The Morning After the Nightmare

That stupid Bulwer-Lytton was right, John Moreland thought as he struggled to see where he was going down the dark two-lane road. It really IS a dark and stormy night.

Moreland was trying to make his way to his sister’s house, and normally didn’t take this route, but a huge pile-up and traffic jam blocked the interstate a mile east of where he was currently. He knew this road, called the ‘Old Thornhill Pike’ went directly to his destination of Cokerville, as he seen the signs in town on previous visits. The old road was a main north-south artery in Cokerville. He’d never driven it before and didn’t know what he would find. He only knew he would never get there if he stayed on the main highway.

Then the storm kicked up. Dark clouds were gathering all afternoon, but just before he came to the traffic jam-up, the storm let loose with an unholy fury. Thunder, lightning, high winds, and torrential rain coming down in sheets and buckets. The radio warned of potential flash flooding, but didn’t give any locations.

So here he was, trying to navigate down an unfamiliar road, not able to see more father ahead than his headlights shone. At least he was driving an SUV, so he sat higher than a regular sedan, and the vehicle’s high stance meant he could most likely get through high water.

It wasn’t to be. Moreland went down the road, staying as close to the centerline as he could, since that was about the only thing on the road he could see, when he saw a bright light off to the side. Then he heard and saw nothing.

Moreland awoke to daylight streaming in the window. Not sunlight, just morning light as clouds still blanketed the sky. He didn’t know where he was, but he was in a comfortable bed. Given what he remembered from the previous night, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He rose up and looked around. His suitcase was open on a chair across the room.

What the hell happened last night, and how did I get here? He thought. And where IS here?

He got out of the bed and went to his suitcase. The clothes he was wearing the night before were nowhere to be seen, but his shaving kit was on the top of his clothes, so he decided he should make himself presentable before trying to figure out what was going on. There was an en-suite attached, with towels laid out, so he showered, brushed his teeth, shaved, and then dressed in clean clothes. He re-packed his suitcase and carried it down the stairs to what he thought was the main floor of wherever he was.

He smelled food from the room across the foyer, so he dropped his suitcase and went there. A man was sitting behind a newspaper, drinking coffee with an empty plate pushed to the side. A tall and distinguished man worked at the sideboard.

“Good morning, sir,” the man said. “Glad to see you awake. May I fix you a plate?”

“Where am I?” Moreland asked. “and who are you?”

“My name is Horace, sir, and I work for Mr. Dahlgren.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s me,” the man reading said, lowering his paper. “You’re at my home on Old Thornhill Pike.”

“You came here last night during the storm,” Dahlgren said. “Apparently, the road is blocked by a fallen tree, and you couldn’t go anywhere. You showed up soaked, and asked to use the phone.”

“You called your sister, sir,” Horace said. “You told her you wouldn’t be making it.”

“That’s where I was headed,” Moreland said, “But I don’t remember any of that.”

“It is understandable,” Horace said, “Given what you went through.”

“What did I go through?” Moreland asked. “I don’t remember anything, except for this weird dream.”

“Perhaps that is a clue,” Horace said.

“I hope not,” Moreland said. “I dreamed I was awakened by someone pulling my arm to take me out of wherever I was, but when I looked at the face, I was frightened half to death. Whoever or whatever it was had no hair to about halfway back on his scalp, deep sunken eyes with dark circles all around them, and his mouth could barely close. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face and hands were terribly scarred. I pulled away and ran. I might have been here, but all I remember is running down dark hallways, trying to find a way out. Then I woke up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything else,” Moreland said. “I just remember driving down that road trying to get to Cokerville when I saw a bright light and the next thing I remember is waking up in a bed after that nightmare.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Dahlgren said. “The police will be here soon enough as soon as the crews can clear the road.”

“Why would the police be coming?” Moreland asked.

“Because you killed my sister last night,” Dahlgren replied.

Moreland awoke with a start. Daylight came in through the drapes. No sunlight, as clouds still covered the sky, but it was not raining. High winds still howled outside.

