Emily's legs trembled as she sat in the sterile, too-bright waiting room. She tugged at the loose threads on her sleeve, fidgeting as she stared blankly at the wall. Just two days ago, life had felt like a series of ordinary routines, nothing more. But now, everything felt strange, as though the world had shifted in some incomprehensible way.
"Emily?" A young receptionist called her name, snapping her back to the moment.
Emily stood, her legs feeling unsteady, and followed the receptionist down the hall. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, a smell she usually found comforting but today filled her with a sense of unease. She took a deep breath as she stepped into Dr. Simmons' office, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could help her make sense of what had happened.
Dr. Simmons sat behind his desk, a reassuring presence with his salt-and-pepper hair and warm but clinical gaze. He gestured to the chair across from him, and she settled into it, her hands still trembling slightly.
"So, Emily," he began, his voice calm and professional. "What brings you in today?"
Emily swallowed, struggling to find the words. How could she explain it? Her heart hammered in her chest as she took a shaky breath. "I… I've been having these dreams," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "But they're not like normal dreams. They feel… real."
Dr. Simmons leaned forward slightly, nodding as he listened. "When did they start?"
"Just two nights ago," she replied, her fingers twisting together nervously in her lap. "But they've been so intense… I wake up feeling like I've lived through them."
He scribbled a note, nodding as he processed her words. "Can you describe one of these dreams for me?"
Emily hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. She could still feel the phantom pain from the shards of glass slicing her skin, the grip of the woman's cold hands on her face. "In one of them… I was in my bathroom, and there was this woman. She was covered in blood, just… standing there, staring at me." Her voice quivered as she spoke. "I tried to run, but she—she was right behind me. And she… she grabbed me, smashed my face into the mirror."
A chill ran down her spine as she recalled the memory. Even here, in the safety of Dr. Simmons' office, the terror of that experience clung to her, as vivid as the moment it happened. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the images.
Dr Simmons jotted down more notes, his brow furrowed with concentration. "You said it felt real. In what way?"
Emily bit her lip, struggling to articulate the intensity of what she'd felt. "It was more than just a feeling. It was… everything. The smell, the sound of the glass breaking, the pain when she…" She stopped, her breath hitching as the memory threatened to overwhelm her. "When she dragged my face across the mirror."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Dr Simmons tapped his pen thoughtfully, his gaze steady but clinical. "Emily, dreams can sometimes be incredibly vivid, especially when they're fueled by anxiety or trauma. But they are, at their core, just dreams. Our minds are capable of creating incredibly lifelike experiences while we're asleep."
She shook her head, frustration gnawing at her insides. "I know what dreams feel like, Dr. Simmons. This was… different. It felt like I was there like I could've died in that bathroom." Her voice grew louder, desperation seeping into every word. "When I woke up, my face felt sore, as if—" She stopped, realizing how irrational she sounded.
Dr. Simmons watched her with a hint of scepticism, his pen poised above his notebook. "Nightmares can leave a powerful impression, especially if you wake up suddenly. It's not uncommon to experience residual sensations, like soreness or even fatigue, after a particularly intense dream."
Emily clenched her fists, frustration building. He wasn't listening—he wasn't understanding. "I didn't just feel sore, Dr. Simmons. I felt… changed. I feel like something is different now like a part of me is still trapped in that nightmare."
Dr. Simmons sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Emily, I understand that this experience has been distressing for you. But the mind is a complex thing. Anxiety can do strange things to our perception, especially if there's something deeper causing it. Have you experienced any significant stress or trauma recently?"
Emily felt her cheeks flush with irritation. "No! This isn't about anxiety or stress." Her voice was louder now, tinged with a hint of anger. "This is… something else. I don't know how to explain it, but I know it's not just my imagination."
Dr Simmons' expression softened, but there was a hint of impatience in his eyes. "Sometimes, the mind can blur the line between reality and dreams, especially when we're under strain. I'd recommend some relaxation exercises, maybe meditation before bed. And if this continues, we could explore some therapeutic techniques to address any underlying anxiety."
A wave of despair washed over her. He didn't believe her—he thought she was just another anxious patient, her fears dismissed as the workings of a troubled mind. She felt a sense of helplessness settle over her, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest.
"I appreciate your advice, Dr. Simmons," she said quietly, her voice barely audible. "But I don't think you understand."
Dr. Simmons smiled gently, a polite but distant expression. "I'm here to help, Emily. If you need to talk more about these dreams, or if they start affecting your daily life, please don't hesitate to reach out."
Emily nodded, feeling a pang of bitterness. She'd hoped for answers, or at least some semblance of understanding. But instead, she'd been met with indifference—a professional dismissal of her fear as nothing more than a trick of the mind.
As she left his office, her steps felt heavy, as though she were walking through molasses. The world outside seemed colder, more distant. She made her way down the sidewalk, the sounds of traffic and city life muffled as if she were watching it all through a thick pane of glass.
When she finally arrived home, her small apartment felt like a refuge, though the sense of safety she once felt here was tinged with an unshakable tension. She sat on her couch, staring at the coffee table where her journal lay, its pages blank, waiting to be filled.
Slowly, she picked it up, her pen hovering over the page as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. Finally, she began to write, her hand moving almost of its own accord.
*November 4, 2024*
*Dr. Simmons doesn't believe me. He thinks it's all in my head, that these nightmares are just a product of anxiety. But I know they're more than that. I can still feel the woman's hands on me, the shards of glass cutting into my skin. It wasn't just a dream—it was real, in a way that I can't explain. I feel like I'm slipping like I'm losing my grip on what's real and what's not. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.*
As she wrote, a chill ran down her spine, the words blurring on the page as her vision grew hazy. She closed her eyes, trying to shake off the sense of dread that had settled over her like a shroud. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape the feeling that something was watching her, lurking just beyond the edges of her perception.
She spent the rest of the evening in a state of restless unease, jumping at every creak and shadow, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't silence. She tried to distract herself, flipping through the channels on her TV, but nothing held her attention. Her gaze kept drifting back to the hallway, half-expecting to see that woman standing there, waiting.
By the time she finally crawled into bed, exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but sleep eluded her. She lay awake, her mind racing, haunted by images of blood and broken glass. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to relax, to let go of the fear that gnawed at her insides.
But even in the darkness, the memories of her nightmare lingered, vivid and unrelenting, as if they were etched into her very soul.