The eyes see us

It is not always that I remember my dreams, but on the occasions that I do, they’re very vivid, somewhat lucid, and often strange.

Once I was exploring mountain trails, full of green and wildlife, eventually finding caves going upwards to unnatural heights, where further journey was dangerous and yet very tempting.

Another time I was going to meet a friend and he lived in this old building downtown, but once I got inside all the corridors, rooms and stairs formed a big maze. But the true problem was I happened to be the only one getting lost there; everyone else living there could easily find their way around.

And on all occasions, even if I realized it was all a dream, I would not wake up naturally. Instead I would be eventually pulled back to reality by my phone’s alarm clock, just in time to get ready for work.

Journaling was never my thing, you see. Every time I decided to keep a dream diary, I would procrastinate recording what I experienced, and in less than a week I would forget the project entirely. And to be fair, I don’t mind forgetting a few dreams, but this is a special case.

I’m not writing this to remember, but to make sure I am not completely losing my mind.

This time, I was in my work office. A first for me. People say you start dreaming about your job if you’re working too much, but that wasn’t my case. My tasks are boring, but they’re not hard nor take too long to complete. Yet there I was, and so were my coworkers. Well, the ones I interact with the most anyway. Everyone else was gone, as if we had missed a memo to stay home or something.

The day proceeded as usual. Daniela had several expense reports to process, Arthur was booking flights and hotel rooms for other colleagues, and I had to write and answer some emails from the company hosting next week’s event.

“The computer’s not working again”, complained Daniela. “Can’t fucking do my job on a 10-year-old machine, and the internet’s slow too.”

“Nothing new under the stars. Today’s probably going to be even worse”, replied Arthur, raising from his chair. “Coffee time, then?”

“I suppose.” She got up from her desk. “It’s either that or risk me finally punching this useless crap. You coming, Derek?” She glanced at my monitor.

“Yeah, I could use a break.” I finished typing an email. “I’ll meet you there, gotta go pee first.”

They walked towards the corridor with the coffee machines, while I went in the opposite direction to the closest men’s bathroom. The first sign something was off: the bathroom had moved to the very end of the hall, now much longer and darker, but at the time I didn’t think much of it. I just kept walking, annoyed by the ever increasing distance, and after an indeterminate time I saw myself right at the door, like a crudely cut scene transition from an amateur movie.

Once inside, a blank filled my mind, and all I remember is stopping by the sinks and staring at the mirror. I cannot tell if I actually did urinate or not, and I guess it doesn’t matter. Much more important were my infinite reflections behind me, despite the lack of mirrors behind me to create that effect. And yet again, I did not react to it. I just fixed a small tuft of hair and left the bathroom.

It was only after I got outside it dawned on me the strangeness of my surroundings. The corridor had completely warped in a tubular fashion, the walls and the carpet floor twisting together; their monotone, grayish tones being replaced with many shades of the primary colors. I stepped forward cautiously, now finally aware I was dreaming.

Despite those constant transmutations, I realized I could still walk normally, the floor still existed, so I decided to hurry to my desk. This time, however, it took me mere moments to go back, and once I reapproached my seat, the world morphed back to its original state. A dull office, albeit now completely empty.

I stood there silent, staring at the dark computer screen. This lucid dream, for some reason, seemed denser than others I had before. My very existence there felt different, my emotions and senses sharpened. The fog permeating the realm of dreams, what fills the blanks left by our faulty imagination, was not present. Everything felt whole, the lines between reality and hypnagogic fantasy were blurred completely.

And then it came, just as I reached this level of consciousness, the thing that brought me to write this.

Once again, my surroundings began morphing into a technicolor amalgamation of twisting shapes, but this time I was being directly observed. Many eyes of different sizes emerged from the eldritch scenery, all directing their stares at me. Legs shaking, I got up, nearly losing balance, and saw myself surrounded by hundreds of eyes. As more of them appeared, others retracted into the colorful patterns, an ever changing ocular landscape.

I did not know what was before me, but I did understand, somehow, none of that was a product of my mind and imagination. It was something else and we bumped into each other outside of reality.

At that moment, my thoughts went to my phone next to my pillow. Never I wanted so much to hear the generic ringtone telling me I had to get up. Never I wanted so much to have my sleep disturbed by the constant barking of my neighbor's dogs, or by a loud motorcycle approaching the workshop down the street. Yet nothing of the sort would come, I was on vacation, away from my noisy street and with no reason to wake up early in the morning.

