Dear Creepypasta [#Wattys2016]

Just dreams

My mind twists, struggling to separate reality from dreams. I can no longer be sure of what is true, only of what I know.

The first thing I know is that I have a ghost. Whether he truly exists or is simply a delusion is unclear, but I have clearly seen him. I also know he loves me, or perhaps loved me. However, through ways unknown to me, I have angered him beyond forgiveness and that is the third thing I am sure of. Beyond those three facts, my dreams have become my reality and my reality has morphed into my dreams, the distinct line between them shattered.

The ghost takes the shape of a small boy, about 6 years old and, although he calls me mommy, his name to me is unknown. His messy blonde hair shadows his eyes in a shy, sweet way. He doesn't always make himself visible, but his childish songs echo through the hallways as he hides in the shadows. I am allowed to seek him, but I may not touch him, for at the slightest attempt he vanishes, sometimes for a few hours but occasionally for days on end. He teases me with his songs, vying for my attention and affection, but still never my touch. As the weeks go on, my apparition son flittered in and out of my dreamed reality. One day, however, his appearances stopped. The house seemed empty, void of his childish songs and laughter. Then, we moved. The months rolled on and eventually the memory of him began to fade, yet I still listened for the beautiful melodies that once echoed through my home. The melodies never returned, and what replaced them was beyond anything I could have willingly imagined.

The events that took place that January day seem to exist outside of reality, yet the physical scares disprove it being simply a dream. The rooms of my house seemed especially dark that evening, winter sending the sun to bed early. Just as I finished preparing for sleep and walked back into my room, a miracle happened. My son had returned! I smiled to greet him, pleased to have my ghostly companion back, but something was horribly wrong. The sweet expression that had warmed his face had frozen. His disheveled hair, now dull and destroyed, shadowed his empty, black eyes, his face now twisted and deformed. He no longer sang or chirped in his childish way, but was now silent and stiff. I froze, fear paralyzing every inch of my mind and body. Seconds felt like hours as I struggled to calm my inner hysteria long enough to run, until finally I turned and stumbled into the living room. Tears streamed down my face and I chocked on my sobs. Although he did not physically follow me from the room, I could feel him. His eyes burned into my flesh and scorched my soul, and the terror rose into a lump in my throat. I scanned the room through salt water-blurred eyes, searching for sanctuary. My eyes fell upon the front door and a desperately flung myself towards it only to realize that the lock had been snapped off inside of the door, sealing me inside with my fate. Suddenly a noise caught my attention. It was an eerie, creaking noise, like an old worn down rocking chair. Once again, I had no control over my body. The noise seemed to grip my very being and began to pull me back towards the bedroom, my feet half dragging, half floating. My mind screamed and struggled to regain control, but its efforts were useless. I found myself back in the doorway, finding a scene that made my heart drop and my stomach churn.

There was my ghost sitting on the old wooden rocking horse that was passed through my family. His back was to me and he just rocked back and forth, back and forth. The rhythm was slow, like the ticking of a clock. As if sensing my presence, he stopped. Silence. Cold, fear filled silence. Still I was not prepared for what was still to come. His head twisted back unnaturally and his black, caved in eyes met mine. Before I could react or could even see him move, he was in front of me. His talon like fingers dug into my arms drawing blood and a scream of agony. I fell backwards, slamming my lower back into the molding along the floor. He flashed his jagged, knife like teeth that dripped black and red. He lunged, digging his jigsaw teeth deep into my throat, silencing the rest of my screams. Colors and lights began to fade and my mind began to be consumed by the blackness. Just before I was completely overcome, I heard a whisper. A demonic hiss mixed with the pleading of a little boy, "You did this! You did this!" and then the blackness overcame me. Silence.

I came to lying in my bed. As I jolted upright, a searing pain shot through my back, though upon further inspection, there was no bruise on the surface. I slid my fingers down my arms where he had sunk his claws deep. It was sensitive, and there seemed to be light scarring, as if old and faded. My throat was dry and scratched as it usually is after one screams for too long. My fingers skimmed along my throat, the skin seemingly unharmed. I breathed a sigh of relief; the possibility that it was just a dream was on the top of my explanations. Then I remembered the front door. I stumbled out of bed, pushing aside the spinning sensation that overcame me. When I reached the living room, there was the door. With a sigh of relief I went to open it, only to find that I couldn't. The breath was sucked from my lungs as I realized what this meant. The locks were broken. The door was jammed. My dreams and my reality were one in the same.