For as long as I can remember, I have had a serious fascination with dreams (perhaps why i'm such a diehard lifelong Elm Street fan?). Over the years I have written in dream journals, which I unfortunately always tend to give up on doing, and i've even delved a bit into the fascinating world of lucid dreaming, which is an artform I hope to someday master. I just love the idea that, while asleep in your own bed, you can be transported to worlds you will never be able to visit in waking life and experience things you will never be able to experience in waking life. Of course, along with those good dreams come the bad ones. The terrifying ones. The nightmares.
Nightmares are an unfortunate aspect of the dreaming process, something we all have to deal with on occasion. While I am not a person who is on a constant basis plagued by horrifying nightmares, I do have some pretty scary ones from time to time. This being a horror blog and all, i've decided to chronicle them whenever they rear their ugly heads, both for my own desire to document my dreams and, hopefully, for your entertainment. Thus, The Nightmare Files is now born, a terrifying look into one horror blogger's deepest and darkest fears.
I experienced this first nightmare a couple nights ago and I can pinpoint exactly why I had it. For one, I am absolutely terrified of someone breaking into my house at night, something I think about on far too often of a basis, and second, because i've been on a serious diet of ice cream themed horror movies of late, as part of a top secret project that i've hinted at over the past couple weeks and which you can probably put together by now. More on that coming soon, let's get on with this nightmare for now!
In this particular nightmare, I was still living at my parents' house, which Jen and I (in real life) moved out of around this time last year. I was on the couch watching TV really late at night when I heard the jingle of an ice cream truck slowly coming down the road. Now i've never been scared by ice cream men nor has the idea of a killer ice cream man ever seemed scary to me, but hearing this jingle at that time in the night terrified me to my very core in the nightmare, a feeling I can vividly recall. I remember thinking to myself that there was no good explanation for someone driving so late at night in an ice cream truck, playing that music, and that's what scared me so much. I knew something bad was about to happen. This being a nightmare, it of course did.
The ice cream truck stopped directly in front of the house and turned off its lights and music. I immediately ran into my parents' room and woke my dad up, as I often did when I lived there in situations where I felt like something bad was going down. He quickly jumped out of bed and the next thing I knew we were both in the kitchen, rounding up knives. I grabbed three of them, two in one hand and one in the other, and started viciously stabbing the killer ice cream man, who at that point had broken through a window and entered the kitchen. Horror movie survival mode kicking in, even in the dream world, I knew that while I had the bastard down I better finish the job, so I stabbed him repeatedly for what felt like a couple minutes. After all that stabbing I looked down at where the ice cream man originally was and all I saw was a big pile of spaghetti, which I kept cutting up and stabbing. Yes, I had literally mangled him to the point that he turned into spaghetti. Even though he was clearly dead, I remember being so scared that he was going to come back, for whatever reason. But he didn't. The last thing I remember is looking out the window and seeing his truck still parked in front of the house.
And then I woke up.