06 May Wake Screaming
“Wake Screaming”
Written by Dale Thompson Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 12 minutes
The night brings its phantasms, its lucid dreams and devilish nightmares, but it can also wake a sleeping man to sheer terror and mounting confusion, where reality is suffocating and the man prays it is a dream.
Delusion; that is what it must be. Peace was just moments before because Anthony Burgess knew he was fast asleep, and subconsciously he knew he was snug, warm and comfortable. He was beside his wife Mary in the bed, and his infant daughter was resting quietly across the hall. But at this moment, right after the serenity, there were chilling screams. Anthony did not feel as though he woke up immediately to respond. He felt as if it took his mind some time to process and rationalize that a situation was occurring while he slept. Unforeseen fear tightened around his heart like a tourniquet, and as he came to, his breathing was rapid and noxiously heavy as if he had been running. He sensed a morbid darkness, something elusive yet something to fear. His eyes tried to focus, and his ears stopped ringing. There were no screams now. There was nothing but a dark room. He reached over to touch his wife, but she was not there. Her side of the bed was empty and cold. He swung his legs out of bed, slipped into his robe and made his way across the hall to his infant daughter’s room. To his dismay, neither Mary nor his daughter Rachel was there. The crib was not there either. Could his wife have gotten up in the night and pushed the baby in the crib to another part of the house? This did not make sense. Anthony began flipping light switches on in the house as he searched room to room.
Frantic to the core, deeply sickened and physically nauseated by the absence of his family, Anthony tore the house apart in desperation, his anguish growing ever more present, and the dread of hopeless abandonment looked over his efforts. He became proactively aggressive in a truculent fit which overwhelmed him, and things were being broken and ransacked by his now irrational uncontrolled behavior. When his adrenaline had run out, he slumped to the floor in the corner of the kitchen, sobbing into his hands.
There was no sign of his wife or daughter and no crib. His mind raced with the worst scenarios. He was only moments in this withdrawn and desolate state before he returned to his senses. Knowing he needed to keep a clear head and be optimistic, he focused, attempted to orient himself, and wiped the tears from his swollen eyes.
Could they have been taken? Kidnapped while he slept? Was the baby sick, and Mary left in a panic to take her to the emergency room without telling him? As ridiculous as that sounded, he ran to his driveway but found both of their cars there in the driveway unmoved. Going back into the house, the panic was like a suffocating force. He was having a hard time breathing. Anthony had been known to have these episodes because of his diagnosed hyperthyroidism. He had been taking radioactive iodine as treatment, but this situation seemed to escalate his feeling of accruing impending doom. He desiderated as if his skin was beginning to crawl off the bone. He made his way to the kitchen, poured a glass of water from the tap, drank it thirstily and tried to reason this out.
The sound of another terrifying scream was heard. ’That could be Mary,’ he thought, and it came from somewhere in the house. He had already looked in every room, but he charged off again, thrashing things about opening cupboards, closet doors, even drawers. When he swung open his own closet door, he was met with a blackness that suddenly encompassed the room as if someone had thrown a dark blanket upon everything. He was engulfed in blindness. For a moment, he was completely in the dark, and the only thing he could hear was his own breathing. Although he had managed to force a full-blown spasm away before it took hold of him, this momentary unexplained darkness elevated all of his senses. It was as if when he opened the closet door, the room was swallowed by a larger, darker space. He was no longer in his bedroom looking into the closet.
He was somewhere where the only light seen was a dull, faint glow straight ahead and some distance away. Uncertain about what to do, he really had no choice. If his wife and daughter were here, he could not be dilatory; he had to make his way to that glowing light with haste. Fumbling about and not going too fast in fear of possibly stumbling over something or missing something along the way, he walked an imaginary path toward the glow. He could see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing on either side, and he dared not look back because a creeping feeling was slowly manifesting up his spine. Nothing was in focus, and he wasn’t sure if his eyes were blurring the glowing light or if it was naturally ambiguous.
As he moved closer to it, he realized it was a door, and there was a light shining behind the door, which from a distance caused everything to appear distorted and fuzzy. The door had no handle, so he gave it a careful push, and it opened. The first thing he saw were open doorways with different colored glowing lights burning from each one. He could not be sure if these were individual rooms or many doorways going to the same place. How to pick a doorway to enter through, he did not know. Like a person reads
a book from left to right, he picked the yellow-lit doorway to the far left and cautiously went through its frame. It appeared to be some sort of maze. He heard the cries of a woman again, but they sounded as if they were somewhere to the right. Maybe he had chosen the wrong door? He could not be sure. He was not certain if it was Mary’s voice at all, but he had to assume it was. He made his way through the yellow-lit maze, which was wall after wall of twists and turns, and he found himself back at the beginning where he had first entered. There had been nothing remarkable at all about the yellow maze. He had hurried through; he had surmised that time was of the essence. Although he spent little time in the yellow-lit maze, he found nothing alluding to his wife and daughter’s disappearance. There was not a single clue that presented itself.
