His name never takes off of your tongue. Not for nothing to be named as the Rumpelstiltskin of the Dream dimension, specifically the Nightmare world. Though you’re never aware of titles or being in the center of that world because this was the start of a dream. One you escaped from by sheer will or luck. Unable to be held back. Not quite primed for being overruled and when the resistance was stretching from one appearance to the latest one, a test measured the duration of which you would be ready. Minor notes and hints of horror tiptoe in your dreams. Turning them upside down and into the course of a nightmare. Ones to keep you awake for all hours of the night with short sprints of naps. This was one of them. Finally you rise and when you do, the horse appeared.
Swallowing any shock from an equine beast roaming the narrow yard, wasn’t enough to remain front and center on the cusp of sanity. You feel more unwell and when doing so the day spins like it does, finding its end. Staring anew again. Doing it all over. Fighting through the mysticism of darkness at an alarming rate that when you do, you awaken to a knife at your side. A paring knife. The small blade used to slice up fruit and other attention oriented use, was lying around too close but you pick it up. Gripping it for safety. Keeping it for protection when something was there following closely like a shadow. Your fear of self was suspect one. Your fear of the unknown was suspect two. Then your fear of the inner workings of a power you didn’t understand what suspect three.
The bowels of paranoia excreted without warning, erupting in every way. Over the shoulder you looked. Though the peephole of the door. You thumb through surveillance footage of the surrounding area outside the home by phone and sunk deeper as the hour was spent. Your gaze clouded again believing the watching eclipsed any means of picking through the day as if nothing happened. It was happening and you had the proof right in your back yard. Right through the obscure and questionable dreams. Then as the outside world opened up, spirits of netherdemons shown in the faces of everyday people. Figment appearances waxed along the face of a barista, birthed a whirlpool effect. Mixed with pitch darkness and a smile, the image dispersed. Altering the way strangers saw you and vice versa. Every stop in the morning, before reaching the office was like the faces of torment looked on.
Judging you in movement and lack there of. You prayed with a rosary. The one that hung in your right inside breast pocket. Converting back to a bad Catholic when ignoring it’s tenets on a daily basis due to the space between radical belief and wishful thinking. The rosary lessened the thought of a rapture like event taken place and you wanted more protection. More of a guiding light through the clouded vision that darkness has hooded over. The more resistant the more the looming presence stuck to you and would find it’s way through the doors of the office. Beefing up a shadow you never had intention of acknowledging. The weight was light by comparison and the further you stepped from the parking lot and towards the office, the more the tugging of its presence felt.
Hairs along the neck risen. Chills pricked at exposed skin. A cold whisper echoed through the tunnel between ears and brain. Calling on to give in. You shake your head absentmindedly and refused. In doing so, the splitting pain did another pass just at the temple and spreading towards the back like a rough stroke applying phantom pressure. It was there that a sea of employees, some chipper and relaxed. Others dragging and tired, took your breath away. Crisp in hunger eliciting a reaction to feed and you’ve eaten on your way. The turn of your stomach with a pant of the breath was different, still contributing to the sudden ache of your head. You thought a shadow followed, frantic looking over, only to see an employee greet you as you've done.
The tides changed again, because the same whirlpool of darkness leapt from face to face, showing you who they were or so you imagined. It pushed for a prompt walk deeper, until passing over a prime rib of exhaustion. Words were given and they died while retiring in your seclusion to sleep it off. Under shades came the fallen darkness you’ve tried to watch out for, coming to embed itself for the netted taking.