I had high hopes for this one. I love stories that play with dreams and a shifting sense of reality. Bad Dreams was all set up to do exactly that… and then it just didn’t. It ended up feeling like a book just going through the motions. Everything that happens here, Stine has done before and he’s done it better. Both of the main characters were irritating. The sibling rivalry stuff led to a few good scenes but for the most part, it was exhausting. Maggie’s boyfriend was useless, which is pretty typical in this series. The “twist” at the end felt lazy and tacked on. The “villain” had completely implausible motives. So was there anything I liked? I liked the lesson learned at the end, which was perfect for the intended audience of these books. I liked Maggie’s unwinding sense of reality as the story went on, I just wish it had gone much further than it did. Ultimately, the stakes never felt high enough, things never got weird enough, and I was bored. Something I am noticing is that when the Goosebumps books are bad, they are still (mostly) entertaining and ridiculous. When Fear Street books are bad, it takes a concerted effort to finish them. Bad Dreams is easily one of my least favorite Fear Street books so far.
Score:1.5
For my snark-filled, spoiler-laced, deep-dive review; check out my blog.
Summary: Eleven wakes up from a bad dream and finds someone sitting at his side.
Word count:952
Eleven is falling.
He’s falling freely through space, cutting through the darkness blanketing him from every side, every angle, as he stretches his arms and breathes.
When will he hit the ground? He doesn’t know. He sinks deeper into the jaws of sticky, clammy black, dissolving into it, closing his eyes, his skin tingling…
Like the snap of a finger, Eleven jolts up in bed and clutches his pulsing head. His fingers slip into his short hair and he sighs.
“Hey,” Erik’s voice mutters.
Eleven turns and there is Erik, sitting with his fingers folded in his lap, smiling slightly. Sadly.
“Hi,” Eleven says.
“Having trouble sleeping?” Erik asks.
“Mmhmm,” Eleven hums as his fingers dig into his eye sockets and rub the sleep from his closed eyes.
Erik doesn’t say anything. Eleven keeps his eyes shut, even after he’s finished rubbing them, shifting to a sitting position. His fingers flatten against his temple and he stares into his lap.
He can’t remember the last time he’s had a solid night’s rest. Maybe there was a night or two in the Last Bastion, in a place that no longer exists. But he can’t count even one night since then.
Realizing that Erik is watching him sleep comforts Eleven. Like he should have kept sleeping knowing there was someone else there to protect him, someone Eleven can trust.Someone who can lift the profuse weight off his shoulders.
This weight… Eleven sniffs. It’s unreal how unexpectedly relieving it is to not be carrying it alone anymore.
Before, when they’d been traveling, they’d take shifts staying awake throughout the night. Two people were always up, sitting by the fire. Eleven had spent a lot of time with Erik that way — with Erik having his back, the duo facing off against the night together.
Just like then, Erik leans forward and taps El on the forearm.
“You feeling alright?” Erik asks.
“No.”
Eleven feels the sting of his nose and clears his throat. Still not used to this whole “feeling emotions” thing, Eleven finds it embarrassing when he starts to cry. Hot, wet tears roll down his cheeks and he covers his face, curling into himself.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Erik’s voice breaks through Eleven’s thornbush of emotions, and Eleven turns to him, dropping his head into Erik’s lap.
Erik touches the top of Eleven’s head, pushing him deeper into his panicked cries, which shake his body.
It’s Eleven’s nature to be quiet, but that’s not so easy when he’s pouring his soul out, which stains the front of Erik’s tunic. By the time Eleven pulls away, he’s collected himself a little more, nudging Erik’s hands away.
“El, is everything okay?” Erik whispers.
Erik places a hand on Eleven’s knee and Eleven jerks away. Don’t call me that. Don’t touch me like that.
“Could you please not touch me? I just… I-I don’t feel very well.”
“Alright.”
Eleven slowly breathes in and out, dropping his shoulders and closing his eyes as Erik retracts his hands. Eleven’s heart races, everything on high alert as if expecting an ambush despite it being the middle of a peaceful night.
“You okay? You need anything?” Erik asks. He’s so close, yet so far away, with a rift of experiences between them.
El shakes his head. “No, I’ll be alright. I just… it’s been really difficult adjusting to not being in almost literal hell.”
“Mmhm.”
“The only time anyone ever touched me was to hurt me. Even you, when you saw me, drew your knife.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Eleven says. “It’s just… how can I ever reasonably expect to be treated with kindness again? I can’t. Kindness is much more fleeting than the scars on my body. I can’t forgetwhere those came from when…”
A tear slides down Eleven’s cheek and he clears his throat, but it feels like he’s choking, choking on the noxious thoughts that had settled over him ever since that first day back in time. It feels like a part of him had been broken, a part he is incapable of repairing because that would mean taking the whole person apart and starting over again.
“No one’s expecting you to forget, but I hope you can forgive us. Or at least me,” Erik says, the hint of a smirk returning.
Eleven lightly snorts. “Yeah, I’m— I’ll try.”
“You’re not there yet, huh?” Erik asks.
“It’s not for want of trying.”
