The Sleepwalker

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Social Media

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  More from Me

  The Sleepwalker

  DOUG HANTKE

  Copyright © 2014 Doug Hantke

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  This story is dedicated to everyone who suffers from REM Sleep-Behavior-Disorder.

  It’s a scary world sometimes at night.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The /r/nosleep community for giving me a place to call home for a while.

  Short Stories

  Fitness Guru

  Social Media

  Newsletter/Blog

  1

  I have been sleepwalking ever since I was a child. I suffer from REM-sleep behavior disorder. In other words, I tend to act out my dreams on occasion. As I have gotten older the symptoms have worsened, but my ability to deal with them has increased. It used to scare me a lot. I’d watch spiders crawl around my bed, and I would try frantically to crush them with my pillows. I would be shaken for hours sometimes afterward, scanning the room for the little monsters. Now I quickly realize that I’m dreaming and fall back to sleep.

  I live with my six-year-old son in a small, two-story house in a little town in West Virginia. My ex-wife left us when he was only two-year-old because she couldn’t handle the responsibility of motherhood. That event definitely took a toll on me, and I sometimes have dreams where she comes home. I wake up to find myself sitting alone on the couch downstairs where she and I used to sit. The dreams like that don’t bother me. It’s the nightmares that are difficult.

  I woke up early in the morning and took the dog for a walk. Rocky, a Siberian husky, was at the door waiting for his leash when I stepped off the last stair down to the foyer. His bright blue eyes looked at me, completely trusting and loving, as I snapped the leash to his collar. I always wanted a husky, but my ex-wife would have never allowed it. In fact, she was adamantly against it. She used to joke that if I ever tried to bring one home she’d kill me. Literally. I guess her humor was a bit on the dark side, but it was something that I always loved about her. I guess you could also say that it was one of the positives of her being gone, even if only just a small one. I did try to find the positives whenever I could, otherwise I’d drive myself insane.

  Rocky and I walked around the neighborhood so that he could do his duty on each and every object that was even remotely close to his eye level. The morning air was cold and crisp with a slight breeze that burned my skin. Rocky loved every minute of it. He pranced around, hopping into small snow piles from the neighbors shoveled driveways. I was never really been a dog person, but Rocky made me understand why they are considered man’s best friend. He was always there when I needed someone. His love was truly unconditional and that was something I needed in my life.

  I picked up my son, Brian, from his grandmother’s house around 6 o’clock in the evening. She had remained part of his life even though his mother had not, and I was thankful for that. His grandmother had proved very helpful over the last few years. I’m not sure what I would have done without her in the picture.

  “Tell, grandma, goodbye.” I told Brian as we walked to the car.

  “Bye grandma!” he waved, as I opened the car door.

  “How was he?” I asked her, shutting his door behind me. He was already pushing his toy truck around the backseat of the car.

  “An angel as always,” She smiled.

  “That’s good to hear,” I smiled back. “Have you…” I paused and looked shyly away.

  “Nothing,” Her face saddened. My ex-wife had not been in contact with any of us in over a year. There were rumors of her whereabouts but nothing concrete. The last I heard was that she had become addicted to some really powerful painkillers and had, for lack of a better term, eloped with some guy to Kentucky.

  “Yea…” I sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll be going. See you in a few days?”

  2

  I sat down on my bed as the night sky crept in through my bedroom window. Brian was already sleeping in his room and Rocky was sprawled out at the foot of my bed. My sleepwalking was getting worse lately, so I often locked my door before going to sleep. In my experience, I would usually wake up before I could get my door unlocked. If I didn’t lock it I could end up anywhere in the house.

  For the first years of my marriage I scared my wife constantly. I remember one night, in the beginning of our relationship, I woke up with what I thought to be a knife in my throat. I coughed up blood and panicked, running to the bathroom. The sink filled with the thick red liquid, pain burned in my throat. She asked if I was alright, but I pushed her away. It took me at least an hour to calm down long enough to let her close to me again. That was the night I first told her I loved her. I know. I pick the most romantic moments. It’s amazing she stayed with me as long as she did.

  The feeling, I find, is nearly impossible to explain if you don’t experience it yourself. I am also a lucid dreamer which means I can somewhat control my dream and be a part of what is going on actively. I can “wake myself up” during a dream and be conscious of the fact that I’m dreaming. This is a skill that many people attempt to learn for fun, but for me it is sometimes a curse. Most people wake up from a lucid dream and return to reality. I sometimes bring the dream back with me, and that is why I have episodes like I explained before with the knife in my throat.

  I stared up from my bed, watching the shadows dance around the room. Rhythmically they flashed, dashed, and bounced across the ceiling to music that only they could hear. I watched as the night played a silent symphony in shadows with the occasional headlight from a passing vehicle filling the room. I was under hypnosis by the night’s music and soon feel asleep dreaming of the dance of shadows.

  I woke up on the downstairs couch.

