There’s only two hours left. I can get through this. I only fell asleep once…I won’t do that again.
One hour left and Friday 13th will be over. Maybe somewhere else in the world, it will still be a bad luck kind of day. But this day has slipped away and I don’t mind at all. I fell asleep earlier this evening, and Marcus Miller scared the living hell out of me.
I swear, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’ve just been really tired these last few weeks. Going on a few restless hours of sleep every day takes it toll.
Go ahead, do it. I can hear your eyes rolling from here. Say it. He’s not a creepy dream person and what’s your problem anyway? You got your slashing bloody bad guys mixed up? Someone else from years ago took over the nightmare scene and obviously you aren’t well schooled on horror, are you?
I adored Freddy as a teen. I was the recipient of many an eye roll from friends and classmates. I snuck Fangoria magazines into my schoolbag and “studied.” I had many of his nasty, catchy one-liners memorized. I took a straight razor and carved his name across my forearm. Luckily, looking back, I didn’t think to turn those bleeding letters into a full-fledged prison tat, or I’d still be saving my money to this very day to get it removed. Ahh, memories.
Freddy killed teenagers. I was a teenager. My parents were horrid. So what do you think I would daydream about..? Well, anyway…
I have a modest knowledge of horror. I have intimate knowledge of misery.
So, I fell asleep earlier. I had listened to a particular soundtrack several times today and that voice…Marcus Miller…he was in my head and when I fell asleep the motherfucker just kept talking. He kept talking, and I felt a hand slip around my neck and squeeze. I could smell dried blood and I could feel breathing and I kept hearing something akin to laughter.
I woke up, this time.
There’s no one around. My living room is dark. Everyone else is already asleep.
I’m just overworked and not well-rested, and this is not an obsession. I’ll be fine. You’ll see. I’ll be fine.