Destined to Lucid Dream: Part 2

The Awakening

I was four years old when it happened. Just another night, or so it seemed. My sister sensed it before bedtime, was convinced that something terrible would happen, was so panic-stricken that our nanny made a bet with her to calm her nerves—a shiny, silver 5 pence piece, that everything would be fine. There were five of us in the house that night and one by one we succumbed to sleep.

I remember waking up after midnight, walking to the toilet at the top of the landing before sleepily returning to bed. Something would not let me drift back into my dreams: I remember voices, although it was to be many years later when I was reminded of their message. I lay restless for some time, finally rising with a vague sense of urgency and direction. I went back to the landing, my attention suddenly focused upwards on the open attic hatch in the ceiling. My child’s mind was confused: how had I never noticed such a wondrous thing before? Standing there transfixed, I reasoned that this must be where the fire travels after going up the chimney from downstairs, as I watched the flames licking their way hungrily across the wooden beams above me.

Then, like a Christmas miracle, it began to snow… indoors. Mystified, I remember holding out my hand to catch those delicate, drifting snowflakes. I remember my surprise when their weightless, ash-white crystals broke apart, smearing black within my palm. Suddenly, the bathroom light went out, plunging the entire floor into ruby darkness, filled with blood-red, flickering shadows. I began to scream.

My sister awoke and—joining me out there on the landing—began shouting the more mature and understandable alarm of “Fire!”

We huddled in the dark at the top of the stairs, hearing the frantic sounds of adults gathering on the floor below. Then heavy footsteps rushing up towards us: a flash of white eyes ascending through the black, like binary moons rising. Hands grabbed at my sister and swept her away to safety. Those white eyes would return quickly for me, but time crawled, my every pounding heartbeat stretching out to fill an hour. I closed my eyes and, in my mind, saw my plastic toys melting like wax candles.

Minutes later, we were all sat in shock across the road, watching from the back seat of the car as our house burnt to the ground. A fire to rip-through and level everything: flames to absolve everything that had come before. 

I was not told about my mother’s meeting with the psychic until I was much older, but I grew up with the story of the house fire being repeatedly told. In those retellings, I was often portrayed as the unlikely hero who had raised the alarm with only minutes to spare. There was never, of course, any mention of the chimney, the snow, the twin moons, the melting toys, or those voices urging me not to fall asleep. 

The night terrors began shortly after that.

(to be continued…)

Destined to Lucid Dream: Part 1

The Prophecy

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young lady, pregnant with her first child. Answering an unexpected knock at her door, she found herself face to face with a curious-looking stranger. The other woman introduced herself as a psychic and immediately began bombarding the expectant mother with an impromptu personal reading. Unfortunately, things got off to a slightly rocky start.

   “You’re going to have a son,” the medium said with a fixed and knowing stare. 

What the stranger didn’t know was that this pregnant lady dabbled in her own forms of witchery, and had discovered months before that the child she was carrying was actually a girl. She informed the would-be psychic of her mistake and half-expected the stranger to turn around and leave.

“No, no,” the woman replied, glancing down at the prominent bump, “not this one, but you will have a son. And he will be very important for you, he will bring about a much-needed balance to your soul.” The psychic stood in the doorway, briefly grinning at the fact that her spiritual hooks had sunk in, before launching off into her prophecy.

“Both of you are bound by an uncommon connection: you and your son have shared a previous life before. He was the only child of a wealthy Lord, while you were born into a peasant family who worked and lived on the outskirts of their land. The two of you, being the same age, grew incredibly close during those early childhood years, playing together at every possible opportunity.

“Then, one night, you awoke from a bad dream and, unable to get back to sleep, wandered to one of the windows in the cottage. What you saw, blazing out there in the darkness, froze your mind and heart with fear. Over in the distance, the stately manor house was ablaze, engulfed in a raging inferno whose thick and billowing smoke taught true blackness to the night sky.

“You did the most a child could,” the psychic went on, “you tried to wake your parents and raise the alarm, but by the time the other peasant families had all gathered to fight the flames, it was already far too late. There were no survivors, and you had lost your best friend in the whole world. You never forgave yourself for failing to save him, and that sorrow has been so deeply embedded in your soul that it still follows you to this day.

“Do not look so troubled,” the psychic woman said, stepping forward and taking the pregnant woman’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “This is such excellent news. The son you shall bear will allow this past tragedy—this wrong that you have suffered and have clung onto for so long—to finally be righted. He will bring balance to the both of you.”

Without another word, and offering no opportunity to accept payment, this mysterious oracle turned and departed.

The pregnant woman was my mother, and two and a half years later, I was born.

(to be continued…)