Moreland looked around, but couldn’t figure out where he was. He heard a noise across the room, so he rose up and saw a tall and distinguished man in formal morning dress working at his open suitcase.

“Hey, who are you and what are you doing?” Moreland said.

The man turned around. “My name is Horace, sir, and I was just laying out clothes for you. Your kit is in the bath, and I took the liberty to remove your clothes from yesterday for laundering. They were quite soaked and filthy.”

“Where the hell am I, and how did I get here?” Moreland asked.

“You are at Mr. Dahlgren’s home, up the hill off the Old Thornhill Pike,” Horace said. “You arrived during the storm last night, asking to use the phone. Apparently, the road was blocked, and the lightening interrupted cellular service. Fortunately, we still have a landline. You called your sister to let her know you would not be making it, and we offered you a room for the night.”

“I do not remember any of that,” Moreland said. “All I remember was seeing a bright light off to the side of my car, and then having this strange dream. Now I wake up here. What is going on?”

“I am not sure sir,” Horace said. “Perhaps Mr. Dahlgren knows more. Please come down when you are ready. Breakfast is in the dining room.”

Horace left. Moreland still know what was going on, but ne needed to start the day. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed in clean clothes. He re-packed his suitcase and carried it downstairs. He dropped it in the foyer, and went to the dining room where a man sat at the other end of the table, reading a newspaper with his face hidden. Horace worked at the sideboard.

“May I offer you something to eat?” Horace asked.

Moreland accepted gratefully.

“Thank you again for letting me stay the night,” Moreland said as Horace served him. “I don’t know how I would have ridden out that storm otherwise.”

“It is not a problem,” the man behind the newspaper said. “I am always glad to have visitors. We get so few.”

“That storm was ungodly,” Moreland said. “It caused me to have this unreal nightmare. I’m not sure I could describe it.”

“Oh, I’m sure we would understand,” Dahlgren said. He put down his paper just as Moreland was taking a drink. Moreland looked up and spewed the liquid all over his plate and the table.

He was looking directly at the face from his nightmare. Dahlgren had no hair to about halfway back on his scalp, deep sunken eyes with dark circles all around them, and his mouth could barely close.

Moreland dropped his glass, spilling more liquid, and tried to get up from the table. He pushed his chair backward, but when he tried to step away, he tripped over the chair and fell. His head struck the floor with a sickening thud, knocking him unconscious.

Moreland awoke slowly. At least he thought he was waking up. He couldn’t open his eyes, though he could feel them and could feel his eyelids trying to move. There was something in his nostrils, but he didn’t know what.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure, given the crazy two part dream he’d just experienced, but his parched mouth and throat convinced his brain that he was truly awake. His mouth felt like he’d just spit out a mouthful of sawdust.

He heard movement from somewhere near, so he tried to speak.

“Wha… Wa… Wha…” he croaked.

Whoever was present heard him, and called out, “Doctor, some quick. He’s waking up.”

The person then came closer. “Sir? Mr. Moreland? Can you speak?”

“Wa… Wa-da… Dri…”

Whoever was there understood. “Water—I get it. I bet you are dry as a bone.” The person placed a plastic straw into Moreland’s mouth and some cool water squirted in. Moreland closed his lips and sucked. Heaven, he thought.

After several seconds, the straw was pulled away. “That’s enough,” the voice said. “Don’t want to overdo.”

A new voice spoke. “Glad to see you back with us. Are you in much pain?”

“Nuh,” Moreland said. “Wha… Wha Hap-hap…? Wheh…?”

“What happened?” the second voice said. “That is a long and ugly story. One I don’t think you are quite ready to hear. Right now you need rest.”

“Keep an eye on him, nurse.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Moreland slept for a while, but couldn’t tell how long. When he woke up the next time, he immediately asked for water. He could even say the word. The person in attendance let him drink longer from the cup.

When he finished, He asked, “Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on? Why can’t I open my eyes?”

“I am a nurse, and you are in a hospital,” the voice said. “I’ll leave the rest for the doctor.”

The doctor came in a few minutes later.

