I was afraid to go outside today. Afraid that I’d see him. Afraid that he’d talk to me and tell me I was going to die (as if avoiding him could stop him).
Ever since I was a kid I’ve called him “The Man with the Shadow Voice.” He never told me his name. He still hasn’t.
He is the only nightmare I remember.
The man has mirror eyes and a jagged smile that is always grinning. He is thin and colorless and tall. Very tall. In my dreams he always had to bend way down to look at me. He liked to lean in close.
What I really hate is his voice. His shadow voice. The sound of it takes the light away like a blanket pulled over my head.
When I was little he sang me lullabies. Grotesque songs in which children sleep forever. He whispered poems about death. He told me I reminded him of my brother. He said he could take me to meet my brother. My dead brother. I’d wake up shaking, scared, and cold.
Most nightmares end when you wake up. You never expect to see a nightmare in real life, but I know that can happen. I know it is worse than any bad dream.
What happens next? Read the next part of the story here.
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