The nightmare

Susan could feel her muscles release and her bones relax. It had been yet another long hard day and she had been looking forward to collapsing on the bed. Just as she started to dose off, the door creaked open.  “Mommy? I’m scared”. Susan sighed deeply. She didn’t have the energy to argue about the existence of the boogieman with her 5 year old daughter tonight. “Come get in”.

When little Katie got in, Susan reached for her to pull her in, to keep her safe and warm. “What have you got there?” Susan couldn’t see in the dark, but could feel that Katie had some large hard object in her little arms. “It’s Tammy”. Tammy was Susan’s porcelain doll. It was her favourite thing in the whole wide world. Tammy used to sit on Katie’s nightstand for safekeeping, but after a nasty encounter with the vacuum cleaner, Tammy cracked her face and lost an eye, and now Katie wouldn’t let Tammy out of her sight. Susan had warned Katie that if she kept Tammy in the bed with her while she slept, she could roll over Tammy and crush her completely, but Katie had made up her mind.

As tired as Susan was just moments before, she suddenly couldn’t sleep. Lying awake with her eyes wide open, the room slowly started to make sense. It was as if a soft moonlight had started to settle in, wrapping every object in the room with its magic midnight cloak. Each item had a new identity, a new colour, and some even new shapes. The longer Susan stared at the furniture in the room, the more alien the items began to look. Susan turned to the other side, away from Katie, hoping that the new position would encourage sleep. Susan forced her eyes closed. Her mind was focusing awfully hard on trying not to focus on anything, when she felt movement on Katie’s side of the bed. It was a soft subtle movement. Susan stayed dead still, not wanting to wake the child if she were merely moving in her sleep.

But then Susan heard movement on the floor – the floor on Katie’s side of the bed. Reaching behind herself with her hand, she felt Katie’s warm little body behind her. Susan realised that she was focusing on every possible movement and night sound that she could; insomnia must be kicking in.

Susan had been lying dead still for quite some time. She had the sensation that her eyes were only closed because she was forcing them closed. As if, if she were to totally relax all the muscles in her face, her eyes would pop open again. As if to prove a point to herself, Susan opened her eyes.

She gasped with fright. Just inches from her face, was Tammy. Cracked faced, one eyed Tammy. The adrenaline pumped through Susan’s blood so fast that she instantly felt lame. Had she not already been in the bed she surly would have collapsed! Susan stared at the doll. She tried to rationalise how the doll could have gotten there. Looking the doll in the eye, she couldn’t help but notice how alive it looked in the moonlit room. Susan blinked, maybe she wasn’t seeing right. Maybe she was imagining that the doll was there. The room was still very dark; maybe there wasn’t anything there at all.

The doll was still there. Susan started to lift her arm out from under the covers, with the intention to reach for the doll, only, when she moved, so did the doll. Tammy started to lift her arm too. Susan froze. She wasn’t sure of what she just saw. Susan could feel her heart beating in her throat. She wasn’t sure if the darkness was playing tricks on her eyes. After a few long moments of nothing, Susan slowly started to pull her arm out from under the covers again. Tammy didn’t move. Susan slowly reached for the doll... Tammy moved so fast that Susan didn’t have time to react. Tammy grabbed Susan’s hand and bit into it. Susan let out a loud scream. Tammy vanished and Katie started to cry. 

Susan put the bedside light on. Katie was holding Tammy tightly, tears streaming from her little cheeks. “Why did you scream mommy?” Katie asked. “Mommy had a bad dream sweetie” Susan couldn’t take her eyes off Tammy, who was unexpectedly... doll like, in Katie’s arms.

“You scared me” Katie said in a sob. Susan wanted to hug her child, comfort her, but at the same time she didn’t want to get close to the doll. She found herself in a bazaar predicament. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Mommy won’t give you a fright again, okay?” Susan got up and walked around to Katie’s side of the bed. She leaned over to kiss Katie on the cheek, and then removed Tammy from her clutches. She ignored Katie’s protests and left the room with the doll. Down the hallway, Susan placed Tammy back on Katie’s nightstand. Susan started to wonder if she was going mad. Tammy was clearly nothing more than a doll. Maybe she had had a dream after all? One thing was for sure though; she wouldn’t be getting any sleep if with Tammy in her bed tonight. 

