A Scary Bedtime Story "Behind the Veil"

It all started so long ago that it seems to have been with me all my conscious and unconscious life.


I'm talking about dreams. Dreams don't interest many people, but for me they are of particular value. Whether they are vivid, surreal images or a dark abyss without a hint of anything conscious.


But it is only at first glance, that fleeting glimpse for which these dreams pass; it would seem that only a couple of seconds have passed, it has just been evening, but it is six in the morning and it is time to start a new day, completely broken and with a vague hum in my head, instead of thoughts.


Few people remember their dreams, and even those: the same, dark, faceless ones do not even count as dreams.


But what if she lingers in the moment and begins to stare into the abyss? Would it begin to peer into you? The imagination, even when awake, allows itself to paint something inexplicable in the dark, then what is it capable of showing if everything around you becomes a canvas for it?


This dream hunt began in my youth, when all that mysticism, psychicism, and lucid dreaming were popular. Of course, I was extremely skeptical of these midwife grannies and shamans from a two or five-story building. But conscious dreams were of genuine interest to me, not the ability to control dreams, not that at all; the existence of rare conscious dreams indicates the unconscious nature of most dreams. This is what interested me.


I sometimes asked friends and acquaintances about their dreams. I don't think I'd be surprised by what they said, but the most common answer was, "Nothing, I guess.


Nothing. Nothing, nothing, n-nothing.


And what exactly does nothing mean? Emptiness, absence. That is nothing. But can this be attributed to the darkness of the dream? We only see reflected light from objects, but if there are no sources of light, that doesn't mean these objects don't exist. What could be seen in this impenetrable darkness if even the slightest ray of light were to enter it?

The first night of the experiment.


No result. And what, indeed, should have been expected, I literally tried to find a pool, in the middle of the desert, energized by enthusiasm alone. Naive. Naive, but if you bang your head against the wall, you can at least damage the plaster, the plaster stretched on the forehead. So we have to find another approach.


Night two.


Couldn't sleep for a long time. Stared at the ornate pattern on the ceiling. The pattern, slightly illuminated by a street lamp. If Mohammed is not allowed to the mountain... I think I know where to start.


Night three.


I bought thick curtains. Hanged them up. Still not dark enough. Gotta plug the cracks in the door. Turned off anything that could emit light. The bright rectangle of the window still shines through and helps me see the outline of the furniture. Annoyingly, I think I'm on the right track.


It's 7 a.m., Saturday morning. All night I've been experimenting with darkening the window: trying to hang more fabric to seal the already dense curtains. Almost dropped a curtain. Something must be done about the window. The annoying noise of the exhaust pipe, a domestic car, took me out of my thoughts. - Tinting! That's it. Tint on the window.


Fortunately, I have a studio and only one window, as well as a mirror. Yeah, I don't look too good after a sleepless night. I should probably not open the curtains too much, the sun is unpleasantly glaring.


I ordered a tint with delivery. Turns out it's even cheaper than I thought. But it looks like I'll have to do the tinting myself.

Night seven.


I don't see the point in describing every night, especially since nothing much has happened lately. I still have half a month of weekends ahead of me. I had enough to eat, and I didn't eat much either. The sleep schedule was completely disrupted, and now, at night, I try to see something in the darkness of my room, and in the daytime I sleep. I stopped opening the curtains, because it is unnecessary light at night, and during the day it prevents me from sleeping.


The space around me is still covered by a shroud of darkness. I stare at it for hours, as if the walls were a sieve.


Night eleven


Something's missing, though I wonder what else could be added or removed. Take it away. In order to come to sleep, one had to move away from reality. What happens at the moment of this transition? The half-dream state flows smoothly into the reality of another, more blurry, surreal, world. Perhaps this is what I need. To bring myself to a permanent state of transition, maybe then I can see something.


Night twelve.


I had to hang up the only mirror, I was not happy with the reflection in it anyway, and I did not want to imagine what would happen after the marathon of insomnia.


Night thirteenth.


Three-in-one coffee bags and loud music in my headphones are my only friends; indeed, I haven't talked to anyone in a long time, considering my current lifestyle, even the courier who brought me a box of coffee preferred to leave it on the landing rather than hand it over to me. Well, fuck it. I'll give it one star.


Night fourteen.

I think I saw something. At the edge of my vision, on the side of the mirror, something moved. Something dark and shapeless. It looks like it's starting. But according to the clock on my phone, it would be light soon. We'll have to wait another day. I'm already impatient.


Night fifteen


I've been on pins and needles all day, finally, finally! It's just starting to get dark. It doesn't take long for it to start.


A mug of coffee, my constant companion, will share this moment with me. I'm so excited, I even feel stuffy. I open the window slightly. - Fresh air, as fresh as it can be, began to slowly fill the room. That's better. I sat on the floor in the middle of the room, my eyes were slipping, and there was no trace of my former excitement. Nothing is happening. But as soon as I thought about it, I heard a fuzzy, rustling, muffled sound behind me. A chill ran down my spine. I turned sharply in that direction.


There was something creepy sitting in front of me. All I could see were the outlines-a hideous, pale creature: skinny, with dark hollows where its eyes were, its hair slicked back. It sat staring at me. Without looking, I threw the first thing I could at the creature. The last thing I heard was a ringing sound, after which my consciousness plunged into a darkness much darker than the one around me.


I opened my eyes. I don't know how long I slept. The light shone through the slit between the curtains, pulled open by a light draught. And I look at the broken mirror across from me.


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