He chose the next door, which glowed with ambient blue light. Within this maze, he came to another open door, and beyond that, the maze glowed red. He assumed all of this was connected, and he was going deeper within this zigzag labyrinth to some sort of unknown destination. He was distraught and pathetically aimless. If all of this was here to confuse him, to keep him rattled and on a false trail, then it was working. He did not have time to consider the absurdity of this ersatz reality that had been thrust upon him. He was desperate and indigent, but he was alone, feeling powerless and weak. His mind was fixed on his family, and right now, he would do anything to rescue them from this twisted catacomb. If they were in this mystical place of obscurity and shadows, he was intent on finding them.
He heard the female voice again, closer now, and he swore it called out his name. She did not sound like she was in pain but sounded desperate. He called back as loud as he could, expectorating with full voice. Fervently he called his wife’s name over and over again. “Mary! Mary! Mary!” and the call that came back buckled his knees. It was the sound of a baby crying. It screeched with a colic cry, and Anthony stopped to gauge its direction. He glanced around, his darting eyes
begging, wanting for any sign. What he saw next was petrifying. It was a man. Yes, a man was coming toward him. The man was not intimidating or threatening. He looked like an ordinary man. He had no facial expression, but his eyes looked deliberate. He spoke first.
“The first thing you must do is trust me. If you want to find your wife, and get out of here, I am your only hope.”
Anthony felt he had nothing to lose, so he simply nodded and opened his ears to listen. Although nothing added up, and everything was unreasonable, he ardently listened.
“What I am about to tell you is my story. It is unbelievable but true. Before you interrupt or ask questions, please hear me out. Yes, your wife was taken. She was stolen by my mother. My mother was an evil woman who only had one child, and that was me. She resented me because it was a hard birth. She had wanted many children, but because of the damage she suffered giving birth to me, she could no longer give birth. She sought mystics and magicians and even faith healers, but her dabbling into the Occult and the darker things took its toll and changed her. After many incantations and experimental sorceries, the spiritual wickedness in high places assaulted her and played upon her societal failure in such a way that she became a changeling and consequently was banished to a world outside of the living. Her witchery turned on her and imprisoned her – not in hell or purgatory but in a state of repetitive limbo. That is where we now are. This is where she can play tricks on the mind, cause confusion and delusion and make you believe things are real when in fact, they are not. You are not in a maze. You have never left your home. Think
hard. This is not going to be easy for you to accept. My mother, as demented as she is, lost in her forbidden world, does not steal babies. She abducts women who are just pregnant. Your daughter Rachel has not been born yet. These are thoughts my mother has created in your head so as to confuse you and have you searching endlessly for not only your wife but a daughter that does not exist yet outside of the womb. Your wife is still carrying your baby daughter. Think hard. Right now, you are desperate to find a baby girl that you have no memory of being born.
“This maze is an illusion to deprive you of life if you fall for the trickery. My mother wants to leave your soul impoverished and to deprive it of any joy that it can ever ascertain. Though she usurps her authority, she really has no power once you catch on to her illusions. This is a sterile, lifeless, placeless, timeless, ultra-dimensional grey existence with no substance in the temporal or spiritual. My mother will misdirect you and use machinations to achieve her end goal. We are, in fact, nowhere in that regard. If I can only get you to see that this has been created in your mind by her influence. You have never left your house. This creature my mother has become steals away women who are with child in order to snatch the baby away upon birth. I have managed to enter this world through my own unconventional means and may pay for it with my soul, but you are not the first I have sought to rescue from this invisible monster.
“You must stop looking here for your wife and child because there is nothing here to find. What you are looking for is back in your house. I can return with you if you will trust me, and together we will save your wife from my mother’s lunacy. With God’s help, we can put an end to this infernal mockery and drive my mother away for good from the land of the living. Take my hands and think of your home with your wife. Remember, remember; remember. It is critical that you find your way back.”
Anthony struggled with thought and memory. He pressed hard to recall the birth of his daughter, but he could not. Could this be true? Had his daughter not been born yet? How could this be? The crib was not in the room when he initially looked. He also could not remember seeing the typical things that one would find in a newborn’s room.
No crib, no changing table…surely they would have had a rocking chair in there, but he saw none. There was no mobile, no night light that he remembered. There were none of the basic things that parents would have in a baby’s room.
Looking at his only hope, Anthony took the man’s hands. Though he did not know this man or even his name, he understood this was all beyond him. ”Close your eyes and think about your wife. Concentrate.”
Anthony did as he was told. His eyes squeezed shut and memories of his wife flashed through his mind. He could not hold onto just one thought, and like a magic lantern, her image was projected at different points of her life. One portrait after another visualized until he heard a baby crying again. His eyes popped open, and he and the man were standing downstairs in his living room. “Did you hear a baby cry? That is my baby!” Anthony was sure of it.
