Yellow Mama E zine

Can’t Wake Up

 

Kenneth James Crist

 

          “Well, what’s been going on in your life? How are you feeling?”

           My Primary Care Physician. This was at my annual wellness checkup, something you get to do when you get “older.”

          “Well, yeah. You know, I had my gall bladder out in 2008.”

          She hurriedly consulted her laptop and said, “Yeah, what’s going on?”

          “Well, I’m getting really tired of diarrhea every day.”

          “Every day? How many times a day are you going to the bathroom?”

           “Oh, it varies, six, maybe eight times.”

           “Okay, that’s not normal. I’ve got an idea, though. I’ll write you a prescription for a little pill that’ll help with that. This pill was actually designed to be a sleep aid, but one of the side effects is that it will dry things up in your lower tract. We’ll try this for a while and see how it works for ya. I’ll set up a low dose to start you off.”

           “Okay, sounds good. Thank you, Doctor.”

           Ten minutes later, the scrip was called in and I was outta there.

  

# # #

 

        I picked up my new medicine that same day. Thirty tiny red pills. No co-pay on this one. Always a plus. I added the pills to my evening batch (only five) and life went on.

        By the fourth day, I noticed things were firming up “down there.” The liquid was diminishing and I was happy about that. On the other hand, I was having some pretty vivid dreams, and I didn’t know at that point quite how I felt about that. Like most dreams, they faded quickly, to the extent that by the time I was brushing my teeth in the morning, I couldn’t really remember much about them at all.

        By the second week, my lower tract was under control. My sleep was deeper than I could ever remember and the dreams had reached a new level. I was remembering more and more about them, and they were becoming more lucid, that is, I was finding that during my dreams, I realized I was dreaming and I had a certain amount of control over what was taking place. It seemed like I was having fun while I was asleep. At first.

        By the time I’d been on my new meds for a month, the dreams were becoming more fun all the time. Night after night, I rode motorcycles, raced cars, outran the cops, and chased beautiful women. I was having more damn fun than guys my age were ever supposed to have. At first, I was just meeting pretty ladies and having drinks and conversations, and I would wake up excited about my “new friends.” Waking up with morning erections had been a thing of the past, but now old Willie was standing at attention most every morning. It had been separate bedrooms at my house for quite a few years and suddenly, I was having thoughts about looking for a girlfriend. Of course, just like any other man, I could relieve the tension any time I wanted, but that didn’t satisfy all my needs, by any means.

         I knew if I suddenly started going out evenings, there would be immediate suspicion in my wife’s mind, and I really didn’t want to go through all that. For the time being I cooled my jets, and spent my sleeping hours being a bad boy.

  

# # #

  

          “Can I suck your cock?”

          She was a tiny woman, small tits, small ass, thin arms and legs, rather dark olive skin, but with red hair and green eyes that almost glowed with fun and hilarity. I’d settled on this one out of many women I’d met in my nighttime adventures. In this particular dream, we were in Colorado, and we’d checked into a motel. The guy on the desk had made a joke about, “You and your granddaughter have fun, now . . .”

          And we were. Having fun. She was small enough she could wrap her legs around me and I could stand and push her into a corner, and we could fuck that way. It was extremely hot, breathtaking in my dominance and her seeming vulnerability, and yet, no matter how many times she came, she never was completely sated. And, since it was all taking place in a dream, neither was I.

           Waking up in the middle of the night now meant I wasn’t just up to pee, but I almost always masturbated, just so I could get back to sleep. And guess who was waiting for me as soon as I dropped off?

          I now allowed that, indeed, she could certainly perform that little chore for me, if she so desired. She dropped to her knees and seized my dick and inhaled that puppy like she hadn’t eaten in a month. I took a grip on her hair, and she proceeded to gobble me until I was sure I would explode. I knew I was going to wake up at any moment, but I didn’t want to ever wake up right at that moment. And then, a strange thing happened. She jumped up onto the bed and rolled on her back, legs wide apart, offering me what I wanted the most and I took her, finishing right along with her. Soon, we were cuddled together, and we dropped off to sleep.

         But, wait. I was already asleep, right? This was something completely new. I had never before dreamed of going to sleep. Was I now two levels deep? Waking in the morning took an unusually long time and I seemed to be groggy half the morning. I had given up caffeine several years back because of heart problems, but those had been cured by minor surgery, so I brewed some coffee and had a go. I’d forgotten how much I used to enjoy a good “cuppa Joe,” and now I was right back into it.

