I’ve had dreams the last two nights. Four in all, with the same strange house and the same feeling of foreboding, like I’m being closed in to the point of suffocation.
Yesterday I had a small panic attack. I went and laid down in an effort to quell it, but instead was left motionless with racing thoughts and a pounding heart. The silence was like death, ringing and final, and somehow uncomfortable.
This house is old and makes many sounds. It creaks and shifts, and the wind beats down on the windows and screams through the trees until you almost swear you hear a voice in it.
I’m laying in bed and there’s a crash. I sit up, startled. The dog is at the door, staring at the doorknob. I get up, and slowly walk out into the dark. When I switch on the lights, there’s nothing. I check the other room, and still nothing. I go outside and look at the deck and the siding, but still there is nothing.
I lay back down. The silence is heavy for several minutes. I stare at the wall. Then again, a loud bang, like something heavy was dropped. But this time I don’t get up.
In two of the dreams, a voice spoke the same words. They’re with me now as strongly as when I first woke.
“You’re going to burn,” it said.