“I heard the baby cry, but please listen. That baby is the key. She has not been born yet. But she is crying from inside your wife. She is crying from the womb. She is very special, and she is the one to break this charm my mother has cast. We must be careful. Say what I say and do what I do,” the man instructed. “First, we need switches.”
Anthony looked at the man peculiarly. ”Switches? You mean from a tree?”
The man answered yes, so Anthony led him outside, where the man
gathered several switches from a birch tree. The two men returned to the house, and the cries of a baby were heard again. Anthony felt desperate but followed the man’s lead. “We are going upstairs because your wife will be in the bedroom, and my mother will be watching her. Your unborn daughter is strong,” said the man. When the two of them arrived at the top of the stairs, the man handed Anthony a heavy switch. “Do what I do and say what I say,” he instructed.
The man began to shout with a commanding voice “take yours, give mine back, take yours, give mine back.” Anthony twinned what the man was saying as they proceeded toward the bedroom.
“Just remember, I am the man from long ago,” he said as they advanced.
Their approach was less than stealthy. There was no need for a surprise because the changeling already knew they were there, her own child and Anthony, coming to drive her away.
What had not been revealed to Anthony was that the man had pursued his own mother for ages. He had always been successful in saving the unborn, but she had always managed to return. This time was different. He could hear the cries of the unborn child. The cries of the unborn child emitting from the womb echoing power and resistance to the abduction. Mary was held in the house, remaining there only because of the strength and opposition of the little girl who had not yet entered the world. The unborn child had protected its mother from being snatched away.
As the two men came into the room, there lay Mary, unconscious. “She won’t have any memory of this, so you can tell her anything you want about what has happened. I have found most women do not want to know that they were almost dragged away forever. My mother would take the child if she could and replace it with something vulgar, not human. But we cannot let her have her way.”
In the corner of the room was a foggy blackness with some human form. The eyes were lifelessly black and looked as though they were melted, oblong and uneven. Her mouth was dull black and gaped open, and she squirmed in the corner like someone in agony and affliction. Anthony wanted to rush to his Mary, but the man held him back. ”We have to finish this first, or she will never go away.”
Anthony was repulsed by the sight of this man’s mother. She was the thing who feasted upon the breast milk of the captured. She was the one who lusted to steal away the innocent and change them into something as hideous as herself. She was an inhuman malignancy that had to be cut away from this world. She made no sounds. She just watched as if a frightened animal.
“She is not brave, but she is dangerous. More so cornered than at any time.” Her shape began to roll as if a storm was brewing. Anthony continued mumbling the chant with fascination. There was the sound of static over their heads. Electrical currents seemed to be jumping and leaping from corner to corner, spider-webbing a sporadic, uncontrolled pattern.
“Do not be afraid; she is using worn out magic.” The man began to shout. “Give it to me!”
Anthony joined in. The man slowly approached his mother, the grotesque changeling, who seemed not to have any recognition of her own son. He slapped the switches against the floor as he approached with Anthony at his heels, mimicking his every thrash. They moved faster, rapidly flailing the switches. When they came close enough to actually strike the changeling, the man swung the switches like a warrior in chaotic battle, beheading the enemy from right to left.
In silence, the changeling recoiled and looked pitiful, becoming smaller with every attack. The entire time the man was shouting at the top of his lungs, “Give it to me, take me!” The static lightning was spitting everywhere now. White noise ricocheted with no coherence at the madness; a perfect example of onomatopoeia: ‘crackle, click, pop, pop, pop!’
The changeling was dissolving, and the blackness of the fog and smoke rolling in the corner was turning pale and light. The face of a woman could now be seen. It was the face of a confused woman who appeared to have no idea where she was. The man drew closer, being drawn in by the face of his mother. The last words he spoke before being snatched into the smoke and disappearing along with the woman was, “Mother, take me.”
Calm engulfed the room, and in a way, the seriousness of the silence was difficult to trust. Anthony tossed the switches he was gripping in his hands to the floor and ran to his wife. Her eyes opened, and she smiled. ”Is it already morning? This was one of the best sleeps ever,” she said.
Some months later, Anthony and Mary were pushing along their baby stroller in the local park. It was a brilliant day with just enough clouds to fight off the heat of the sun and shade them from the UV rays. They loved this park. There were two wonderful rows of cherry blossom trees in full bloom. The way the light reflected off them made them glow angelically. Many people were taking pictures in front of this simultaneous flowering. It felt as though they were standing in a Christmas ornament.
A man’s voice was heard. ”Excuse me, Anthony?”
Anthony and Mary turned to see a man standing there with a smile on his face. “You might not remember me, but we met some time ago…”
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by Dale Thompson Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/A🔔 More stories from author: Dale Thompson
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Dale Thompson:
Related Stories:
You Might Also Enjoy:
Recommended Reading:
Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).