Nightmares Poems Novels & Stories

CHAPTER 18. HAUNTED BY MY NIGHTMARES HARA LUCID NIGHTMARES. That's what they call it. Because in the nightmare I'm having at the moment, I'm aware that I'm dreaming, that I'm having another nightmare. And they weren't just any random nightmares, they were a reoccurrence of my past with Roland. *

“Close your eyes and go back to your bed, Jennah...” She opened her eyes and then bolted upright. She was in her room. Turning, she glowered at the clock. It was only four in the morning. Her heart was still trembling out a loud beat from his touch. She touched her throat and could swear it felt as real as the mouth in her dreams had.

I scream that they may have tattooed me, but I’m not one of them and I don’t want to go on anymore stupid missions. It works better than I hoped. Carden doesn’t stop by for days on end leaving me with my nightmares. They become stronger with each passing day. I wake up breathless. I wake up crying. I wake up with my fists clenched to the point of having bloody nail marks dug into my palms. I wake up with a scream. And then I don’t wake up at all.

She read the poem, and her attention focused on it. “The T and V stand for two places, One is a fountain, the other a haven of grace. Once it was known as Urbs, the eternal seat, And though it had changed, it had stayed just as sweet. You'll find it's ways both complex and divine. Just like it's art, both lavish and fine. A trip to it, you'll remember forever, So I won't hesitate and go whenever! And when I do, I will never leave!” Yulia threw her hair back. “Such a ridiculous poem.”

The clock struck 1 am, adding to her despair. Feeling lost and overwhelmed, she crouched down beside a sleek black car and unraveled into sobs. It had been an unsettling night, filled with one of her usual nightmares that had left her sleep-deprived and disoriented. Whenever she woke up from the terrifying dreams, snippets of different scenarios flickered before her eyes. Some involved a haunting accident, while others featured a pulsating club party. The visions overlapped in her mind, creating an indistinguishable mess that she couldn't shake off.

Isadora: Sleep never came. I lay in bed until the candle at my nightstand drowned in its own wax and the shadows along the ceiling grew restless. They moved like ink across water—sliding, stretching—until I couldn’t tell where the room ended and the dark began. The nightmare from last night still clawed at the edges of my thoughts, a silent fire licking at my ribs. Every time I closed my eyes I felt it waiting, patient and merciless. By the hour before dawn I gave up.

The nightmares did not stop. Every night, the ghosts came. My mother, her face twisted into a mask of shadow, her voice accusing. Kaelen, his eyes black, his hands reaching for my throat, his fingers cold. Lorna, her white hair wild, her crown of thorns dripping blood that sizzled where it touched the floor. Marcus, laughing, always laughing, his black eyes watching me from the corners of my dreams, his voice whispering that I would never be free.

But as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake off the feeling that her life would never be the same again. Matilda's sleep was plagued by nightmares. She tossed and turned, her mind filled with images of her parent's death. She saw their lifeless bodies lying on the ground, their blood staining the grass. She heard their screams of terror and pain echoing in her ears. The nightmares were vivid and terrifying, and she couldn't escape them.

With that thought, he closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to engulf him, and prayed for the strength to overcome the trials that lay ahead. But instead of finding respite in sleep, Dirk was plagued by a series of vivid and haunting nightmares. In his dreams, he was trapped in a maze of darkness, pursued relentlessly by shadows that whispered his deepest fears and insecurities. He fought to escape, but the walls of his subconscious closed in around him, suffocating him with their weight.

Every time I think I’ve buried those memories deep enough, they find a way to resurface, like ghosts determined to drag me back to places I’d rather forget. My past has turned into my worst nightmare, a relentless torment that refuses to loosen its grip on me. Lately, sleep has become a rare and fragile thing. Whenever I do manage to close my eyes, I’m plagued by nightmares that feel all too real. Faces, voices, moments I wish I could erase—they all come rushing back the moment I let my guard down. The darkness isn’t just in my dreams; it’s woven into the fabric of my thoughts, tainting even the briefest moments of peace.