Still, I did hear something close to me, a familiar voice.

“Huh, so you can see it too.”

Arthur. That was his voice. I turned to see a silhouette standing a few steps away from me, their body not blended completely with the cacophonous landscape, but once he began walking towards me, Arthur’s whole image reformed. I felt a slight relief, for once I could make sense of something happening around me.

“You don’t have to be afraid. It’s just curious about you.” He stopped right beside me, contemplating the many eyes now divided in observing us both.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I glared at him. “What is happening? This is a dream, right? I’m just dreaming. I must be dreaming!”

“Yes, you are dreaming”, he replied. “We are, actually, but I’ll have to go soon, though. Unlike you, I am not on vacation.” I feel an urge to hit him.

“Stop trying to act cool and just tell me what is going on!”

“Dude, chill. You might scare it. It's just an infant, and I am babysitting it.” He pauses. “Well, not that a metacosmic being needs a human taking care of them, but it’s been my duty for these last two weeks.”

At that point I was desperate to convince myself that everything was simply a wild delusion, and despite those words pointing towards this, I somehow knew it wasn’t. The eyes kept watching us, and in every single one of them I saw a bigger truth, confusing and terrifying as it was.

“Enough. I want out.”

“Understandable”, he sighted. “You weren’t supposed to be here anyway. I’m surprised you’re not more freaked out, hopefully it means you won’t remember too much.”

Last thing I saw was him covering my face with his hand, and then I was back in my hotel room, adrenaline still rushing through my veins.

I got up and opened the window. Fresh, cold air hit my face as I gazed upon the outside world looking for any inconsistencies, but all shapes and colors were in place. No eyes staring at me. Just green hills on the horizon, a blue sky with thin clouds, a bunch of people talking in the courtyard below me, and the mourning sun shining brightly over our reality.

Breakfast was quick. I was barely hungry, but forced myself to eat a few things. Meanwhile I decided to text Arthur about what happened. I was ready to drill him with more questions about that thing, yet my fingers froze when the digital keyboard appeared. The dream felt very real, but there was still a chance it was only that, a dream, crazy as it were.

In the end I opted for a casual approach. “Vacation is almost over and now I’m dreaming about the office”, I wrote. “You were there, and some weird stuff happened.”

And the message didn’t reach him. I was blocked.

I got my bag, checked out quickly and hopped into my car. I drove as close to the speed limit as I could. I still had a few hours on the road and now I was adamant to be home as soon as possible. I knew where that son of a bitch lived. I would knock on his door all day if I had to, but I wanted answers.

Halfway through the trip I reached a tunnel, one of many you’d have to take going back south. For years I have known this road like the back of my hand, so I thought I knew where that darkness would lead. Thirty minutes later I realized I was alone and could not see anyone else ahead or behind me. No light at the end of the tunnel, too. And then the asphalt began morphing into a technicolor amalgamation of twisting shapes.

I was being watched once again. Eyes formed all around me and the car, some barely distinguishable as white blurs. I pressed the gas. They all stared at me no matter how fast the vehicle got, and from my peripheral vision I could also see some eyes forming right next to me, on the windows, the ceiling, on the passenger's seat.

The speedometer pointed over 160 kilometers per hour when I began screaming at them (or it) to leave me alone. The car trembled violently, forcing me to blink. And then suddenly a road sign appeared telling me to turn right. There was no time to do that. The world had returned to its normal state and now the guardrails were too weak to stop me from plummeting into the woods below, the last thing I saw before everything went black.

I did survive. I woke up in a hospital bed, pain irradiating from half of my limbs while the other half were nearly numb. The doctor was very straightforward: that crash should have killed me or, at least, left me bedridden for life, yet all my vital organs were spared along with my life. Most of my bones were not so lucky, and I still came in badly injured, but proper treatment would certainly put me back together.

As I slowly write this with my sore arms, I feel my words don’t do justice to everything I experienced. I can only hope my writing conveys at least the necessary to warn people about something much greater than us exists. I saw it. It saw me. And I know I’m not delirious.

Arthur had unblocked and messaged me.

“I’m so sorry it followed you, I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. When you fully recover (you’re welcome, by the way), come see me. You have my address. We have a lot to talk about.”

Webmaster's note: These writings were found in a notebook in an abandoned hospital, inside a cupboard in the patient rooms.