Susan put the light out in Katie’s room and started to close the door, when she noticed the blood on her hand. Just then Susan’s body went ice cold. She was standing in the doorway, the door half closed. She looked up and straight into the darkness and there in the middle of the room, Tammy stood, staring straight back at her.

Tammy spoke in a deep growling voice; “What’s wrong mommy?”

“Shut the fuck up!” When the doll called her mommy, it angered her. How dare this devil call her mommy?

“Why are you shouting, mommy?” It was as if Tammy’s voice was dropping deeper in pitch.

Tammy started to walk toward the door. Her movements were boxy and unnatural looking. Susan had lost her ability to move. She knew that if she tried, she’d collapse with fear. But that didn’t stop her from shouting at the doll, the demon spawn from hell. When Tammy finally reached the door, she stuck her arms out. “Hold me mommy”. Susan was trying to fight the paralysation with all her might, when she finally launched forward at Tammy and grabbed the doll around the neck. “Please mommy, no, you’re hurting me. You’re hurting me mommy”. Every time the doll called Susan mommy, she tightened her grasp around the doll’s neck, hoping to choke the vocal chords that she knew the doll couldn’t possibly possess. 

Tammy fell silent. Susan closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she thanked God that it was over. She started to regain the feeling in her legs. Warmth returned to her body. She was still holding Tammy. Her eyes closed and senses regained, she started to realise how soft Tammy felt in her hands – so opposite from the icy cold, hard porcelain form that she fought so hard to silence just moments before. Tammy, now fearing the worst, tried to find the strength, the courage, to open her eyes.

She looked down at the soft lifeless form in her lap, her hands still wrapped around her neck... It wasn’t Tammy. It was Katie. Susan wasn’t in Katie’s room down the hall. She was in her own bed. Susan started to scream hysterically. It had been nothing more than a night terror... A night terror that now became the worst waking nightmare any mother could ever imagine. 

Mine's better than yours :-P

Firstly, I'd like to apologise for absconding - after returning from holiday, I found that SA had gone back to the dark ages, literally. Simply having electricity at an hour that I'd normally write, has been the challenge. 

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The 2014 Nissan GT R – the Black edition. Quite possibly the sexiest thing alive. Yes, alive – the way that it moves, the way that it roars, the way that it purrs – yes, this car is very much alive.

It’s sexy. It’s alive. And it’s not Peter’s. How absolutely and utterly depressing. Sitting dead still in traffic, in his Hyundai i10, Peter didn’t even have room to hide. Nothing made his car look more like a matchbox than having it sit right next to this beast.

The driver of the beast was an old man with a comb-over and a chunky gold chain around his neck. He looked Peter straight in the eye before revving the machine up like it was ready for takeoff. Just then Peter realised that he had been staring at the vehicle. Turning a lovely shade of red, almost like a tomato just before it reaches the perfect ripened state (you know, that plush red with a tinge of green along the edge) Peter wiped the drool from his chin and shifted into gear. He stalled the car. As if his existence couldn’t be more embarrassing.  The GT R vanished as traffic opened up, releasing Peter from his hypnotic state.

At 35 years of age, Peter felt like he had done well for himself in life, but it wasn’t good enough. He had a good job as an accountant at a large firm, owned a small townhouse, a car, some nice clothes and shoes, a few expensive watches and he enjoyed fine dining. But he wanted an expensive car, a large house and a Rolex. Peter was practically working his fingers to the bone, but these goals always managed to be just out of reach.

