Nightmares
I woke sitting straight up in my bed in cold sweats and tears once more, with the image on repeat in my mind.  I turned to look at the clock on my nightstand and the bright blue numbers shone back at me reading three thirty a.m.,
Well at least it’s later than the other mornings, I thought.
Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I slowly stood up to start getting ready for school, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to sleep any longer.  I walked to my closet door only half awake; the adrenaline from the nightmare doesn’t last long once I’ve woken up.  I flicked on the light and stared at the clothes within the closet in hatred. Why it had to be against dress code to wear pajamas to school?  Shuffling through the clothes I pulled out my favorite sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. I put both on then slipped into a pair of sneakers. I combed my hair back into a high ponytail that ended up looking quite messy, grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs to get something to eat. 
I’ve done this enough times that I know how to get downstairs, make breakfast, and let the dogs out, all without waking anyone up. So following my usual routine I slowly creep down the stairs taking them one at a time and only stepping on the more sturdy edges where they’re stronger and won’t creek. When I descended from the steps I quickly opened the back door before my dogs could start to whine to be let out.  I turned on the kitchen light and went to the pantry to grab some cereal and a package of hot chocolate. 
When the dreams first started I used to wake everyone else up too with my screams. At first my parents thought it was just a normal bad dream, the kind that everyone gets, the kind that comes and goes, but as time wore on we found that this, was no normal nightmare.  It started out slow. I’d only have it once a week, but gradually it became more consistent. I started to get it twice a week, then every other night, and soon I was having it every night. Some people think that if you see something scary enough times it doesn’t scare you anymore; but that was not the case here. No matter how many times I see the images or hear the voices they still chill to the bone, and strike fear into the depths of my soul.  My parents became worried and suggested that I start seeing a counselor. So every morning for about two months now I’ve been getting to school a half hour early to see my counselor. 
I sat and ate my breakfast as slow as I pleased, since it was only four o’clock. I thought that at least there’s one upside to this, I no longer have to rush to get ready in the mornings.  When I was finished eating I pulled my homework out of my bag and started to finish what I couldn’t last night.  My mom came downstairs at five-thirty, as usual, and as soon as she saw me sitting up to the counter she knew why I was there and made both her and I a cup of coffee.
“How bad was it this time?” she asked with a curious and concerned look on her face.
“Three-thirty” I replied nonchalantly. I’ve found as this progresses, that if I stay as calm as possible, my mom tends to not freak out as much. 
“Honey, your father and I have been talking and we don’t think it’s fair for you to go on this way.  So we would like to take you to a dream interpreter.  What do you think?”
“I don’t know Mom. If this dream had a meaning I think I would have figured it out by now.”
“Well sometimes we don’t know how to look at our own dreams because we are afraid of what they could mean, so we just thou-“
“Mom”, I said, cutting her off. “I don’t want you guys to do that, I’m sure it’ll go away soon enough.  I mean, it is Halloween, right? Maybe this is some practical joke that the demons like to play.”
I smiled at her, wanting her to laugh at my joke, but she just kept looking at me the way she used to when I was a little girl, and I’d come to her crying about bullies or the monster in my closet. The look only a mother can give, the one of genuine concern that says, I just want you to be happy. I want to keep you safe.
“Alright honey,” She said finally, standing up and grabbing her purse from the table by the front door, “come on, let’s go.”
We drove most of the way in silence. My mom staying focused on the dark, slick road, being careful to avoid any ice that she could see as I stared out my window, trying to remember the last time I had a good nights sleep.  She pulled up to the school building fifteen minutes later and reminded me to go see the counselor, and to be sure to tell her everything. I promised her that I would, shut the car door behind me, and began to ascend the steps that lead to the front door. 
As soon as I stepped into the counseling office my counselor, Mrs. Waters, greeted me with a hug and a big, warm, blueberry muffin. 
“How are you doing this morning sweetie?” she asked, with a caring smile on her face.
“It was a little later this morning.” I replied trying to force a positive tone into my voice, and a smile in return.
“Well that’s good!” she said excitedly.
I used to think that it was annoying how cheerful counselors were when someone told them about their problems, but now I see why they do it. It’s helpful to be able to come in here and speak openly, and have Mrs. Waters smile at me and remind me that it could always be worse, and all I need to do is hold my head high.  Everyday when I come in she has a new treat for me, but always the same advice, to pinch my arm, blink really fast, or close my eyes and tell myself it wasn’t real.  I’ve done all of these methods, and they have all worked, but none of them prevent the dream, they only help me to wake up once it’s started. But I try to stay positive, I tell her I’d try them again, and walk out of the office.  My watch reads six forty-five, fifteen minutes until class starts. I’m too tired to try to hold a conversation with my friends so instead I head straight to my first period and get a head start on my work knowing that it was going to be a long day.
By the time lunch came around I had fallen asleep in two of the three classes I have prior to the break. I walked slowly to Mrs. Waters’, office thanking her over and over when I arrived for this arrangement.   I stepped into the back room in the counselors’ office, breathing a grateful sigh, when I saw the cot set up in its usual place.  For about two weeks now I’ve been coming to this back room, courtesy of Mrs. Waters, and taking a nap during my lunch break, and since the nightmare doesn’t seem to rear its ugly head during daylight hours, it’s the only time I get any real sleep.  I laid down on the cot, stretched out my legs, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, that Mrs. Waters so kindly donated, I fell asleep. 
“Anny! Anny!” I woke startled to Mrs. Waters kneeling beside me shaking my shoulders.
“Anny you were screaming, was it the same dream?” she asked concerned
Breathless, and at a loss for words I nodded absently in response.
“This is the first time you’ve had it during the day isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Anny,” Mrs. Waters started, looking at the floor “I’m afraid that this isn’t going to go away, I think it will just continue to get worse.”
I looked up at her then, the same realization coming to my mind, and I felt more terrified than I ever had before.
I sat in silence in the front seat as my mom drove home; Mrs. Waters thought it best I leave early. 
“I called your father,” my mom said breaking the silence “and he’s scheduling an appointment with a dream interpreter.”
I nodded in response, I was done arguing, I was done trying to wait this out, I didn’t have the energy for it.
Upon returning home my mom fixed some homemade chicken noodle soup and we sat on the couch and watched a movie as we ate, neither of us wanted to discuss the topic any further. 
That night, I tried to stay awake as I always do, too terrified to close my eyes, knowing the nightmare would come again; but as always fatigue got the better of me, and the dream came.  But this time was different.  This time no matter how hard I pinched, no matter how fast I blinked, or how many times I closed my eyes and told myself it wasn’t real, it never went away. I realized, all of a sudden, that this wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t get away from it. I heard the whirling winds, the deep evil chuckle of a man, and the high pitched cackle of an old witch.    Every time I opened my eyes I saw the sickening sight of floating, swirling flames like a fiery tornado, and the message that makes every inch of my body become instantly covered in goose bumps sprouting from the center of the blaze…
I’m coming for you…