Naughtmare

What do people usually see in their nightmare? A monster? A faceless figure looming over their bed in the dark of the afterhour? A crawling woman with broken spine and mouth full of blood hounding at you at the speed of sound? Tall, black figure with nothing but a gaping mouth for face and claws for fingers, moving at the ticks of seconds while you paralyzed in endless fear and confusion?

We all have nightmares. Sometimes. I think. Most people do.

I had one. A monster. Unnamed creature. Unspoken characteristics. Nightmares are always like that, they are amalgamation of things you know and can label, but together they make up something outside the realm of familiarity. Looks like goblin, you'd say, but they're not. Looks like 'kuntilanak', you'd say, but they're not. But more than not, they all evoke similar sense of fear. Primal. Instinctive. You just want to run. Yet you can't.

I was there, in a dark room. A bed; but not a bed. Something soft that you can sit on. Is it even a room? The breeze indicated an open window, but it was too much wind to be called breeze. A scream, but there's no sound. Urge to run away, but every inch of muscle move takes eternity that expands indefinitely. My limbs were disconnected from my brain, they were their own entities now. They moved outside of my control, clenching and unclenching involuntarily.

I stared at that creature for what seems like forever. It's a she. A powerful entity, a species so ancient they roamed this Earth since the dawn of time. Yet at this moment, she is weak with her primal fear. 

I grew larger. My claws dangling from the tips of my limbs, further away from the ground. My neck -- should it be called so-- cracked back and forth, whilst our eyes -- should you call them so-- still transfixed to each other.

I was the monster. I was trapped inside this marionette of phantasm, watching everything unfolds in first-person perspective. I felt the terror filled the room. The undulating, unspoken scream filled the air. I watched this poor girl cowering in silence, wishing for this moment to end. I felt bad. I felt guilty. I, too, wanted that moment to end. The guilt, of course. I was okay with all that happening, but please spare me from the guilt. I don't want to feel like I'm the bad guy in this situation. Even after I saw paralysis took her voice away, because of my existence.

Why are we so afraid of the ugly?