Scott woke with a start. Dark figures pervaded his vision and he felt the heat of open flames. One of the things was coming from his left and he thrashed about, grasping at anything he could reach, pushing himself away from the shadow. He found that he was on his back and he had to fight to move away from the shapeless figures. His hand struck some cold, hard object. With rising panic, he pushed it away from him.
As he did so, he heard a loud crash off to his left. Startled, he clawed his way into a sitting position and leapt forward. He fell a short distance before hitting solid ground. He was unhurt and stood, in a low crouch, surveying his location. It was dark and he couldn't make out much. He saw a dim light coming from his left. It appeared to be a doorway.
A shadow appeared to his right, closing in. He made a break for the passage, but something heavy blocked his path. As he ran headlong into it, it made an unholy high-pitched squeal. He couldn't make out what it was. It was only a shadow amongst shadows. So, he did the only thing he could do: he took a couple of steps backwards, ran forward and dove over it, headfirst.
His shoulder caught something solid and he cried out in pain. He saw stars as he fell, his hand sliding down the hard wall, trying to grasp at anything to stop his decent. As he landed with a heavy thud, the room was cast in a brilliant, white light. He curled up in an effort to protect himself from the coming abominations.
But nothing happened. He waited a bit longer, but nothing continued to happen. He decided that he would risk opening his eyes. The bright light hurt his eyes and he closed them tightly again. In the back of his mind, something was nagging him. Something wasn't quite right. No, no. That wasn't it. Everything was absolutely right and that was what was wrong. Slowly, carefully, he opened one eye.
He found himself lying face down on a hardwood floor, his very own hallway stretching out before him. A dust bunny flitted back and forth across the wood floor in time with his breaths, until in disgust he swept it away with his hand. He winced in pain as his right shoulder complained, white hot pain shooting through his neck. Slowly he turned himself over and righted himself, cradling his aching shoulder as he did so. He propped himself up into a sitting position in the doorway.
From this new position, he saw the hulking shape of his easy chair. Its fraying green mass was lying on it's side. Scott sighed. It was obviously what he'd dived over before striking the doorframe squarely with his shoulder. He looked up and saw that the white, painted wood was now dented in one spot, presumably the impact location. He absent-mindedly rubbed his shoulder in awe that he wasn't more hurt.
Next to the door, he saw that his bedroom light switch had been flicked. He'd probably hit it on his way to the floor. It was the one switch, in the entire house, that had been wired upside down. It had driven him crazy for months when he'd first moved in, but now he was grateful for the amateur handyman that had done so or else he might have run, screaming, all the way to the kitchen.
He pushed himself up with his legs until he was in a standing position. He stood there for a moment, looking as if he might fall over at the slightest provocation. Instead, he took a few steps forward and righted the chair, his shoulder screaming as he did so. Rubbing it with his left hand, he leaned heavily against the wall.
After a moment, the pain subsided and he continued his perilous trek across his bedroom floor. He rounded the corner, heading toward the bed. The covers were in such a disarray that he'd have to tear it all down to put them back on properly. A crunch underfoot, followed swiftly by a sharp stab of pain from his foot caused him to leap away from the spot and onto the bed.
Cradling his foot he collapsed onto the bed, rolling around on his back. He pulled his foot as close to his face as possible so that he could examine the damage. There, lodged in the sole of his foot, was a shard of aqua colored ceramics. He quickly brushed it away and it went flying from the bed onto the floor, where it bounced with a tick-tack sort of sound. He could see a small drop of blood where it had been lodged. It had barely pierced the skin, but it hurt just the same.
He wanted to get a better look at it, though, and he leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp. He waved his hand around for a moment, feeling for the lamp. It took a few seconds to register the fact that he was, indeed, not actually having much success in finding it. Frowning, he turned to look at the small table, but there was nothing there except for an alarm clock reading 8:46 AM.
A moment of swift logic brought him to an inevitable conclusion. His frown deepening, he leaned over the edge of the bed and examined the floor. There, he found that he had shattered his bedside lamp. Bits of aqua colored ceramics covered the floor. His mother had given him the lamp and she was not going to be happy. Then again, he'd hated it, so things being equal, it was okay.
He looked back at the clock, which now proudly displayed 8:47 AM in large, red LED numbers. Another look at the floor simply brought forth a sigh. He'd clean up the mess later. For now he needed a shower, badly.
