Months after I mysteriously grew blind, she told me the “me” in her nightmares isn’t blind anymore. It was the kind of conversation that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The kid I was babysitting, Emily, had always been an odd one. She was constantly drawing what she called her “dream world” and would always tell me stories about the strange creatures and beings that lived there. But when she told me that she saw me in that world, it was unsettling.
It wasn’t until the nightmares started that things got truly terrifying. Emily would wake up screaming, telling me about how I was always there, watching her. But in her dreams, I was different. I was whole, and I could see and hear and speak even though she knew that in reality, I was as good as dead. It was too much for me to bear, knowing that I was haunting this poor child’s nightmares.
I tried to reason with her, to convince her that her dreams were just that – dreams. But she wouldn’t listen. She was convinced that her dream world was real, and that somehow, I was living there too. I wanted to believe it was all in her head, but the nightmares were too vivid, too real.
Then one day, Emily didn’t show up for our usual babysitting session. I called her parents, but they didn’t answer. I drove over to their house, my heart pounding in my chest. As I knocked on the door, I had the sense that something was very wrong.
It wasn’t until the paramedics wheeled Emily out of the house, her body limp and pale, that I realized the truth. Emily had slipped into a coma, and the doctors didn’t know if she would ever wake up. But as I stood there, watching her being loaded into the ambulance, I knew that in some way, I was responsible.
Later that night, as I lay in bed, I felt a sudden chill in the air. And then I heard it – a faint, whispering voice. “It’s too late,” it said. “You’re already a part of my world now.” And as I closed my eyes, I knew that I would never be truly alone again.