  Now waking up in a different room than I fell asleep in isn’t anything out of the ordinary for me. Not remembering how I got there is also fairly common, so this didn’t strike me as odd at all. I rolled onto the floor of my living room, and Rocky licked my face, letting a playful bark escape as he hopped away playfully.

  “Need to go outside?” I asked while wiping the sleep from the corner of my eyes.

  He barked loudly and sprinted to the door, almost sliding into it in excitement.

  I walked past Brian’s room to see him still asleep and then headed out with Rocky for a quick walk.

  When we returned, Brian was just waking up and coming down the stairs. His Scooby-Doo pajamas were matted to his body, and his blonde hair was standing up in every direction except down. He was adorable.

  “Breakfast?” he questioned.

  “Yes, sir!” I saluted, as he sat down in front of the TV with cartoons on his mind. I grabbed the remote to switch the channel, and noticed my phone’s screen was on.

  I put the TV on the Cartoon Network and looked at my phone. The screen was open to the images folder, and I noticed a picture that I didn’t remember taking. The picture was of the outside of my house and was apparently taken last night. There weren’t any lights on, and I couldn’t see anyone in the picture. I must have been sleepwalking and took a picture of my house. That’s normal right? That wouldn’t be the craziest thing I had ever done, and I did wake up downstairs. I moved into the kitchen without a second thought and proceeded to make bacon and eggs for breakfast.

  As the day went by I noticed myself being drawn back to that picture. Like I said, I don’t always remember sleepwalking, but this just felt different. I couldn’t put my finger on what was different, but I felt someth
ing was odd about it.

  I tucked Brian into bed and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Love you,” I said, standing outside his door.

  “Love you too,” He yawned. I turned off his light and headed to my room.

  I sat in my bed reading a book about sleep disorders that a friend of mine had recommended. I found that knowing more about my disorder really helped me deal with it. I needed the extra help too, because it was getting more frequent and severe. When I finally sat the book down I picked up my phone one last time. I looked again at the picture I took in my sleep the night before. It was just a picture from the front of the house looking into my living room through my large bay window. It was nothing significant, just a random sleepwalking photograph.

  When I woke up that morning I was in my own bed which was nice. I rolled over to check the time, only to realize that my phone was missing. I checked under the covers and pillow first because sometimes I would move it in my sleep. It wasn’t there. I checked behind the bed because that was another place I frequently threw my phone at night. Still nothing.

  I walked downstairs to find Brian standing at the back door laughing.

  “ROCKY!” he laughed, jumping at the back door pointing. “Dad! Look at ROCKY!” he kept pointing and laughing as I came toward him.

  I walked across the room confused. There must be a dog outside like Rocky that’s got Brian all excited. Maybe one of the neighbors bought a new dog. I made it to the window and immediately realized that I was wrong. Tied to a large tree outback was Rocky.

  It was snowing outside, and it was blistering cold. The wind whipped against my face, and the snow made it hard to see. I walked over to the tree. Rocky was jumping around playing in the snow, tied to the tree by his leash. He was happy at least. I had made a small mechanism last summer to allow his leash to be put on the tree so he could run around freely while I was outside with him. He was a great dog, but he was fairly hard to get back in the house without a leash. So I just stopped letting him run around free one day. On occasion I still let him roam, but it’s more like a special treat to him.

  How did he get outside?

  He barked and jumped on me all the way into the house. Luckily he loves the cold weather so I wasn’t too concerned with him being outside. It was how he got outside that had me worried. Rocky flew through the door and ran a lap around the downstairs. Brian screamed in joy, clapping his hands as Rocky started lap number two. I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it.

  Now where in the hell is my phone?

  I sat down on the couch and kicked my shoes off as Rocky joined me on the floor. The events still hadn’t fully sunk into my brain. Why was my dog outside and tied to a tree? Brian surely couldn’t have done it. Rocky would have pulled him around the neighborhood if he would have tried. The only logical explanation, I could think of, was that I had done it in my sleep. This would be a first for me.

  I noticed my phone on the kitchen table and looked back outside to where Rocky had been tied. The phone lay in the same position as yesterday, opened to the images folder.

  I picked up the phone, once again noticing a picture I didn’t remember taking. This picture was of Rocky, tied to the tree. The moonlight beamed down on his face and the snow painted his body. He looked angered, his lips were drawn back in a snarl that I don’t ever recall seeing. The picture sent shivers down my spine.

  It hardly looked like Rocky at all.

  That whole day was a blur. I don’t remember what I did for lunch or dinner. I don’t remember what I did with Brian, and I don’t remember how the night approached so quickly.

  I turned the light off in Brian’s room and headed to mine. The photograph of Rocky sat painted in my mind, haunting me, teasing me. I couldn’t keep my mind off the images from the previous nights. What have I been doing? It just felt so different than my normal experiences that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I could see his snarl as my eyes became too heavy to keep open. His eyes were so angry, so untrusting. They burned into my mind as I fell asleep again.