He slowly crawled from the bed, carefully minding the shards of ceramic as he stepped onto the floor. Weaving his way across the room, he made his way over to an antique chest of drawers. It was probably the nicest piece of furniture he owned, also given to him be his mother. However, he didn't seem to mind this piece quite so much.
He opened the top drawer and retrieved a fresh pair of boxers. Boxers in hand, he turned to head toward the bathroom. Glimpsing the state of his bedroom elicited another sigh. It looked like a bomb had gone off. A strong urge to straighten the room passed through him, but he didn't give in. He explained to himself that he'd square this all away after he'd had a shower. With that, he trudged off down the hall.
Entering the bathroom, he tossed his boxers onto the vanity. They immediately fell into the sink. He flicked on the light and closed the door behind him. The bright light hurt his eyes for a moment and he winced. A large mirror hung above the vanity, but he didn't even want to look at himself. He felt like shit and he probably looked like shit. Ignoring the mirror for the moment, he pushed the curtain aside, reached in and turned on the hot water. He straightened and shrugged out of his boxers, allowing them to fall to the floor a crumpled heap.
He stepped into the tub and turned the center knob. After a moment, hot steaming water gushed from the overhead nozzle, deluging him with relaxing warmth. Scott felt instantly better as the water poured over the nape of his neck. The water was a little warmer than he usually preferred it, but given the morning he'd had, it was refreshing all the same. He made a small circle with his injured shoulder. It was loosening his aching shoulder. With growing enthusiasm he realized his foot had already stopped throbbing. Progress.
As he stood there, he thought back to the nightmare he'd had. It had definitely been a nightmare as there was no other way to describe it. As it started, he was standing in a small chamber. It was hexagonal shaped. Around the perimeter of the room, probably three feet high, was a wall that appeared to be a cross between chiseled stone and molten rock. Large, rib-like structures jutted from the top of this wall at each of the six vertices. They were at least two feet thick near the bottom, tapering to a point of only an inch or so as they curved in, forming a domed ceiling.
Large, slap-like doors barred the exits, set into two of the flat surfaces. They ran parallel of each other and seemed quite solid. He tried opening one and then the other, but had found no way to do so. He called out, but there was no answer.
A round bed was the only object in the room, other than himself, so he naturally gravitated toward it. Suddenly, the dream shifted and he was tied to the bed, thrashing wildly. Strange beings of sinister design were entering through one of the, now open, doors. They would move to the side of the bed, examine him, and then move on, exiting through the other door. Through the open door, he could see flames and...
Suddenly, he was jarred from his flashback. Apparently, he had dropped the bottle of shampoo he'd retrieved and it was rattling around in the tub. With a look of embarrassment he reached down and picked it up. Shaking his head, he laughed. It had been a bad dream, that's all. But it was the third night in a row and, if the current events were any indication, they were getting worse.
He poured a small amount of shampoo into his cupped hand and lathered up his hair. He then, fumbling, picked up a bar of soap from the shelf and moistened it under the stream of water. He then began to wash, building the soapsuds up into a heavy spume. He then rinsed both his hair and body, enjoying the steaming water.
When he was finished, he reached down and twisted the center knob. He then reached over and turned off the hot water and then the cold. He frowned. As his hand attempted to turn the cold tap, he realized that he'd never actually turned it on. Usually the water would have been so hot that he'd been scalded. He frowned again. He'd have to check the water heater this afternoon.
Stepping from the tub, onto the bath mat, he retrieved his towel from the hook set into the wall opposite the vanity. It was large and it was soft and it was exactly what he needed. He slowly toweled himself off, running the towel over his hair first. He winced as he got to his shoulder, but it was only a mild irritation now, only sensitive to the touch. He smiled, glad that his shoulder wasn't as bad off as he'd thought.
He leaned over the vanity and, with the towel, wiped away the vapor from the mirror. It didn't clear all of it away and through the remaining moisture he could see a hazy reflection of himself. He turned and examined his shoulder, but he couldn't make out much of anything. He tried drying the mirror once more, but the moist air simply fogged it again. Wrapping the towel around him, he opened the door and strode out of the bathroom, flicking the light off as he exited.
Returning to the bedroom, he tossed the damp towel onto the back of the ratty recliner, which complained noisily as it rocked. He smiled as he realized that that had been the sound he heard when he was scrambling about, trying to leave the room. Then, realizing he'd left his boxers in the bathroom, he stepped over to the chest of drawers and opened the drawer once more. He sighed as he saw that the drawer was empty. He'd forgotten that he had needed to take care of the laundry.
