This is a passage from the full length book I self-released titled AN EYE IN SHADOWS. This scene is a nightmare I had about a dead classmate. I originally wrote the story as a stand alone. It's very dark so those of you who are not used to Gothic writing, this is about as dark as it gets.
The detail was vague but at the same time it was similar to the old horror films that are set at old dark houses. I kept having a premonition about the idea that some of the classmates won't survive after their graduation, I didn't know what that meant but when I was walking around in that building, I saw a casket placed an alter. In that casket was a kid wearing an I.O.U. sweatshirt and his skull crushed in, blood was all drained out of his body but in a way one can see the breathing coming into the cold air. Much as how a few described how he looked before they pulled the plug. I've seen a note placed upon his coffin, and it read -- "Don't let them pull the plug! I have my life ahead of me and I don't want to die!"
All the former classmates from when I was at Marquardt were there; everyone clad in black and wearing something close what was in The Cure videos. I imagined it much as what they see in Tim Burton's movies. One of them was toting a bible under her arm, and preaching to the others about the salvation from spiritual death.
But one thing was different about the time when I was living in Iowa, and the time frame of this dream. The difference being that the dream it was echoing all that was going on during the time of December 8th, 1989. It was too young for a thirteen year old to be thinking about things that dark or deep in nature but the conversation about one's own mortality never came into play, but everyone was looking at it because of the death of Brian Wallace. I remember the clippings about his demise all too well, it played a huge part in the nightmare when it wrote itself out in my sleep.
The type of thing that would be the perfect set up for a Gothic novel during the age of Symbolism or Uncertainty; just the way it was done haunted me for quite some time and there were different variations of the dream and they appeared at various stages when I got older. I would actually hear them taunting in the dream saying I was the cause of his death. They would taunt and say, "because of something you've said; the reason he's gone --- nothing can be done to be brought back."
As bleak or macabre as it appears, the dream was one of the most abstract within a shadow that was cast. One would say of this would appear rather blasphemous in parts, but it is exactly how I described it back then. Horrors from the fever induced dreams and sickness invoked sleep. I was expecting something to awaken out of his grave saying, "You never went to my funeral! It's your fault that I'm gone. I am going to haunt you for the rest of your living days!"
Then in the dream I saw Ms. Jacobson walking up to the coffin with a Bible in hand. I remember it in some detail because she was clad in a black dress similar to how she would dress criteria to how she did in 1994, but instead of the denim blue she would be wearing everything in black. I didn't tell her about the dream relating to this but it came from that chilling revelation she made years later of me. Horrors which lay as the eyes are seen for the gruesome cargo to bear; but even then it was a time when it was a thought that came to mind that was a question of death and life. In some shape or form, it was a shadow of what was to become or an understanding that could not be studied or explored during that time frame.
I remembered the details as they were told about the funeral who went to class the next day, the nightmares that are often the penning of them are when they say -- no son shall go before their father or mother. But I could just see them just looking at me in a way saying, "You don't belong here." It is in this that the memory of such paints a darker detail into the mind about the dream while Wallace stood there; even when everyone else was watching his body in the casket I was watching him as he was drawing his finger out -- slowly with him pointing at me. It was almost if I was the one who committed the deed.
"You've killed me Pacione!"
"How....... I want to know? "
"You've killed me in the sense of the way you were or are!"
The nightmares that play out while I was in a fever induced sleep one can only tell what kind of madness it portrays or portrayed. From a rational mind, it would not always be explainable -- but from a mind that is sensitive to all things that gather from one side of madness as it is drawn from memory and nightmare. One way or another, it is a darkness that becomes a painted picture which portrays a macabre distortion -- another sense as it became or was, the idea of what haunts me about his death was that all the things that he was going to be; now are going to be never. I won't say into full detail about the actual funeral, but some would be able to speak of the details; from what I was told a lot of people showed up from the school. Just that the old demise and the dreams as they stand; the gruesome cargo that follow from them -- waiting for the perspectives seen in a pattern of distortion.
"He did this to me! The fucker did this to me!" he shrieked pointing the finger. I felt my heart shoot up my throat when his pale finger pointed at me with that I.O.U. sweatshirt and his Cavs; the thought if this when one reads this now might not sound so chilling, but this is coming from a fourteen year old who was running a high fever. The madness within the dream painted a picture described as something only Edgar Allan Poe or Stephen King would end up writing about in their works. Just as it would gather, a madness within a dream as the memory of someone dying being fresh within the mind. Mortality was always a subject I wrote about for this reason because it played into one's dreams and nightmares. The gathering within the eye inside shadows. Things like this dream would invoke me not sleeping for days at a time, namely when I would fall sick for some reason or another. Hellish was the word to describe that dream as it was there, the illness laden sleep or when I did sleep, that nightmare would on occasion found its way into my mind. A dwindling madness of a young teen with a mind of a now twenty-nine year old, sick---words to describe what was around back then. Those damned dreams as they made themselves manifest within the eyes of a madness one was not able to find the words to document it. The dreams back then only played into the depths of the dreams that I have now.
