"Height, hell, time, haste, terror, tension. Life, death, want, waste, mass depression."
And thus, he told his dream to everyone;
"I was angry. Angrier than I've ever been. The kids were getting on my nerves and the cats were constantly under my feet. So I was yelling. And throwing things. I flipped the mattress over and there were cats under the bed, digging at my tool box. I just lost my shit and opened it super hard. It hit one of the cats and it yowled this terrible sound. That's when the demon came. I could feel its hand inside of me, squeezing my organs. It whispered in my ear that I needed to stop being such an asshole. I knew I was dreaming at that point, so I tried to wake up but I couldn't. I could feel my liver and kidneys turning into pulp and I tried to scream. I opened my mouth wide and hoped that my sleeping body was doing the same in the real world, tried to squeak out any kind of scream so someone would come and shake me awake but the demon wouldn't let any sound come out. It laughed at me. It told me it would come back over and over again as many times as it took, as it had done for years and years and I knew that it was telling the truth, I could remember the dreams of the demon and the torment going all the way back to childhood."
"And why do you think that is?" Dr Harris barely looked up from his notepad during the group sessions. This time was no exception.
"Why do I think that is?? Because the demon has been attacking me in my dreams since I was a kid? Making sleep randomly feel like Hell?" He became visibly agitated as an orderly came and put a hand on his shoulder.
Several of the patients in the circle inched away from his outburst, whilst others nodded along to the things that he said. Each one had their own story to tell, some not that dissimilar to his.
"We've talked about this before, Dustin. There is no demon, no supernatural force tormenting you. It's your sleeping mind creating a metaphor for the anger that destroyed your marriage. Until you start to take responsibility for your actions, the dreams will continue."
"'Taking responsibility' doesn't change shit!" He shouted. "I can be the goddamned Saint of taking responsibility and it still comes into my dreams!" The orderly pushed him back down into his chair, clamping tightly and preventing him from rising again.
"Stan, it's okay, Dustin is just a little tired. He'll remain quiet and behave. Won't you, Dustin?"
"Yes, Dr Harris, I'm sorry for my outburst." He looked down at the floor sullen.
"It's quite alright." The doctor closed his notepad and looked around. "Now, everyone, this is an important learning moment. We all have our demons. Figuratively. Everyone has something that tempts them or that they try to escape from. The key is to never let these demons control you. Ah, but that's group for the day, so we'll have to discuss this more next time."
******
"Hey, Dustin, you awake, man?"
Sitting in bed, back to the wall, Dustin was indeed awake. The nightmares and dealing with the stress of group almost always guaranteed a restless evening for him.
"You ever notice how therapist broken down is 'the rapist'? That's how my mind always feels after group. Like being non-consensual mind fucked."
A forced chuckle escaped his lips. Vaughn always knew what to say to drain the tension out of the room. "Never looked at it like that, but you ain't wrong. Least the doc could have done is wear a condom when he went that deep."
"People think we're crazy 'cause we have a few issues, but that quack is nuts. Anyone that emotionless has to have some really fucked up 'figurative demons' of his own." Vaughn laughed at himself before rolling over.
"Probably dresses like a gimp and pays for a dominatrix to fuck him like a pig."
Vaughn abruptly stopped laughing. "Shit, you think so? Huh. Maybe that's what we all need."
This time, Dustin's chuckle was genuine. Vaughn, like himself, was in Grand Meadow for anger problems. His manager at Burger Hut had been convinced that he was going to blow up their restaurant and his parents forced him to check in for observation, not unlike Dustin's ex-wife as a condition for him ever seeing his kids again.
"Sure, if you can't beat them, pork them. Good night, man." Laughing into his pillow, Vaughn gave a thumbs up.
Dustin stretched out across his bed, watching a slender shaft of moonlight appear and disappear on the floor at the whim of the clouds. It held a certain nighttime rhythm. The on and off nature of the light, the whistle of the breeze against the window, Vaughn's snoring. Everything combined to form a hypnotic pattern that Dustin could lose himself in, even if only for a small while.
Eyes glazed over in a thousand yard stare, he started to feel the familiar chest-tightening sensation.
It never happens this often, he thought as his pulse quickened and the panic set in. The caress of claws pressing into his flesh was swiftly followed by the tickle of words against his ear.
"Such a terrible, vulgar, immasculated little man. This is why they left you. This is why they will
always leave you." The demon purred as the skin on Dustin's back shredded as easily as paper, exposing vital organs and viscera. He could feel his blood spurting with each twist of its wrists, the pain mind-numbing when his organs popped like grapes in its hands. He tried everything he could to wake himself up, every trick he had spent years combing books and articles to find.
Fingers like cold fire gripped his arms and held him firm as the demon continued to violate his entrails. "Shhh, shhh, shhh, you're too weak to break free." He could feel every inch of his intestines as they were tugged from around his spine, his jaw aching from the silent scream he couldn't release.
