Not One to Believe Fear in Dreams, I Find Myself Wondering
Eleven minutes ago, I was fast asleep. Cozy, comfortable, and snuggled down in a blanket (with one leg hanging out). Ten minutes ago, I was rudely awoken, and now here I am. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
I bolted up out of bed, a little groggy, a little sleepy and a little… you know what? Honestly, I don’t even know what that feeling is called.
It’s like a mixture of confusion, paranoia, happiness, and being so scared you have to check if your socks are on. So, whatever emotion you call that… I was that, also. I rushed right over to my computer, booted it up and loaded this page. Now, tweleve minutes after I’ve woken up, here I am.
Okay, I apologize. Let me start again.
I woke up about 12 minutes ago, from a dream I was having. I was woken up from within the dream; by a character in one of my books. Oh, but wait… I was woken up by a character in one of my books that I’m not currently writing. Oh, and also it’s from a book I haven’t written before or even started yet.
No, this character is from a book I got an idea for over 18 years ago. My first idea. My “opus” if you want to call it that. I was woken up by none other than Mr. Barristone himself. The baby killer. The Boogeyman.
I know this really means nothing to you. However, I am still a bit shaken. My fear in dreams is becoming more real.
My novel “Boogeyman” has never seen the light of day. It has never been written down. It has never been anything but an idea in my head. I have several reasons for it.
I Have My Reasons
First, I knew I was not ready to write such a tome. When the raw idea first came to me, I was too inexperienced and hadn’t had enough words or success under my belt to release this thing yet. I still don’t.
This book is my baby. My one and only. I can write 10 thousand other books, but none will mean more to me than “Boogeyman.” Even if I never sell a single copy. This was the idea that told me to be a writer.
I became a writer just for the chance to become an author just so I could then write this book as it should be written.
Second, when I do write this book, it will be my calling card. It will set me up or kill my career as an author. It will be my “The Stand” or my “Odd Thomas” or “Books of Blood,” etc. I will not write it until I am ready for it to be released into the world.
I won’t even do it the unjustice (I make up words sometimes, go with it) of being written and forgotten in the back of a drawer until a later date. It will be written when the time to write it is here.
Third, the story has been in my head for near 19 years now. I know every nuance of every character down to the number of hairs on their knee caps. I know every movement, every costume, every minute detail of this book and the characters within.
The main character, the protagonist, the antagonist, the most complex, surprising, and jaw-dropping character in a horror story ever written: Mr. Nicholas Barristone. Pure evil incarnate and adult result of a horrendous and god-awful childhood to ever exist. He woke me up.
I Need a Break
Hold on. I need some coffee.
Okay. Sorry. I’m back.
What IS The Fear in Dreams This Time, Then?
I was having a dream where I was walking around a familiar house, not my house, but I knew this house. It was the family home of one Jennifer Haze. Jennifer is a 6-year-old girl who is killed by Barristone. She is the third to die in my book, and she doesn’t fare well in the story. Not many people do, as you can imagine.
I walked around the corner from an upstairs hallway into a bedroom fully decorated with posters and dolls and a pink dresser covered in unicorn stickers. Jenn was on the bed, pinned down by her sheets. Barristone was there. In full costume, butcher knife raised over his head. Jennifer crying and Nicholas doing nothing to comfort her. He heard me approach. He spun around.
The recognition hit his eyes. I saw it. He saw that I saw it.
He dropped his arm, and thus the knife, to his side and tilted his head. Barristone stared at me as I looked around the room. He approached me, looked me dead in the eyes, raised his hand (and thus the knife.. a threatening move by any accounts) and told me:
“Get out of here! This no longer concerns you, it’s already done! Go, go back where you came from, wake up and go to work!”
I Don’t Have “Work”
Currently, I don’t have to work a “real job,” so I can only assume he meant writing.
I am also currently half done with a rough draft of my 4th book, Tremble, and I wonder if Barristone knows that? Did he mean I need to finish? Did he tell me to write his story? Is it time?
I don’t know. All I know is that I woke up because a character in a book that doesn’t even exist told me to get up and get to work. Fear in Dreams is real.
I… I’m going to finish this coffee and go write a little bit now.
I guess I really have no choice.