“Why can’t I open my eyes?” Moreland asked. “What in hell is going on?”

“Do you remember anything?” the doctor asked. “Anything about how you ended up here?”

“All I remember is driving down the Old Thornhill Pike headed for my sister’s place. Then there was a bright light and then I’m here. That’s it.”

“Alright, let’s start there,” the doctor said. “You were in a very bad accident. A large pick-up truck came out of the Dahlgren driveway and t-boned you. You went off the road and rolled in the ditch. There was a fire. They couldn’t get to you for awhile because of the storm and the pile-up on the interstate. You’ve been burned and cut up. The surgeons were able to save your face and torso, but there’s going to be a long recovery.”

“Am I blind?”

“Hopefully not, but we have to keep them bandaged for another couple of days.”

“You said I was t-boned. What happened to the other driver?”

“I’m sorry, but she didn’t survive. You’ve been in a coma for the past three days.”

Moreland sagged in the bed and turned his head away. “Oh God!”

After a few seconds of silence, Moreland spoke again. “I was headed to my sister’s. Does she know?”

“She does, and she’s been sitting with you off and on. We sent her home to get some rest. She’ll be back later.”

“Are you sure that’s everything?” Moreland asked.

“Yes sir,” the doctor answered. “Why?”

“I’ve been having this strange dream. I made it up to a house on a hill and they let me stay until the storm passed. But I’ve been seeing this gruesome face, like something out of an old horror movie.”

“That would be the Dahlgren house,” the doctor said. “Mr. Dahlgren’s sister was the other driver. Mr. D. and his man, Horace, also came by to check on you.”

“I don’t believe this,” Moreland said. “It’s too much to process.”

“Get some rest. We’ll wake you when your sister gets here.”

Outside the room, the attending nurse spoke to the doctor.

“With all due respect, don’t you think that was all a bit much to tell him at one time?”

“He has to learn it sometime,” the doctor answered. “And I didn’t give the really bad news; what his face really looks like.”

“What’s that?” the nurse asked.

“He’s going to look like Lon Chaney Sr. in the silent version of Phantom of the Opera.”

“John…? John…? JOHN!” the voice screamed through Moreland’s phone.

“Huh? What?” Moreland said.

“You zoned out on me,” the woman on the other end said. “I thought I lost the call.”

“Sorry, sis,” Moreland said. “I was having this weird vision. Almost like I was having a dream while driving.”

“Well pay attention,” his sister, Marjorie, said. “You need to get here safely. Where are you, by the way?”

“At the moment, I’m about a quarter-mile from the Old Thornhill Pike exit. Traffic isn’t moving at all right now. There’s a huge mess somewhere up ahead.”

“Why don’t you take that exit? The pike will bring you right into town.”

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed.

“I think I better stay on the highway,” Moreland said. “The storm is breaking and it looks like a bad one. I’ll be safer here.”

“Are you sure?” Marjorie said. “There’s never any traffic on the other road, and it might let you get here before things get bad. The girls are getting really excited about you visiting. You don’t want to disappoint them.”

“I know, sis,” Moreland said. “But after what I think I just saw when I zoned, I’m not sure.”

“What did you see?”

“I was going down that road, but couldn’t get through. So I backtracked to the only house along there to stay through the storm. They let me, but then I was haunted by this horrific face, and it accused me of killing his sister. I happened twice, and then I saw where I ended up in the hospital after a terrible accident.”

“That’s ridiculous, John,” Marjorie said. “You’ve been on the road too long, and your brain is playing tricks on you. Another reason to take Thornhill Pike and get here sooner.”

“Okay, okay,” Moreland said. “Traffic is starting to creep forward, so I’ll take the exit. See you soon.”

Moreland took the exit and turned toward Cokerville. The storm grew worse as he drove. Rain started coming down in sheets, and the wind howled. He couldn’t see much ahead of him, save for when lightning flashed.

He was about two miles down the road, just over halfway to Cokerville, when suddenly his entire field of vision went completely white from a bright light. He didn’t remember anything after that.