Wake up!

WAKE UP!

It was just a dream.

That's what I keep reminding myself. It never happened, like the twists in the movies. It was all a dream. It never happened.

The bruises on my body say otherwise, though. Perhaps they were also part of my vivid imagination. Dad was right. Sometimes, well, most times, I imagine things. These are things no normal 12-year-old should think about.

I got out of my room, my cozy pajamas still hugging my body. An eerie silence filled the room. It was just a dream and thus it never happened.

Dawn had arrived, and I had to get ready for school. How was I going to cover all these bruises? Makeup was not enough, not anymore. I entered the tiny bathroom and glimpsed at the mirror. Shivers rushed through my body. This time, things had gotten off the rail. My face was not mine anymore. It belonged to someone else, just like my soul. I grabbed the makeup brush and-

I don't need to cover the bruises. Remember? It never happened.

I smiled.

Then, I got ready for school; uniform on, bag packed with books and notebooks while I tried to emit positive energy. But, I had to reach the door. The one that led to the exit. The Monster guarded that door. This insidious entity possessed my father from time to time and transformed him into a maleficent beast. But Papa was never evil. He just wasn't.

The door was unguarded for some strange reason. Of course, nothing bad ever happened in this house. It was all a dream, remember?

The school was mean, though. Everybody pointed at me, laughed at me, and glared at me. The school was evil, unlike Papa. Vultures haunted this place. They tried to find the opportunity to strike and strip away your humanity. But I had not much left.

I entered my classroom, the familiar scent of humidity and sweat welcoming me. My classmates still acting weird and emotionless. Something had changed these past couple of days. Perhaps I was still dreaming. Perhaps not.

The teacher entered some minutes later, a seventy-year-old woman, spindly and filled with wrinkles in each part of her body. I, of course, sat on the far edge of the classroom all by myself. There, I could stare outside the window and ponder.

“Good morning class,” said Mrs. Evelyn as she threw her books with a loud thump on the desk and sat behind it.

“Good morning,” said the rest of the kids in unison.

I rolled my eyes. I just wanted to get over with this. Papa was waiting for me at home. Papa was a kind person, unlike the ones at school. He had instructed me to repeat that to myself. So, everyone at school was evil and untrustworthy, as Papa was always right.

“Helen,” a whisper said.

It called for me. I searched the classroom but did not find the origin of the voice. The rest of my classmates were paying attention to the teacher. Who said that?

“Helen!” yelled Mrs. Evelyn.

My eyes moved, instinctively, and looked at Evelyn's wrinkled face, started. “I am sorry for stalling. I did my homework and I–”

“Everything is all right,” said Evelyn in a comforting tone and smile. “There is just one thing, though.”

My classmates still looked at her and not me. Queer. Whenever a teacher asked something of a student, the rest of them stared at that kid. I frowned and waited for the teacher to finish her request.

“You need to wake up,” she said, utterly emotionless.

My frown deepened. “Excuse me?”

“It is time,” Evelyn stated and a thin smile formed on her colorless lips. A sharp, eerie smile. “Wake up.”

My hands clasped the desk and tightened the grip. Every other student slowly turned their head towards me, the uncanny sound of bone shuttering filling the classroom. What was happening? Why were their bodies not moving? They were all smiling, with their heads slightly tilted downwards and their eyes pointing at me. I shivered. No, this was just a dream. Just another stupid dream.

Evelyn rose from her chair, the same wicked smile on her face, revealing crooked teeth. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

I stood on my feet with such unexpected force that the chair behind me fell over. “Stop, please,” I mumbled, struggling to keep tears from falling.

“Wake up,” they repeated over and over in unison.

“Stop it!”

Everyone lifted themselves from their chairs. Their smiles grew sharper and blood escaped from their mouths, flowing like running water coming from a spigot. I sprinted towards the exit, struggling to pass through the smiling bodies. The Monster must have possessed them too. I slipped through them and opened the door.

When I closed it behind me, I found myself in a long, utterly white corridor. A corridor that never existed in my school. I turned around, facing the door of my classroom again. Through the doors' window, I saw Mrs. Evelyn, still smiling at me. There was no way I go back there. Never. I had to find some other exit. And that was on the far opposite side of the corridor. The exit was the door that was so frequently guarded by the Monster. I knew it was the same from the redwood and the dozens of scratches on its surface.

