy man shows up, to “inspect” things. Sure. Why no one asked for his card or ID is beyond me. Sometimes girls are too trusting. So we let him snoop around the place.

A few hours later we’re all talking, and I realized we never saw the man leave; he left to go to another room, but the only way out was through our room. I didn’t think much of it, my back could have been turned for a second, and that’s all he’d need to leave anyway. I mentioned it to the group of girls I was talking to, and they agreed with my conclusions. I told you girls can be too trusting.

This time he re-enters the room again, and I get a better look at him. He’s maybe 5’11’’; I’d say late forties, with graying hair. He’s going slightly bald too, and he has a pointy nose, and his eyes are sunk in a bit. He’s wearing khaki pants and a light blue fake denim shirt; He could have just walked out of a GAP commercial. He moved toward the door and locks it. Apparently, he must really own the place, because he had a key that worked. He tells us that we’ll all be able to leave soon, but only if he can take a few of the girls and spend a “little time” with them alone in the room. Of course, we all gasp and show our fear, and we tell him no. He assures us he’d only be touching their legs, apparently for some leg fetish, but we still say no. He then proceeds to tell us he’ll kill us all if we don’t cooperate because he just wired all the vents with a deadly gas that will blow out if he pushes the button. He pulls what we assume to be the detonator out of his pocket. “Now you girls wouldn’t want me to do that, would you? Maybe you would?” He smiles and tries out a pathetic attempt at an evil laugh. The girls shriek, and in terror, begin to comply. He slowly walks around, looking for prey, and picks my mother. I tell him to back off and that I will as sure as a sunrise, kill him if he touches my mother.

“Oh child, it’ll only be a few minutes..,” He says and then smiles again. He grabs my mother into a forceful lock around her waist. I’ve never seen her look this scared. I repeat my ultimatum, “let her go, or I will have to bring you down.” I’m trying to sound calm and tough, when really my mind is racing and playing out various scenarios that could occur if I decide to really attack. He starts to drag her towards the steps and the door that leads outside. I realized, it’s now or never, I start to slowly walk over, and his eyes are focused on me. “Surely being this exposed to the enemy, having him watch and know my every move can’t be good,” I think. As he makes his way down the first step, he tightens his grab of my mother. The time to react is now. I grab my mother’s hand, and kick him in the throat; on impulse he releases her. I notice I have the advantage now that he has stumbled down two more steps. He starts to make feeble attempts at talking; his breathing is heavy and labored. He smiles as his eyes start to wander down my body until they stop at my legs. It was truly sickening, so I decided to end it. I kicked him in the forehead, and he looked stunned. He falls back on the concrete base of the stairs. My mom tries to hold me back so I won’t kill him but I lunge down to him. I give him a hard punch to his jaw, and then get up and kick him again in the ribs. And like clockwork and television, I hear ambulance sirens. I got a bit nervous, I mean, he didn’t look like he was breathing, but it was all self-defense.

My dream quickly fast forwarded to him being carried out, and it was morning. The other girls had left earlier apparently, and my mom and I had driven ourselves so it was fine, but a note or a wake up call would have been appreciated. I start to put away my blanket into my pillow case and I look around the room for my mom. I think, “Maybe she went to the bathroom,” and I make my way around the room. Then I see him. How the hell did he get back!? He has a few bandages on some cuts I gave him last night, but he looks overall fine. I walk back to my pile of belongings, in search of my knife. I always keep a knife in my purse. I try to act calm, but I think my efforts are transparent. “That wasn’t very nice what you did to me last night. It’s not something friends should do to other friends,” He says.

“We’re not friends.” I’m still cool and calm and I realize that if I start to get hysterical, I’ll mess things all up. So I decided to let adrenaline kick in and help me out.

“But we could be friends...” Ugh, I hate that smile of his.

“No, we couldn’t. I tend to stay away from creepy weirdo’s.”

“Oh, but I’m really nice if you get to know me,” I didn’t like the way he said ‘get to know me’ and it started to make me feel sick. He got on the ground and started to more or less scoot towards me. I suppose it was his way of being subtle about trying to get closer to me. What an idiot. He’s a little less than three feet away from me. I reach for my knife in my purse, and snap it out, to show him the blade. “I always keep a knife with me,” I said, “I like knives. I don’t know why.” I look down at it, only to realize he must have gotten to it somehow, because now it’s all filed down into blunt edges. He looks at me, “I only like knives that are dull. Too dangerous otherwise.” I start to panic. Now I’m all out of ideas, and I don’t know what to do. I start to slide backwards but I’m up against a wall. He stars to eerily crawl towards me. “What do you want from me?” I say as my stomach twists more and more into a knot. He begins to reply, and then switches his sentence thought mid-syllable. “Did you know that your mother is real pretty?” I don’t say anything. “She’s very pretty. I see where you get your looks from. She’s not a fighter like you though. She struggles a bit, but then she just stops.” I start to show the terror I’m feeling inside in the expression on my face. “What did you do to her?” I say with force, as my bottom lip is trembling. He once again smiles that creepy smile that can only be described as maniacal. “Well,” He says, “I couldn’t very well have her moving around, and trying to get away as cut her legs off.” I just sit there stunned. I think, “What does that mean, what did he do?” But then I decide to voice my thoughts. “What. Did. You. Do.” I say in a staccato-like manner. He laughs, “Well I killed her of course! But don’t worry it wasn’t as painful as yours is going to be.” I notice I have a decorative wooden bear sitting beside me. I grab it and start swinging it at his head. He tries to stop me and grab my arms, but I’m too wiry and flexible for him to get a good hold on me. I just keep smashing his face, over and over and over. When I get him to the point where he stops fighting so I hard, I grab my backpack and my purse and make a run for the door. I walk down the steps and outside where I quickly find my car. My terror catches up with me and I start crying as I’m trying to find my keys. I keep searching and searching through my purse but they aren’t there. My thoughts are racing. “He must have taken them out when he messed with my knife! What am I supposed to do now?!” I begin to panic. I look behind me and I see a small black family walking down the street. I run after them, and the mother quickly picks up on my distress. “What’s wrong she says?”

“Can I walk with you? This crazy guy keeps following me.”

“Sure, the police station is right there though,” She points to my left. I throw out a quick “thank you”, and run up the stairs and through the doors to the station. “Can I help you?” A receptionist asks. “Please, help me, please!” I begin to lose it and I collapse on the floor. She quickly runs over and a few officers walk over as well. “What’s wrong?” “What happened?” I can’t effectively answer the questions, so I spurt out a few responses about my mom, the weird guy, and the place we were staying in. “The place next to Giffords?” One officer asks. I nod my head. They help me up into a chair, and start to talk to themselves about this guy they’ve apparently had trouble with before. I’m too panicked to pay attention. The chair is really comfortable though. I try to respond to their questions, but it was really warm in the station, and the stress is too much for my body. I pass out. And then quietly wake up. I notice it’s lightly raining outside. The drops were only barely caressing my window. I notice I’m crying as well. The dream I had just experienced had not only terrified me more than any dream before, but left my heart racing, and multiple tears running down my cheek.