I Fell Into the Devil's Embrace
Since the dawn of my memory, I have had anomalously vivid dreams. Dreams that penetrate the boundary between the world and the firmament, the depths of hell and the apex of heaven aloft. I had dreams that were so graphic to the point of being unable to distinguish between the world within slumber and the Earth in which my physical vessel is grounded. This aberration which I have long possessed led me to label it as something of a nervous malady for the notion of dream is not the only concern, for in some instances I had confronted nightmares of particular horror exhumed from Pride. Furthermore, I will relay an event concerning the latter which took place in my disturbed psyche in my innocuous chamber.
My chamber is of modest size and humble ornamentation and luxury. The walls are yellow ochre lined with dark wooden trims. It is square and there is one large window with a dark wooden frame covered by a red velvet curtain that cascades to the wooden floor that is continuous with the wall trims of the same color at the center of a wall. To the right of this is a tall dresser and to the left is my rather large bed. The latter, by the way, contains a munificent quantity of silk mattresses and blankets and two thick pillows; all of these serve to give me consolation especially during moments of trepidation. Beside my bed, just adjacent to the window, is an armchair where my brown feline friend retires; his name is Aleksei. He has been my companion ever since my wife succumbed to consumption. All of these elements in my chamber seem to produce an eerie balance between quiescence and captivity.
Now that I have given an account of my everyday scene, (for I have been reclusive for five months due to a severe relapse of my nervous malady) I shall now retell the horror which I had the misfortune of experiencing:
Upon perusing my surroundings, I came to the conclusion that I was in a subterranean dungeon. I was at the end of a dimly lit hallway. There were a few torches that hung on the irregular stone walls which further amplified the irregularity of the dungeon’s architecture. There were bloodstains on the walls: their splatter pattern evinces that vehement and malevolent acts of violence took place in the dungeon. Upon beholding such a sight, I felt myself on the verge of a swoon. A sudden trepidation manifested my body which brought on a tremor and a pounding bosom. The novelty of the place which my eyes beheld aided me to counteract the impending swoon due to my curiosity. I at last acquired the courage to endeavour to traverse the entirety of the hallway, while I observed strange writings on the wall while feeling that there were eyes upon me; although, the cells in the dungeon consisted of nothing but vacuity. Although vacuity is what they portrayed, I saw in them malevolence from the events which took place in them. There were cells replete with books on a table, and some cells contained strange torture devices; an example of the latter I saw what seemed to be a sarcophagus of some sort with golden thorns inside it. The language of the writings on the walls was unbeknownst to me; the letters were of a foreign alphabet and the words were probably the names of the prisoners. The volumes in the cell piqued my interest to a considerable degree; to me, they were full of information pertinent to this empty dungeon. To me, they transcended history and the present. Thus, I successfully endeavoured to open the cell which contained the stack of volumes, and an epistle, written in the unknown language, was on top of the stack. Although it was incomprehensible to me, the instinct and the particular curiosity which had led me to that particular cell, magnified the significance of the epistle. Furthermore, I placed the latter in my pocket. All of the books assumed a dark crimson color ornamented with gold which gave them a certain feeling of resplendency and vigor. Obviously, I opened them but they were of course incomprehensible. While I held one of the books however, I saw a page replete with images of skulls with what seemed to be names written underneath each drawing. From this, I inferred that there was perhaps a systematic massacre which took place here where the prisoners’ skulls were the subject of such an act. I did not know what it was, but perhaps the incomprehensible language in the books would have enlightened me. I resumed into the hallway and continued striding to find the end of the hallway.
After an hour of traversing, I stumbled upon a large dark door with ornamentations replete with luxury. I endeavoured to open it but in vain and I noticed that access to the other side of the door required some sort of key. I cogitated on how I would find such a key, and during this process of forming conjectures, I suddenly heard a soft marching sound from behind increasing in volume for every second consumed in the space time continuum. During the first few seconds of this unnerving happenstance, I attributed the sound to a person whom I had longed for company in this desolate place. However, the tempo and volume at which this sound appeared unshackled my nerves. I glanced behind me and to an anomalous species of terror, I found myself a bounden slave-- a slave to fear, a slave to bewilderment, a slave to my imploring desperation to God to free me from this damned realm! Alas! A horrific embodiment of terror was approaching me-- a demon! It was a grotesque figure of eight feet; it was all black covered with black fur. It had a long tongue which assumed a semblance of a serpent. It had dark sunken eyes and a disposition with animosity which pierced my soul and drained the vivacity and vitality of my countenance. It made strange sounds, perhaps the language that I had just seen. It had a peculiarly beautiful soprano voice; peculiar because it did not commensurate to the horrific figure I had initially beheld. Bewildered, I ran into the closest cell, but while endeavouring to open it, the figure dissipated; I had had enough of it and beseeched the most merciful God to liberate me from this abyss. I had weeped at the sheer hopelessness of this conundrum for a rather long period when a door appeared before me. I opened it and it led to a small hallway with other doors of what I presumed were chambers. I opened one of these chambers and to another apprehension-inducing event, it was a grand and luxurious chamber with golden wall trims on the black wall; the ceiling was vaulted and a gargantuan crystal chandelier hung at the center. But this was not the principal of my trepidation, but rather there was a piano concerto being held and the performer was an invisible phantasm! All of the audience were nuns and their countenance was covered with black fur. The instant I opened the door, they synchronously glanced towards me with such abruptness which added to my initial fright. Immediately after seeing such a diabolical sight, I tried to exit the room but the door that I had recently used to enter the chamber dissipated. It was replaced by the devil who sang a song in accordance with the tune of the piano! I was astonished by the resplendency of its voice but its figure bequeathed unto me an immense terror of alien origin. I felt myself on the verge of a swoon amidst this grandiose moment musicaux; my bosom turned tachycardic, perspiration flowed on my temples, and my vision drifted into the night; I fell into the devil’s embrace.
After waking up to this undoubtedly horrid dream, I felt traumatized to the same degree as someone whose child had been murdered and I felt the trepidation from that dream up to the moment I woke up: my hands were trembling and my heart beating like the inevitable marching of time. I sat upright on my bed and Aleksei made himself comfortable on my lap.
I hope I have now made myself obvious when I said “nervous malady†for my dreams are no ordinary subjects for prattle and chatter. They are as alive as reality and my psyche is the only figure that transcends reality and the chaotic dimension within my slumber. The horror which my dreams immensely manifest, renders my soul a duality: half of it is grounded on Earth and the other stricken with the trident of Nightmare, the bayonet of Trauma, and the duplicity of Vitality. The duplicity of the latter because it is my only hope and reason for surmounting this colossal trial, but the anomalous vitality of my dreams is the betrayer of my vivacity and life.
Dreams with the same dreadfulness plagued my nights with unusual severity. I have been reclusive for five months and I still have not encountered any succor. O merciful people! Help me surmount this! It is me, Dmitri Ivanov.
