Interesting

Last night I had this dream.

It started out like... I don't know how to explain it. It was like I was remembering something in my past. Something that I clearly remembered. It started out with myself and my brother Charles, who was seven years my elder, sitting in our room at my grandparent's house in Germany. His house was right beside a heavily wooded area which stretched for a few miles in all directions. I never knew the exact measurements. But myself and Charles were curled up in the quilts on my bed, hiding within the sheets in our own personal cave, complete with a flashlight and a few sticks to ward off the monsters.

Charles was telling me the story of "Das Großmann", a tall man with long, multiple arms, who would hunt down bad children who would run away from home or disobey their parents. Das Großmann, known also as "The Tall Man", was a big, urban legend in Germany to keep the children from misbehaving. It worked pretty well. It scared the shit out of me when I was that young.

Anyways, after Charles told me the story, I refused to come out from under the covers, no matter how much he told me it was only a story, and nothing more. Not real. Fake. But I stayed under that blanket. So Charles thew the blankets off of us and shouted, "There is no such thing as Das Großmann! And I am going to prove it!" With that statement, Charles opened the window, climbed out (the house was one floor with a furnished basement), and ran in to the woods, deep in to the darkness. I jumped up, went to the window, and screamed after him to come back.

The whole time, I stood there and screamed and screamed and cried. My parents didn't hear me. They were sleeping. My grandmother, who was still awake at the time, rushed to my side, whispering something like, "William, was ist unrecht?" ("William, what is wrong?") I choked out, "Das Großmann," a few times and pointing at the window. Her face warped from concern to fear. She muttered something about him being a myth, that there was nothing to worry about, that Charles would be back soon, and that he was just going for some air. She muttered it so fast, like she was really afraid. She quickly left me alone.

He didn't come back for two hours. When he stumbled in the window, his clothes were bloody, his face was scratched, he was panting and he looked very distant. I hung on to him, refusing to let him go due to the fear of losing him for another two hours. He tried to pry me off a few times, but when he did, he avoided my eyes and undressed down to his underwear before climbing into his own bed, wrapping up in his sheets, and shuddering. I watched him for a while before he told me to close the window and go to sleep.

I was six; Charles was thirteen. He was never the same again.

That was the dream. Like... a flashback. I woke up with tears streaming down my face, my hands cold, clammy, shaking, my shoulders quivering, and a blistering headache with a sharp pain in the middle of my spine. I haven't cried in years. It was awful.

Again, I seemed to have moved again. I fell asleep in my bed and woke up on the couch. Either I've developed some form of sleep walking, without my plastic leg, or something strange is going on.

I'm going to do a little research.


Adieu,
William A. Gordon