Theaters of Sleep

 Sometimes, we are not supposed to remember various parts of our vivid dreams, or nightmares. However in my case, I tend to do just that, and so happens to make both my spirit guides upset for time to time,  They'll even tell me things like:

"Nikki, you weren't supposed to remember that part!"

 To be honest, I don't recall falling asleep, only waking up at three odd differe3nt hours in the night. Within each time, clawing out of a different darkness. It felt, as if my mind had constructed its own trilogy of torment, a series of rooms behind my eyelids were something unspeakable waited for me to enter. 

One might think, if it's not because of my psychic abilities, but it could be something more medical issues. In which I can agree, as with most of my life, I've had eye sight problems, I had to wear glasses ever since I can remember. I also recall, my doctors had me to wear one eye patch over my good eye, to help strengthen my weaker left eye, which is called, the "lazy eye."  So in my case, it might be a bit of both, because of  my psychic abilities, I can also remote view. that's why, I prefer to be called, Psychic Dermatologist and yes I will be certified in a few weeks. 

Also, maybe having taking these supernatural/paranormal courses, weather it be, remote view, or Urologist, and yes I've studied in various areas of the paranormal, I can also be a Parapsychologist for that matter.  

 

It felt as if my mind had constructed its own trilogy of torment, a series of rooms behind my eyelids where something unspeakable waited for me to enter.

The first was cold.
I stood in a white, endless field, snow falling in slow spirals through a colorless sky. The silence was absolute — not peaceful, but hollow, like a world stripped of sound. I took a few steps, and the ground caved beneath me. The snow swallowed me whole. I tried to push upward, but every movement pressed the weight tighter around me. The cold wasn’t just biting; it was alive, clutching me close, wanting me still.

I opened my mouth to scream, but my breath froze in the air. I couldn’t tell which way was up anymore. There was no sky, no direction, just white. It pressed against my chest until my heartbeat slowed, fading like footsteps down a long corridor. When I finally broke free, gasping — I realized I hadn’t escaped. I’d only woken up.

But sleep found me again.

This time I was in a corridor lit by weak lamps, their light flickering like tired eyes. The walls were damp, breathing in a rhythm that wasn’t mine. I felt watched. Then I saw her — a woman standing at the far end, dressed in something dark and indistinct. Her face was too pale, her expression unreadable.

She didn’t speak. She just started walking toward me, one step at a time, her shadow dragging behind her like a second body. I turned and ran, but the corridor only stretched further. My steps made no sound. Then I felt her behind me — the air changing, the space tightening. The dagger came first, a flash of silver and a sharp, hot bloom of pain.

Once. Twice. Again.
My voice never made it out.

She leaned close, her breath cold against my ear, but she still didn’t speak. I watched her eyes as I fell — not cruel, not sorry, just empty. And then the world dissolved.

When the next dream came, everything was quiet again.

I stood on a stage beneath dim lights. A black grand piano waited for me at the center, its surface gleaming like a pool of dark water. Rows of empty red seats stared back from the shadows. I didn’t know if I was supposed to play, but I sat down anyway. My fingers hovered above the keys, trembling.

The piano felt warm. It breathed, faintly, like a living thing. Then a voice whispered, low and close, not from the audience, not from the air — but from beneath the keys. And yes, I"m also an accomplished pianist and composer. 

“You were never meant to wake up.”

I pressed one note. It echoed through the hall, wrong somehow, bending the silence into something fragile. The curtains behind me began to move — not parting, just shifting, like something hidden was trying to emerge. The lights dimmed. My reflection rippled across the black surface of the piano, distorted and unfamiliar.

That’s when I woke again.

But even now, I can still hear that single note fading. I can still feel the warmth beneath my hands. And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I think I hear the whisper again —
a voice from somewhere between sleep and waking, reminding me:

“You were never meant to wake up.”

For the record, the next day I felt drained, as if how an paranormal investigator, or ghost hunter would call a paranormal hangover. I admit, this one had me puzzled, but I don't think it's nothing to be fearful or afraid, least not yet, until we can debunk everything, and rule out any other medical issues I mad have or going to have as I continue to age, who knows what the future holds. I like to think as dreams, such as these, might prepare us for the tasks that lies ahead, now that's something to look forward to.  No matter what, always keep the faith!