Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness 2014-2015 - 8th of December
[Prompt from Poseidon - God of the Seas]Prompt for the 8th of December From Poseidon - God of the Seas - Dracula.
Having awoken from my fourth nightmare in as many nights on the floor in a tangle of blankets, I attempted to calm my ragged breathing as I looked about me. I was in my room at Baker Street. I was perfectly safe, though I did - as I had on every other occasion - feel an inexplicable urge to reassure myself that Holmes was safe and well by going down and checking on him. The idea was preposterous and I attempted to put the thought to the back of my mind as I returned myself to my bed.
"Watson?" the soft whisper of my companion enquired as he gently opened the servants' door of my room and peered around it. "Are you all right old fellow?"
I nodded and offered him an apologetic smile, feeling much better now that I knew that he was indeed quite safe but rather guilty for having disturbed him.
He frowned and approached my bedside, setting the lighted candle that he carried down before sitting at my side and touching my forehead with his nervous fingers.
"What ever is the matter my dear Watson?"
I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly and lowered my gaze to my hands.
"Watson," said he rather sternly. "I know that you are not sleeping. What is it? What ails you?"
"I am not unwell Holmes."
"Well, I am not convinced. You have been pale and listless of late, your appetite is not as it should be... Clearly, you are not yourself. If you are well, what is it?"
I shrugged, still quite unable to meet his gaze. "Nightmares."
"About what?" he demanded to know. "We have had no cases that were particularly horrifying or dangerous of late. The last overly dangerous one that we shared was months ago - and I did not think that you were affected."
I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "It is inexplicable. I know not what has caused it."
And yet I did. There had first been the case of the Sussex Vampire - at the very beginning of which Holmes had succeeded in frightening me much more than I cared to admit - and then, much more recently, we had been set upon by three understudies in vampire costumes while we were investigating a theatre. Holmes had been bitten by one of the men - the teeth were horribly sharp - and the injuries had been slow to cease their bleeding.
For some inexplicable reason, my subconscious had linked these cases together and decided to make the vampires terribly real. Holmes would not understand it - I could not understand it, after all.
"Would you feel better for some music?" Holmes enquired gently.
I nodded and settled back, doing my utmost to calm myself. Eventually, Holmes' violin soothed me back to slumber and I remained in a deep sleep until late the following morning.
That was two nights ago and I had thought that those nightmares had finally ceased. Tonight, I have discovered myself to be wrong and so I have decided to write it down in the hope of putting my thoughts into some sort of order.
At the beginning of the Sussex Vampire case, I entered our sitting room to find Holmes hunched at his desk, covering his eyes. Fearing the fellow to be unwell, I had approached whilst gently calling his name.
With a hiss he had turned sharply in his chair, baring two pointed fangs at me while his grey eyes stared at me rather strangely. He was wearing make-up to make himself appear even paler than usual and I had recoiled in fear and revulsion before I knew quite what I was doing. I do believe that the fellow was rather amused.
That, together with what has taken place more recently at the theatre, is what has formed my dream, which never varies.
I take a wounded and bleeding Holmes back to Baker Street, as I had done that day, and leave him a moment to retrieve my bag from my room upstairs. When I return, I find him hunched in his chair with his eyes covered, as I have already described. The fellow then turns and attacks me before he leaps through the window in a shower of breaking glass without giving me a chance to react in any way.
This bad dream has now gone on for long enough to cause me to feel unsafe in my own sitting room. I cannot relax enough to eat and I am more unsettled now, I believe, than I was when I returned from Afghanistan. Yet I know this to be nonsense!
What can this dream mean and how can I possibly rid myself of it? I know that Holmes wishes to help, but he would surely think me ridiculous were he to know what is happening to me. I cannot bring myself to talk to him about it.
Having awoken from my fourth nightmare in as many nights on the floor in a tangle of blankets, I attempted to calm my ragged breathing as I looked about me. I was in my room at Baker Street. I was perfectly safe, though I did - as I had on every other occasion - feel an inexplicable urge to reassure myself that Holmes was safe and well by going down and checking on him. The idea was preposterous and I attempted to put the thought to the back of my mind as I returned myself to my bed.
"Watson?" the soft whisper of my companion enquired as he gently opened the servants' door of my room and peered around it. "Are you all right old fellow?"
I nodded and offered him an apologetic smile, feeling much better now that I knew that he was indeed quite safe but rather guilty for having disturbed him.
He frowned and approached my bedside, setting the lighted candle that he carried down before sitting at my side and touching my forehead with his nervous fingers.
"What ever is the matter my dear Watson?"
I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly and lowered my gaze to my hands.
"Watson," said he rather sternly. "I know that you are not sleeping. What is it? What ails you?"
"I am not unwell Holmes."
"Well, I am not convinced. You have been pale and listless of late, your appetite is not as it should be... Clearly, you are not yourself. If you are well, what is it?"
I shrugged, still quite unable to meet his gaze. "Nightmares."
"About what?" he demanded to know. "We have had no cases that were particularly horrifying or dangerous of late. The last overly dangerous one that we shared was months ago - and I did not think that you were affected."
I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "It is inexplicable. I know not what has caused it."
And yet I did. There had first been the case of the Sussex Vampire - at the very beginning of which Holmes had succeeded in frightening me much more than I cared to admit - and then, much more recently, we had been set upon by three understudies in vampire costumes while we were investigating a theatre. Holmes had been bitten by one of the men - the teeth were horribly sharp - and the injuries had been slow to cease their bleeding.
For some inexplicable reason, my subconscious had linked these cases together and decided to make the vampires terribly real. Holmes would not understand it - I could not understand it, after all.
"Would you feel better for some music?" Holmes enquired gently.
I nodded and settled back, doing my utmost to calm myself. Eventually, Holmes' violin soothed me back to slumber and I remained in a deep sleep until late the following morning.
That was two nights ago and I had thought that those nightmares had finally ceased. Tonight, I have discovered myself to be wrong and so I have decided to write it down in the hope of putting my thoughts into some sort of order.
At the beginning of the Sussex Vampire case, I entered our sitting room to find Holmes hunched at his desk, covering his eyes. Fearing the fellow to be unwell, I had approached whilst gently calling his name.
With a hiss he had turned sharply in his chair, baring two pointed fangs at me while his grey eyes stared at me rather strangely. He was wearing make-up to make himself appear even paler than usual and I had recoiled in fear and revulsion before I knew quite what I was doing. I do believe that the fellow was rather amused.
That, together with what has taken place more recently at the theatre, is what has formed my dream, which never varies.
I take a wounded and bleeding Holmes back to Baker Street, as I had done that day, and leave him a moment to retrieve my bag from my room upstairs. When I return, I find him hunched in his chair with his eyes covered, as I have already described. The fellow then turns and attacks me before he leaps through the window in a shower of breaking glass without giving me a chance to react in any way.
This bad dream has now gone on for long enough to cause me to feel unsafe in my own sitting room. I cannot relax enough to eat and I am more unsettled now, I believe, than I was when I returned from Afghanistan. Yet I know this to be nonsense!
What can this dream mean and how can I possibly rid myself of it? I know that Holmes wishes to help, but he would surely think me ridiculous were he to know what is happening to me. I cannot bring myself to talk to him about it.