It was a hot summer night. I was trying to sleep, I really was. After all, I had an appointment with my plastic surgeon in a few hours, but the old, near-broken couch I was lying on and the hot air bursting in didn't really do their part.
I had argued with my wife about the A/C needing to be repaired before, but that night was a whole different story. It went from arguing, to yelling, and then to sheer chaos. I didn't want to bring the fight into the bedroom, where we had our son's crib as well, so I decided to sleep on the old couch in the living room instead. I knew that this would also give the chance to my wife to have our bed to her own for once. It was quite small, barely had enough room for two people. I would make her some breakfast before I left the morning after, French toast and fresh orange juice, her favorites. It would be like nothing ever happened.
It was past 3 in the morning. After several failed attempts, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I got up and walked to the kitchen to get some cold water in order to cool myself down a bit. That was when I saw him.
It was an old man, clearly staring at me through the kitchen window. I instantly froze. Was this the heat that had got to me, or was this actually happening? He had wrinkled skin and white matted hair, several scars in his face, and wore a black patch above his left eye. However, the most disturbing thing about him was his smile. That sly smile exposing his almost-golden teeth petrified me.
I immediately grabbed my cellphone, which was on the counter next to me, and started to dial 911. He kept on watching. That same ugly, schizophrenic smile never left his face. I still find it particularly weird that I couldn't connect to my network. I mean, I was dialing 911. This is the only number that is always supposed to work.
After I was done trying to get through, I looked up to the window, in high hopes that I had at least managed to scare him off.
He was still there. His smile getting wider and wider as he pulled a shiny knife out of his filthy, muddy, army jacket.
I woke up in the living room, on the old couch, covered in my own sweat. Everything felt and seemed just as normal as the day before. I was late for my appointment, but I didn't care. This was real, it felt too real to be just a dream.
I immediately ran outside, to where that old man would have to have stood last night. There were no bootprints on the ground or any other sign of anyone having been there.
I assumed that the vivid and lucid dreams and visions I had as a child, had just marked their wild return to my life.
I laughed as I walked inside. I laughed as I checked my cellphone for reception, which showed five bars. I could barely hold my laughs while I was on the phone with my boss, calling in sick. I was even laughing as I was preparing breakfast for wife and son. I had the laugh of my life as I walked into the bedroom, now covered in blood, entrails and fecal matter.
I woke up in the living room, on the old couch, still furious at that bitch, for forcing me to sleep on it. It was her fault we argued, her fault I went to war, her fault I got FUCKING MUTILATED! The clock on the wall to my right showed 3:15 AM. I let out a smile and got up. After I got dressed and had finally found my old combat knife, I walked to the kitchen to get some water. It was time.