A rather unsettling thought as it is there now, but even then if a teacher was to read about this --- it would be a promised trip to the councilor's office to find out what was gathering in my head. Not even the online journals I kept when I got older can really document the type of dreams I was having back then, even the ones now weren't as gruesome as the one were back then. My dreams back then were rather Gothic or grotesque, but hard to describe; I don't think I would be able to openly write about them back then as I do now. Back then if they only knew what were in my nightmares; as far as some of the councilor's knowledge they would find a way to help it instead of finding a way escort someone head first into the choices that lead to their demise or madness. Someone in the dream the councilor sat in the darkness clad in all black, pointing her icy finger at me -- laughing. Saying, "You will never make it past your freshmen year!"
Eyes from madness gathered in one's dreams, struggling around in the darkness to find a way out. Hell, if there was a way to describe this -- it would come close to the place of gnashing of teeth, especially if the face of the devil was the guidance councilor. The type of things that the nightmares were triggered will always come up in some form of debate in one way or another. In some way or another; one can hear God laughing at them as they've gone mad! The dream as it stands, the councilor and the deceased both staring in a darkness so piercing within a silent room -- way it is being extremely cold; the kind of cold that can be felt when touching the flesh of the dead when paying their last respects. It becomes the thought within a tormented memory and symbolism of the last respects. All that was living was now dead, and finally gone -- only to them in memory they live within dream and nightmare. Just they found their way to appear in the dreams of the people they've bullied, as one last time to make the lives of the living hell in their sleep. Such an ideal swimming around within the head of teen at that age, innocence penned as it was already lost. Gathered in pieces of life and demise as it was, or what it is, from a memory that already passed away. Pieces told and lost after the ways of faith had taken their souls away; waited among the chapel they stood -- the councilor and the deceased with the fingers pointed in one solitary direction.
It draws into the points of horror and insanity, depths with them becoming the nightmare as it is told from a fictional reality. Everything within the dream played itself into one detail and the next, and how I envisioned it was exactly how it was going to be especially when a tall, fat bully was getting engulfed by winter immune bees.
The type of thing that would be the makings of a horror film; or a Gothic tale of its kind but one wasn't able to imagine especially for a person of my age at that time to come up with something that ornate. Usually the nightmares back then for someone my age was of themselves taking a test in their underwear or everything on the test was a multiple choice question --- everything was one letter or a number. The idea that one finds their book they've been studying had a face pulling out of their pages literary. Something as a death of a classmate ages them, and I never cried at funerals or at a wake.
They always end up calling me "Stone Face" Pacione because I hardly shown an emotion when someone died, as in I never cried when someone passed away. I made like it didn't bother me but all this time it did. Some might think I am dragging on; but in the details as it remains, the dream that waited there wandering as a hound in the fog. I found myself trying to run out of the chapel but the doors were locked. That was the thing they found the most disturbing about me back then. Some of those dreams had their way of coming forth now, but more so when I am traveling around. I thought I would never see this particular dream again -- let alone writing about it. I take that back, part of what was written in the short story Haunted Thoughts was from this dream too.
Deeper it falls as the mind gathers within the corners of the dream, only as they find one answer to the nightmares are not the answer at all. Even when the nightmares call up more questions and looking for that answer only leads to more questions left to be asked; the things of God and Satan are often blurred when it comes in the perspectives of the nightmare or the dream.
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"I Want To See You In Black"
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|Reviewed by Poetess of The Soul Sheila G
|Wow Nick- YOUr mind runs rampent... I like-- dark and mysterious writes- This is Excellent and I will be following you along- Thank you for opening my darker side alittle wider- yOu have a unique way of writing and following a flowwwww of thought and pace- kept me intersted- I want mOreeeeeee...Warmly,Sheee|
|Reviewed by Terry Vinson
You are indeed the 'master of darkened dreamscapes'. Nobody chronicles the nightmarish realms of the inner mind's eye better. Proof positive is the journal above. Thanks for the invite...
|Reviewed by Sandy Knauer
|Interesting story. I look forward to more.|
|Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
|excellent story, nickolaus; very well done! bravo!!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in tx., karen lynn. :D
|Reviewed by Kiria Gypsy (Reader)
I absolutely love it!
I really enjoy your writing style and I have a passion for horror and the macabre;)
Can't wait to read more!