He looked around as the agitated motorists passed his stalled vehicle on the main road. Everybody seemed to have a nicer car. Peter just sat for a moment and looked at each driver as they overtook his car. They all looked so proud in their nice cars, noses in the air, disgusted with his cheap little matchbox that couldn’t start. Peter felt ashamed. The shame turned into anger. Soon he’d managed to start his car, but his mind was still stuck on the same destructive path. 

He looked down at himself. He liked the suit he was wearing. He was willing to bet that it was a nicer suit than that of most the motorists with nicer cars. Not because it cost more, but because he had better taste.

Peter started looking at the drivers again, this time focusing on what they were dressed like; their hands on the steering wheel – did they have nice jewellery or watches? Soon Peter’s focus was shifted to the people on the side of the road, marching to their destinations. Everyone appeared to be so well put together. That man had a stylish blazer that he managed to pair well with jeans – Peter bet that he owned a nice car to go with it. That woman had a perfect figure that was complemented by a tailored dress – there was no doubt in Peter’s mind that she was married to a man that provided a large home for her and their kids.

Just then Peter spotted a man that seemed to be rather out of place. Peter’s first instinct was to snicker; the guy clearly didn’t have any fashion sense what-so-ever. His pants were clearly too small; they fit him around the waist, but were too short; his shins were totally exposed. Almost as if this grown man were wearing pants made for a 10 year old. His trainers didn’t match the odd, but formal trousers that he was wearing and even though it was blistering hot outside, they guy was wearing a thick furry jacket.  

Like a brick, it hit Peter – this man didn’t suffer from poor taste in clothing, he was simply poor. The guy was probably wearing whatever he managed to get his hands on. The fact that he had that jacket on in the heat meant that he probably didn’t have a place to keep it. So he was more than likely homeless. The poorly dressed guy most likely didn’t have a job and if he found one, it wouldn’t be one of the highest paying jobs either. He looked awfully skinny too. Peter hit his hazards and called the guy over.

Sipho practically attacked the McDonalds BigMac. Immediately after Peter had invited Sipho into his car, he regretted it; every horror story of every person that was ever robbed and murdered crossed his mind. But once they were in the public take-out place and Sipho started to chat, Peter felt absolutely at ease. Sipho was an intelligent sounding guy, a nice guy. He kept saying “God bless you” and “Thank you” to Peter, ever so grateful for his kindness.

After a good hour or so, and about 5 more burgers, Peter started to feel really guilty. He couldn’t help but wonder what the difference between him and Sipho was. Why did he deserve to have a job, a nice house, his own car and many more luxuries, whereas this man had none? To make matters worse, just a few hours earlier, Peter’s greed had had him fuming with jealousy, and here a man with nothing appeared to be ever so grateful for that which he had received in life, even if it was a hand-me-down that was 3 sizes too small. The fact that someone offered it seemed to be the single act that brought sunshine to this man’s life.

By the end of the day, Peter had welcomed the man into his home, allowed him to clean up in the bathroom and gave him a new set of clothes (and a stylish set at that). Peter made sure that he popped a few notes in the shirt pocket so that Sipho would be able to feed himself till the next nice guy offered a hand out.

Lying in his bed, reflecting on the day, Peter put himself in Sipho’s shoes. Peter was a determined man. He worked very hard to earn a good living, but had he been dealt a different hand, would he still be as successful? Peter was one of 3 kids. Once he got his matric, his dad got him a job in sales. He hated it, but used the money to pay for further studies, which is how he became an accountant. He worked his way into finance, and once confident enough, moved over to a bigger company for a better salary.

Sipho doesn’t know how many siblings he has. He grew up in a shelter. He was abused there, but too young to leave and fend for himself. When he was 11 he ran away. He never received an education. He would get an odd labour job here and there, but nothing that ever lasted long enough to earn a living from. Sipho once asked one of his employers to help him with schooling, but was scolded; “I have my own damn kids to feed. Why in the hell did your mother have you if she couldn’t even afford to look after you?” was the response Sipho got.

Two different men, both hard working, looking to make an honest living for themselves so that they may have better lives – two different hands dealt – two vastly different lives – two different men, yet still, very much the same.