  When I woke up that morning I immediately looked for my phone. I stumbled about until I tracked it down on the floor near the foot of my bed. The phone was in its now familiar position. Open to the images folder. I looked at the screen, and to my dismay, saw yet another unfamiliar picture once again of Rocky.

  The picture showed him curled up on the couch downstairs sleeping peacefully. I’m not sure what made me such a photographer recently, but something about this picture caught my attention. The back door was open. I rushed downstairs, almost falling at the base, and turned to the back door.

  It was shut.

  Rocky looked at me and yawned from the couch where he had been sleeping in the picture.

  At least I shut the door.

  I decided to give a friend of mine a call that afternoon and explain what was happening to me as of late. Eric had been a friend of mine my entire life and had been on the worse end of a few of my sleepwalk adventures. He was in New York City when I decided, in my sleep, that it would be a good idea to run out of our hotel room and down the hallway practically naked. I woke up as the elevator door opened. Quite embarrassing, but in New York it probably didn’t seem to out of the ordinary.

  “Hey, man,” Eric answered the phone on the third ring.

  “Hey, something weirds been going on,” I started.

  “Well there comes a time in a man’s life—“

  “—no seriously,” I interrupted.

  “Ok, Ok!” he laughed. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been taking pictures in my sleep?”

  “Well now that’s an interesting hobby for sure.” I forgot that Eric was so used to my sleepwalking stories that this probably wouldn’t strike him as odd either.

  “No, this is different. It’s not like the other times. It’s kind of scary.”

  “Yea? How so?” Eric’s voice changed from joking to concerned.

  I explained what had happened over the last few days, and he just listened. I explained how Rocky was outside the other night, and how I took a picture of him the next morning.

  “Would freak me out too. Maybe you should sleep tight inside a sleeping bag?” he joked. I read that in some cases people with my disorder would sleep inside sleeping bags to make it more difficult to act out their dreams.

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Well if you need anything I’m here, man. I got sleeping bags in the garage,” We both laughed. Maybe I was being a bit ridiculous. This had been happening my whole life. Why was this any different?

  3

  The next morning I woke up to a blood curdling scream. The scream was mixed with cries and sobs. I leap out of my bed and rushed down stairs. Brian must have hurt himself. I turned into the living room and Brian was sitting at the back door crying and screaming. His hands pressed against the back door glass. I ran over to him to see what he had done.

  “What’s wrong buddy? What happened?” I tried to soothe him.

  “Rocky!” he screamed.

  “Rocky?” I turned my attention back outside and tears rushed from my eyes. Rocky was tied to the tree again, only this time he wasn’t running around playing. He was hanging, swinging from the large branch above his doghouse. His stomach was cut open and pieces of his insides were left dangling to the ground. I opened the door and vomited on the back porch. I hit my knees and cried.

  Did I do this? Did I kill Rocky?

  When I looked up, Brian was holding my phone.

  “Call the police, Daddy!” he cried.

  I took the phone from his outstretched hand and looked at the screen. It was loaded on to the image folder. I selected the newest picture. I didn’t even need to look at it to know what it was. I was already looking at it. It was a picture of my mangled friend hanging from that tree. His eyes glazed over, no longer trusting, no longer showing love. His tongue fell clumsily from the side of his mouth with drool slowly freezing to his features. I hugged my son and cried.r />
  I buried Rocky that day under the tree where he died. Where I had killed him.

  I talked to Eric later that night and told him what happened. This time he wasn’t in a joking mood. He told me that I should seek help immediately. He said something must be going wrong, and I was obviously becoming a threat to myself and those around me.

  “Think of your son, man. You need to get help,” he pleaded. Those words echoed in my ears.

  “I am taking him to his grandmother’s tomorrow. Then I’ll figure this out,”

  It took me a long time to fall asleep that night. The picture of Rocky was permanently stamped into my mind. I held back tears once an hour it seemed. I caught myself looking at the foot of the bed for him. But he wasn’t there. He’d never be there again. I could feel tears filling my eyes as they closed. I drifted off to sleep; the image of Rocky remained all I could see.

  I dreamed that night that I woke up and crept out of bed. I moved across my room, so gracefully that it felt like I was floating. I unlocked my bedroom door and heading down the faintly lit hallway. I peered inside my son’s room and stared at him as he slept. Which each breath I could feel myself becoming agitated. His every movement caused me to become more enraged until I could feel my heart beating in my chest. Violently my heart pounded as sweat began to pour from my brow. His existence must be ended.

  I bolted from my bedroom and into Brian’s. My body was drenched in sweat. I stood at the doorway to my son’s room and looked to his bed. He was lying there asleep unawares that anything had happened at all.

  I walked back to my room and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. I looked down at the image folder and immediately went to wake up Brian.

  “Hey, grandma, we are on our way!” I didn’t bother explaining everything to her about Rocky, but I let her know most of the details. I didn’t think it was necessary to explain it graphically. She told me I should seek help, and I mentioned the sleep study that I had enrolled myself in that evening.