Perchance to Dream

Published on: Oct 04, 2024

Reading time: 8 min

Edward Hall, pale and terrified, grips the arms of the chair in Dr. Rathmann's dimly lit office, describing the haunting dreams that threaten his very life. The tension in the room is palpable, with shadows casting an ominous air as the story begins.

Perchance to Dream is a Realistic Fiction from United States set in the 20th Century This Dramatic tale explores themes of Loss and is suitable for Adults. It offers Entertaining insights. Fear takes shape in dreams, and for Edward Hall, there's no waking up.

Edward Hall had never known a day in his life when he felt safe, never known a day when he didn’t feel hunted, as if something terrible was always lurking in the dark, waiting to devour him. It was this fear, or perhaps the nature of his mind, that brought him to Dr. Eliot Rathmann's office, not for the first time, but for what he feared might be the last. Dr. Rathmann, a calm and collected psychiatrist, had listened to Edward's fears before, though with little success in assuaging them. This time, however, Edward's story had taken on a new edge—a terrifying and inescapable reality from which Edward feared there was no waking. He was afraid to sleep, afraid that if he dreamed again, it would be the last time.

Edward sat across from the psychiatrist, his hands clenching and unclenching on the arms of the chair. His eyes darted nervously around the room, tracing the edges of the paintings on the wall, the details of the diploma that hung near the window, and finally settling on the somber figure of Dr. Rathmann.

“I’m going to die,” Edward said quietly, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, as if the reality of the statement had already set in.

Dr. Rathmann leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Edward, we’ve spoken about this before. Your heart condition is real, yes, but we’ve also discussed how your anxieties may be amplifying your fears. Tell me again—what is it that makes you so certain this time?”

Edward’s gaze was intense. “The dream. It’s the dream that’s going to kill me.”

“Another dream?” the psychiatrist asked softly, scribbling in his notebook. He had heard about the dreams before, but each time Edward returned, the nightmares seemed to intensify.

“Yes,” Edward breathed out, his voice trembling. “It’s different this time. It’s her.”

“Her?”

“She’s waiting for me. In the dream. She’s always there, but now I can feel it—this time, I won’t wake up.”

The Dream Begins

Edward had long suffered from vivid dreams. They were not dreams in the usual sense—more like vivid hallucinations that blurred the lines between the dream world and reality. Often, when Edward fell asleep, he found himself in bizarre landscapes filled with strange figures that seemed to call out to him. Yet, for all their weirdness, they always felt real, tangible.

This time, however, the dream had changed. It was no longer a surreal world of distorted buildings and shifting skies. Instead, Edward found himself on a carnival midway, brightly colored lights flickering in the night sky. The smell of popcorn and fried food hung heavily in the air, but beneath it, something darker lingered—an undercurrent of danger.

He wandered down the midway, his feet moving of their own accord, leading him toward a particular tent. It was small and unremarkable compared to the larger attractions surrounding it. The sign above it read: "The Queen of Hearts - Know Your Fate."

Edward felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to see what waited for him inside, but his feet moved inexorably forward.

Inside the tent, there was a small round table draped with a crimson cloth. A single candle flickered in the center, casting long shadows against the canvas walls. Seated at the table was a woman—her face pale and beautiful, her eyes sharp and dark like a predator’s.

“Sit,” she commanded, her voice silky but laced with danger.

Edward obeyed. He couldn’t resist her. There was something about the way she looked at him, something ancient and all-knowing that made him feel as though he were a mere child in the presence of a god.

“You’ve come to know your fate,” she said, shuffling a deck of cards expertly between her slender fingers.

“I don’t want to know,” Edward whispered, his voice barely audible.

She smiled, but it was a cold, mocking smile. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve been running from it your whole life. But here, in the dream, there’s nowhere left to run.”

With a graceful flick of her wrist, she spread the cards out on the table, face down. “Choose,” she instructed.

His hand trembled as he reached for the cards, but before he could touch them, the woman’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Her touch was ice-cold. “No,” she whispered, leaning in close to him. “The cards have already chosen.”

She flipped over a card, and Edward’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. It was the Queen of Hearts.

Descent into Madness

Edward jolted awake, his heart racing, sweat pouring down his face. He was in his bed, in his own apartment, but the fear from the dream clung to him like a shadow, wrapping its icy tendrils around his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of the Queen of Hearts, her pale face, her mocking smile. It felt as though she was still there, watching him, waiting for him to fall asleep again.

He stumbled out of bed, the room spinning as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. He couldn’t go back to sleep. He knew what waited for him there, knew that if he returned to the dream, she would be waiting for him—and this time, she would finish what she had started.

For days, Edward stayed awake, his mind unraveling with each passing hour. The line between reality and dream blurred until he could no longer tell whether he was awake or trapped in another nightmare. The city outside his window took on a nightmarish quality, the people in the streets moving like phantoms, their faces distorted and grotesque.

He saw her everywhere. In the reflection of a store window, in the flicker of a passing car’s headlights. Always the Queen of Hearts, always watching, always waiting.

Dr. Rathmann’s words echoed in his mind. “It’s only a dream. You can control it if you face it.”

But how could he face it when the very thought of closing his eyes filled him with terror?

The Final Sleep

The days passed in a blur, each one worse than the last. Edward had become a ghost of himself, gaunt and hollow-eyed, his once neat appearance now disheveled and wild. He hadn’t slept in nearly a week, and he knew his body couldn’t take much more.

He had returned to Dr. Rathmann’s office one final time, desperate for help, but even the psychiatrist seemed powerless against the relentless force of Edward’s fear. He had been prescribed medications, but Edward hadn’t taken them. The thought of sleep—of surrendering to the dream—was too terrifying.

But now, as he sat alone in his dark apartment, the weight of exhaustion pulling at him like a leaden chain, Edward knew there was no escaping it. He couldn’t stay awake forever.

The Queen of Hearts was waiting.

His eyes fluttered shut, the world around him dissolving into darkness. The carnival midway appeared once again, the bright lights flickering against the night sky. The smell of popcorn and fried food filled his senses.

She was there, standing in the middle of the midway, her eyes fixed on him. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear of the unknown. He knew what was coming.

“You’ve come back,” she said, her voice soft and deadly.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Edward replied, his voice hollow.

“No,” she agreed, stepping closer. “You never did.”

She reached out, her cold hand brushing against his cheek. “It’s time to sleep, Edward.”

The world around him began to fade, the lights of the carnival dimming, the sounds growing distant. His body felt heavy, as though it were sinking into the ground. He could feel his heart slowing, each beat a painful thud in his chest.

And then, there was nothing.

Aftermath

Dr. Rathmann sat in his office, staring at the empty chair where Edward had once sat. It had been three days since he had last seen him, three days since Edward had left his office in a daze of fear and exhaustion.

The news of his death had reached him that morning. Edward Hall had been found in his apartment, his body still and cold, his face twisted in a final expression of terror. There had been no signs of struggle, no signs of foul play—just a man who had died in his sleep.

Dr. Rathmann shook his head sadly, knowing that for Edward, the dream had been all too real. He had tried to save him, tried to convince him that it was all in his mind, but in the end, the fear had been too much.

As he stared at the empty chair, a chill ran down his spine. For a moment, just a brief moment, he thought he saw something—a flicker of movement, a shadow, a face.

But when he blinked, it was gone.