Recently, I came across a Reddit post on the subreddit r/morbidquestions. I decided to answer and because it was about a dream and not some one-off random event, I typed out a quick description of the dream and small details so the reader would get the gist of it. But then it got me thinking; I don’t think I’ve ever fully elaborated on it over all these years. And, believe me, when you’ve been having the same dream a few times a year for over 20 years, you begin to notice every small, minute detail, and you end up remembering everything, even when you’re awake.

I’ve had this recurring dream since I was about 8 or so. It happens a few times a year, the older I’ve gotten the more I learned how to associate it with stress or other event happening in my life, which brings the dream back:

I’m standing outside in the sun, staring at a single black rose in the middle of the most beautiful and full red rosebush I have ever seen. This is not your typical Mother’s rose bush; nicely pruned and ready to bloom. No, this is the biggest, densest, wildest rose bush I have ever seen. Besides the black rose that initially catches my attention, the rest of the bush is full of beautiful, perfectly bloomed roses of a deep blood red. It’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at it, but it feels like I have been there for a while.

Slowly, I realize that behind the rose bush stands a grand, plantation-style house, in all it’s glory, almost as if the day it was built. Two stories tall, painted a striking white against the blue sky, with a huge wrap around porch on the ground floor. I can almost still smell the paint and scent of fresh lumber. There’s a grand door in the front just past the front steps, I even though I can’t quite make out the detail, I can tell there is an oval-shaped stained glass panel in the front that takes up more than half the door itself. I could fit a car through that door, it’s so large.

Suddenly I’m aware that I am barefoot, and I can feel the dirt and sand and small rocks under my feet. The ground feels warm from the sun, and I can’t tell if it’s still morning or afternoon. I look down, and I am wearing a victorian-style dress, dark greens and golds. It looks heavy, but I don’t feel uncomfortable. Besides the ground, I don’t feel much at all at this point.

I hear horses in the distance, the sound of hooves hitting the ground, and I turn around to see a cloud of dust in the distance and silhouettes of people riding on them toward the house. Something in my gut always tells me I don’t want to be standing there when they arrive, I get this uneasy feeling and the hairs on the back of my neck feel like they are painfully standing on end. My instinct is to run into the house, I almost know this place, it doesn’t feel like I don’t belong. I can hear the slight thumping of my bare feet going up the steps and across the landing of the porch to the front door. There’s no handle or knob or anything, I simply push the door open without hesitating, it’s like muscle memory. But once inside, all of the bright color of the day fades and the inside looks like it has aged over 100 years or so in a split second.

The second I hear the door close behind me is when it all changes. There’s a blueish-grey tint to the room, the result of layers of dust and decay I’m assuming. There’s a maroon couch with a high back in the center of the room, it’s upholstery tattered and worn through in some parts. I touch it as I walk past it, the material looks like it might have been velvet before, but now it’s just threads barely covering the cotton underneath. I keep walking and reach the bottom of a grand set of stairs and make my way up, feeling drawn to the second floor. I can feel dead leaves and dust and years of dirt on the wood floorboards under my feet, and it smells old and rotten in the house, like the air is thick with dirt. The banister creaks and feels like it’s going to buckle under my hand with each step I take.

I get to the top and there’s a long hallway with doors on each side and one facing me at the very end. I walk towards the end of the hallway, and my hand traces the wall next to me, and I can feel paint chipping off under my fingernails. I can distinctly still hear that sound in my head, the paint chips scattering on the floor. I notice each door along the hallway to my left and my right is closed, and the door knobs are missing. Just metal rods sticking out of the doors where they should be. Nothing else but the solid door, and door frames with equally decaying and peeling paint. It seems like it takes forever to get to the last door, like my legs don’t want to move or are numb. It feels like I can’t keep my legs straight under me to support me, each step is almost agonizing, the way it stings when your foot falls asleep. I feel heavy. But I get to the last door and I realize it has one of those glass old-school door knobs on the door. The rod it’s connected to is brass, but dirty and unkempt. I reach for it to open the door and when I do I hear a scream so loud and so painful, it makes my skin crawl and my blood feel like it’s curdling. My heart jumps and it feels like my chest hurts. My hand is frozen on the door knob, unmoving. It sounds like it’s coming from in the room though, not behind me or anything. And then… that’s it. I wake up. Right there, every time.

I’m 35 now, so after 27 years or so, I feel like I know I’m dreaming now, but nothing changes. It’s almost like a part of me realizes whats going on and what’s going to happen, and just tries to get it over with. I have a recollection of knowing I’m dreaming and telling myself to stay outside instead of walking in the house, or to try and see what’s past the stairs instead of walking up them, etc. But nothing ever changes or deviates from the original story. Ever. It used to give me the creeps, but I guess now I’m used to it? It’s almost like a welcome comfort at this point. I know I’m dreaming, I know what’s going to happen, there are no uncertainties. Now, it’s a welcome dream instead of an unwanted nightmare.

NOTE: Can also be found on my Medium profile here.