I took a deep breath and approached it. It was all a dream. Just like the movies and the books. Remember?

When I reached it, I grabbed the pommel, twisted it, and entered my home.

I heard of a tune, cheerful yet eerie. A song from the 50s, maybe? Just like the house itself. Papa had built it. Papa was kind. If the Monster did not take control over him.

He did not watch over the door. Where was he? On my left hand was the hall that led to the bedroom, while on my right hand and front was the kitchen and living room. The cushions were all pockmarked, just like the tables. And the television. Why was it so old?

It was just a dream. Wake up.

I walked towards the hall. Papa's room was closed shut. I heard wailings from inside. Is he alright? I have to check if he is fine, but I am terrified of what he will do to me if I disturb him. But Papa was kind, and I had to help him. I breathed in and opened the door.

Blood. On the carpet and the bedsheets. On the curtains and the walls. A room painted in deep red. Papa lay there as well, his insides spilled out. I covered my mouth with my hands and stifled a gasp. No, it couldn't be. Papa has to be alright. He is kind.

His eyes were dead, but stared at me. Then he smiled. His blood-covered face smiled wickedly.

“Wake up, little girl,” he said. “Time to wake up.”

Then he laughed as if I was the funniest thing he ever saw. I spun and closed the door behind me. My breathing quickened. It was just a dream. I always reminded myself of that. Just like the movies, it never happened. It was just a dream.

Then, the bathroom door opened on its own as if it was inviting me in. The light inside the tiny room flickered. A surge forced me to enter and closed the door behind me when I got inside. I looked in the mirror. What I saw was not my face. Not because of the bruises, though. What I saw in the mirror was an old woman with messy white hair and a wrinkled face. That woman was not me. I am 12 years old. I had school today and Mrs. Evelyn-

It was all just a dream, though. Right?

Papa never hit me. This reflection isn't mine and my classmates never acted strange.

I shook my head and smiled, realizing I was having a nightmare. After taking a much-needed deep breath, I opened the door behind me, sprinted towards my bed, and shut my eyes. I'll wake up soon and everything will be fine. Just like every other time.

It was just a dream.

I woke up in my room. It smelled fresh and was all white. It felt right to be here, welcoming even. I stood on my feet, which I found harder than I thought. My feet ached. Why?

My room was also too bare. Was it my room? Where was Papa?

“Papa? Papa? Papa!”

The door opened, revealing a beautiful woman in her twenties with long blonde hair. She was wearing an all-white robe. Who is this woman? Why is she inside my room?

“Another bad dream, Mrs. Helen?” she asked in a comforting voice.

Yes, it was a dream; I knew that. But this has to be as well. This is a dream. But what if it isn't? “Who are you?” I asked her. “Where am I?”

Why is my voice so rough?

“I am Evelyn. I am one of the nurses, remember?” she asked while hugging me. “You are in a safe place.”

I pushed her away. “Where am I?” I insisted.

Evelyn pursed her lips. “In a psychiatric ward.”

I laughed, then glared at her. I shook my head vividly. My hair swung right in front of my eyes. They were white. “That is a poor attempt to be funny. Where is papa?”

Evelyn sighed. “Your papa is dead, Mrs. Helen, for a very long time. You... Well, you murdered him.”

I stifled a chuckle. No, I would never have done that. Papa was kind. “No, no, no.”

“I am so sorry.”

This had to be a dream. No. I did not kill him. I-

I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the doors' glass. The same woman from the mirror in the bathroom of my dream appeared wrinkled and grimy.

I looked at the nurse, my lips quivering. “Who am I?” I asked her.

She sighed and smiled at me. “You are a good person. You are in a safe place. This is just a dream. Dreams are just dreams.”

I nodded. Everything felt so real, but it had to be a dream. It has to.

People like you chose their reality,” said Evelyn. “What will you choose?”

This is just a dream.

Papa was kind.

Mom was alive.

The kids were playful and welcoming.

This is just a dream.

The next morning, I woke up, and glancing at the clock; I realized I was late for school.