The pillow hit him in the face from across the room. "Dude, I'm too tired, keep it down." Exhaling sharply, Dustin rolled onto the floor, running his hands across the smooth skin of his lower back as he stared at his bed. The terror was getting progressively worse and the medications Dr Harris had prescribed weren't helping at all. He knew without a doubt that he would truly go insane if it didn't stop.
It wasn't until the pain had passed, until he lay there gasping in great lungfuls of air, that he realized he had never fallen asleep.
******
Vaughn died three days later. It was unrelated to anything happening with Dustin, and by all accounts was his own fault. A fight with another patient became physical. He tripped after shoving the patient, falling into an overturned chair, the leg of which penetrated his ocular cavity all the way until it touched the inside of his skull. There was nothing anyone could do and he was pronounced dead on the scene.
That it had nothing to do with his nightmares was of no comfort to Dustin, however, who was filled more and more every day with a creeping sense of dread. Nor did it make anyone more chatty in group, as everyone became quieter and more reluctant to speak out. When someone finally did speak, it was to talk about seeing Vaughn's ghost, bloody eye gouge and all, and they were quickly silenced by the hospital staff.
"We're all sad about Vaughn's untimely passing, but he wouldn't want any of us to dwell on it. He'd want us all to move on and focus on getting better." Dr Harris lectured the assemblage.
"What if... The demon pushed him to torment me?" Dustin thought aloud, for the first time potentially blaming himself.
The doctor sighed. "Dustin. When I told you that you needed to take responsibility, it was for your actions, not the actions of someone else. Vaughn's own personal demons are to blame. Yours can only hurt someone else if you let them drive your actions."
"But what if you're wrong?? What if there was some way that I could have... I don't know. Done something. I could have saved him!"
"Stan, Dustin is clearly overwrought today. Could you take him back to his room, please? We'll continue this conversation privately."
"Yo, c'mon, man." The orderly reached a bear-sized hand down and helped Dustin to his feet, more jerking him out of the chair than actively aiding in the endeavor.
"Doc, I think you're right, I think I do have to take responsibility. For all of it."
"That's good, Dustin, but we'll talk more later." Dr Harris' eyes were devoid of any empathy as he watched Stan pull Dustin from the room.
******
"My time is a very finite resource, you see. It's precious to me and the patients that can be saved."
Dr Harris stood to one side of an old fashioned examination table. Dustin would have nodded or given a verbal response, but the rubber bit in his mouth and the straps across his body prevented him from doing either.
"I haven't given up on you, you know. Just because group therapy and private sessions aren't getting to the root of your delusions, there are more drastic options we can try."
Tears formed in the corners of Dustin's eyes as he vaguely remembered being injected with something to help him sleep before experiencing nightmares stronger and more vivid than he'd ever had in his life. The demon eviscerated him and used his body parts to make esoteric images, explaining in minute detail what each piece of him was meant to represent. None of it made sense to him, nor should a delusion, of course. He just wanted it to stop and was thankful that Dr Harris had a plan.
"Stan, make sure the connections are tight, please." He motioned for the orderly to double check that all of the electrodes were firmly in place.
"I'm on it, doc."
"Now, for many years, electroconvulsive therapy was utilized by medical professionals to 'shock' the brain into working correctly. It's nonsense and barbaric, you understand, the process they used. This, by contrast, is a work of art. You see, for the current to properly stimulate the brain, the connections must go deeper."
The needles in his temples made his head throb, as Dustin followed along with the explanation. Tiny droplets of blood escaped from the holes, only to be absorbed by sponges at the ends of a wired harness.
"Yes, it's theta waves that are the root of your nightmares. Once this device realigns how your brain transmits these, you will see a great improvement. In fact, they may stop altogether. Wouldn't you like that?"
Dustin blinked rapidly and mumbled around the bit that he would, the throbbing in his head building into a solid drum beat.
"Good! Stan, shall we begin?"
"Any time, doc!"
Dr Harris nodded and the orderly made several adjustments on a control console, directing how much of a current to send to start. Once the settings looked correct, the doctor nodded again, and the orderly engaged the machine.
A soft whine emanated from the equipment as the first jolts hit Dustin. Immediately, the world went white and unfocused, his body strained against the straps. He could hear Dr Harris as if from a long distance yelling for Stan to stop, that it was too much power too fast. The words were jumbled and eventually drowned out by the voice of the demon.
"Done? So soon? But we had so many more years of fun to look forward to." He could almost hear the pout in its seductive tones. "That's okay. Broken toys aren't worth playing with anyway."
Eyes rolling into the back of his skull, the electricity seizing his muscles in a vice-like grip, sparks danced before Dustin's blackening vision. Moments prior to losing what little remained of himself, he heard maniacal cackling driven by pure bliss, as the demon attached itself to Stan, intent on repeating the same process unto eternity.