          My red-headed hottie was there, pretty much every night now and within a few nights, I got used to having sexual acrobatics with her and then going to sleep in my dreams. But then I began dreaming in my dreams. And that’s when it started getting scary.

         The dreams-within-dreams seemed to release something that had always held me back and prevented certain types of behavior. Two levels deep, the rule book went out the window. I found myself roaming through dark urban areas, carrying swords and primitive weapons, spears, hammers, flails, and daggers. I spent my nights hunting other people, doing unspeakable things, murdering and maiming strangers who had done me no harm, just for the thrill of killing, then I would come back to my green-eyed friend, and we would roll in bloody sheets until sleep took us even deeper.

          As the weeks passed, I spent more and more time abed and asleep. I was losing weight and when I was awake, I found I was sickened by the dreams to the point I could rarely eat without retching, especially any dishes that contained meat. I subsisted on fruit and crackers and the like, and I could barely stay awake through the day. And yet there was the fantastic attraction of the deepening dreams, the heat, the unending sex, the violence and the release of being completely without rules or morals. It went deeper.

          Somewhere in month number three, I found the third level. I had dreamed about rolling in the sack with little redheaded Laura and we had fallen asleep. I was used to level two, and I found myself hunting. Not hunting game but hunting people. That, too, was something I had become used to. But on this particular night, as I hunted, pursued, fought and conquered, swung my weapons, smeared myself with blood and gore, suddenly everything went black . . . and then, I found myself even deeper, looking at my own body, maimed and broken, and I realized I had lost the game of hunting others and had become the vanquished.

         The pain was blinding, and I tried desperately to wake up and found I could not. I watched as an entire crew, or army of what could only be demons, came across the battlefield, scooping up bodies and putting them on carts to be hauled away. I followed, my soul crushed and dragging itself to whatever fate awaited, and soon I could hear the screaming.

         And just as I could finally see our destination, I looked in one of the carts and saw Laura’s mutilated body, sprawled and discarded like a piece of trash and I realized I had arrived in Hell . . . and the screams were garnished with my own. . . .

 

 #   #   #

 

        Officers O’Leary and Pasquale arrived at the residence at 9:05 in the morning. The dispatcher had advised, “Check the welfare, 1190 West 21st, Apartment 1606, neighbor advises she has not seen the resident for several days. Landlord has a key, Apartment 101, nothing further. . . .”

        They went to get the key first, just on the off chance something might really be wrong. Then they drove over to building 16 and trudged up the stairs. Contacted the neighbor, who said the wife had gone to New Orleans to visit her sister. The man was living there alone. When they got to the landing, Pasquale, who didn’t smoke, said, “Uh-oh . . .”

          They did the required knock. Did it several times before unlocking and making entry. They found the guy in his bed, dead as it was possible to be. There was blood everywhere, but the decedent showed no injuries. The coroner eventually made a ruling of natural causes, which, considering the guy’s age, seemed to be more or less accurate. They never were able to account for the blood, though. . . .

​

     Kenneth James Crist is Editor of Black Petals Magazine and is on staff at Yellow Mama ezine. He has been a published writer since 1998, having had almost two hundred short stories and poems in venues ranging from Skin and Bones and The Edge-Tales of Suspense to Kudzu Monthly. He is particularly fond of supernatural biker stories. He reads everything he can get his hands on, not just in horror or sci-fi, but in mystery, hardboiled, biographies, westerns and adventure tales. He retired from the Wichita, Kansas police department in 1992 and from the security department at Wesley Medical Center in Wichita in 2016. Now 82, he is an avid motorcyclist and handgun shooter. He is active in the American Legion Riders and the Patriot Guard, helping to honor and look after our military. He is the owner of Fossil Publications, a desktop publishing venture that seems incapable of making any money at all. On June the ninth, 2018, he did his first (and last) parachute jump and crossed that shit off his bucket list.

​

         Sophia Wiseman-Rose (aka Sr. Sophia Rose) is a Paramedic and an Anglican novice Franciscan nun, in the UK.  Both careers have given Sophia a great deal of exposure to the extremes in life and have provided great inspiration for her.  

  She has travelled to many countries, on medical missions and for modelling (many years ago), but has spent most of her life between the USA and the UK. She is currently residing in a rural Franciscan community and will soon be moving to London to be with a community there.  

         In addition, Sophia had a few poems and short stories in editions of Black Petals Horror/Science Fiction Magazine

        The majority of her artwork can be found on her website.

  https://www.artstation.com/sophiaw-r6