Last night my wife woke me in the middle of the night. I had been sitting up in bed yelling in terror. Even after she woke me, it took a long time for me to understand where I was and to be convinced that I really wasn’t in any danger. I sat there, trying not to hyperventilate while she told me over and over again in the voice one might use to calm a bewildered infant that it was all right, that I’d just been dreaming.
When I tried to describe my dream it sounded comical, ridiculous; but to me it had been simply horrific. I had dreamed that a demon had come into the room and was standing beside my bed. It was bottle green in colour and its skin was leathery, like a lizard’s. It wasn’t a conventional devil with horns and tail. It looked more or less like a man though it was smaller, but not as small as a child, and it radiated malice. I had no doubt that it had come to kill me or worse. I also knew that it was my fault that it was there. Somehow or other I had summoned it.
I wish my mind was not so leaky. Then all this stuff would stay in the part of my imagination that is reserved for writing books.
4 comments:
Hey, have you been reading the manuscript of my novel-in-progress?
God help you if that's what you're writing about.
You should stick to lighter fantasy fluff like motorcycle riding elves and ninja fairy godmothers...much less threatening :)
Hi Brian
I am also a fantasy author - my recent book, Randolph's Challenge, Book One-The Pendulum Swings, has just been published and I'm working on book two at the moment (so I have some way to go to match your record). I also wake with the horrors, but it isn't about the content, it's about marketing the thing.
Chris Warren
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