IN MY SLEEP: By Brandon Lewis
Tuesday, July 19th, 2011Bobby sat at the carpet in the center of his room and snatched the white bag into his lap. His little fingers unrolled the top.
Something stirred, darting around inside the bag, bouncing between his hands, against his legs. Bobby flung the bag back onto the carpet. It was still for a moment, then regained its composure and began stirring again. Bobby flinched and backed away. He put his palm down but it slipped off the carpet into nothing. He was no longer in his room; he was no longer in any room.
There were no walls; there was no ceiling; there was no floor. He looked around for anything familiar but found only the carpet somehow floating in a black abyss.
The bag began to glow green from within. As the color intensified, the bag expanded around an enlarging frame, tightening, ripping. A pair of rusted shoulders pushed through. Bobby cried for help but nobody heard him. He padded the darkness for an escape but found nothing but black air.
The figure doubled in size, tripled, grew until it towered over the boy. It was black and armored with rusted accents framing a lipless mouth. Its jaw was bolted into a permanent grin of steel teeth. It turned to face the boy, staring through green, glowing eyes.
Bobby made a move to jump off the mat but the machine caught him in a rusty grip. Its arms rattled as it brought the boy closer to its jagged mouth, shaking the boy as he fought to escape, twisting, flailing. The machine’s throat groaned and creaked, breathing onto the boy. It was laughing at him.
Bobby winced, turning his face away from the machine’s sulfuric breath. The grip on his shoulders loosened and he felt another shake but there was no mechanical rattling.
He peeked and saw his father leaning over the bed. He was shouting something but Bobby couldn’t hear him over his own screams.
“You’re alright,” his father said, “just another dream.”
The words took a few moments to sink in. Bobby leaned forward from his bed and looked around for the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the… “Where’s my new toy?”
“Relax,” his father said, pushing his son back into bed. “No toys until after school tomorrow.” He rubbed his eyes.
“But he’s going to eat me!” Bobby said. Then, he found his new toy standing at the edge of his dresser. “He’s going to eat me in my sleep!”
“What? Who?” His father looked around the room. “Him?” He said, pointing to the toy.
Bobby nodded shyly, then sunk in his bed.
His father chuckled, picked the toy up and sat back down. “He’s a little small to be eating you.” He moved the toy’s limbs. They squeaked, plastic against plastic, a mockery of what Bobby saw earlier. Or did he see it? It was just a dream after all, he thought. The toy was so small it fit in his father’s palm; there was no way it was eating anything.
Bobby’s father pushed the toy against his son’s cheek and growled. Bobby giggled.
“Now,” his father was wide-eyed, “go back to sleep.” He stood up and set the toy on the shelf next to his bed.
A moment later, Bobby was alone again. He was still sweating but pulled the covers over his nose anyway. He kept his eyes on the new toy, but, after a couple minutes, fatigue weighed heavy on his eyelids.
Bobby was about to fall into sleep when he heard something. He shot forward again and his eyes darted around the room. Nothing. He lay his head back into the pillow and looked back to the shelf.
The toy was gone. Just then, something crept across the ceiling. It was dark and it was getting bigger and closer. It was falling towards Bobby’s face, arms outstretched, green eyes glowing. Bobby was sure he heard the mechanical laughter just before he opened his mouth to call for his father.
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©2011 Brandon Lewis