“I’m sure you’ll get there.”
“Mm.”
“Well,” Erik starts, heaving a sigh, as he stands from his char. “I didn’t mean to creep on you while you slept. I’ll get out of your hair now.”
“Please stay,” Eleven says. He presses his hand behind his own neck, calming his nerves. “I can’t sleep otherwise.”
“You trust me that much?” Erik asks.
Eleven nods.
“Wow, uh…” Erik rubs the back of his head. “I guess I’m just a little surprised. After everything you’ve gone through, I assumed you wouldn’t.”
Eleven didn’t trust the other Erik at all. But this one? This was the one Eleven had gone back in time a second time for, possibly subjecting himself to once again being torn apart atom by atom. This was the Erik whom Eleven had been waiting to hug as soon as they’d reunited again.
“I trust you more than anything,” Eleven says. “So please.”
He leans over and pats the recently vacated seat for emphasis. Erik smiles and drops into it again.
“Alright, pal. I’ll be right here, so you go on and rest,” Erik says.
Eleven slides down into bed, resting his head on his pillow. He curls a hand under his cheek and smiles.
Evolves into Thrugbare at level 32 during the night.
A helpful Pokémon that will happily sweep and clean up the rooms of little children. However, if they are not grateful for its help, it will become spiteful.
It hides underneath unswept beds, accumulating dust in its fur and waiting for nightfall. Then it emerges with a ferocious roar and terrifies young kids into doing their chores.
Cornered in a nightmare by two figures that looked oddly like The Silence with bobbed haircuts. They were also wearing 1950s style dresses. Scene was somehow attached to a retail anxiety dream… they were not happy with the current quality of their bedding and were less happy that we wouldn’t give them their money back.
I kept pleading, “You must understand - those sheets are fifteen years old. You can’t really expect them to have stayed perfect for that long!”
Also, thanks to @whumpcereal for this idea. I was struggling with this prompt. LOL!
Mask | Nightmare | Pliers
Ben stared up at the terrifying mask. Ben was fastened to an inclined table and stripped down to his boxers, this was the stuff of his nightmares. Was this a nightmare? And the face on the mask… Ben shuddered at the twisted, carved form of a corpse face looking down on him.
“Now little Benjamin, let’s find out what you’re made of, shall we?”
Ben strained helplessly as his mouth was forced open – open so wide he could feel his jaw ache and click. Ben’s eyes widened in terror as a pair of pliers descended towards his open mouth. They clamped around one of his teeth and started to tug. Ben’s eyes watered and he wanted to scream, but no sound came from his mouth.
Ben jerked awake in the dark. The sound of the chains rattling set his teeth on edge and reminded him where he was – that and the fact that he was warm. The only time he was warm was when he was in his bed. He was curled up as much as the chains on his wrists and ankles would allow, Volkov spooned around him, limbs tangled with his own. Ben hated that he reveled in the warmth.
Volkov knew exactly what he was doing when he’d chained him to that cross outside. He’d brought him back here to his bed and wrapped him in blankets. He’d explained that the only way he got a blanket, or a pillow, was when he was with him. When Ben chose to be with him.
He’d made him ask - made him beg. Ben had sworn he wouldn’t at first, but he was so cold in his cage and it was always so warm in Volkov’s bed. It was the one reprieve to the disgusting things that happened to him here, to the things he made Ben do here.
“Malyshka? Did you have a bad dream, my little kitten?” Volkov’s voice was thick with sleep, his Russian accent gruffer as a result.
“N-no, I’m, I’m, I’m sorry I woke you, you, sir,” Ben said quietly. He could feel Volkov’s erection pressing against his back and god, he hoped that the mad Russian would just go back to sleep.
“No, tell me, my darling. You can tell me anything,” Volkov’s voice was soft and questioning. Ben knew not to trust it.
“I-it’s fine. Go back to sleep. It was, was n-nothing.”
“Tell me, Malyshka.”
Ben could hear the command in Volkov’s voice. He huffed out a breath and slowly, reluctantly, recounted what he could of the terrifying dream. As if anyone needed to tell him who the man in the mask was. It was either Volkov or Dmitri, the two men who had hurt him the most over the last few months. Maybe Ilya as well.
“Let me see… my Babushka used to interpret dreams.” He was thoughtful for a moment. Ben hoped desperately that he’d fallen back asleep, but of course, no such luck. “Maybe this man in the mask represents that you do not know who you can trust. Perhaps you are worried about who might be hiding, lurking behind a mask to hurt you. Like your brother, kitten, he was behind a mask all along, wasn’t he?”
Don’t fucking talk about Jake! Ben wanted to scream. His brother made some mistakes, he wasn’t a monster, not like the man who had Ben chained in his bed.
Ben nodded his head obediently. Perhaps if he just went along, they could go back to sleep.
Volkov continued with his farcical dream interpretation. “Losing your teeth could be kin to you losing control. And we certainly both know you have none of that around here, do you my little scholar?”
“N-no, sir,” Ben said, barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard as Volkov’s hand drifted from his hip and down around to cup him between his legs.
Volkov stroked Ben with one hand while he turns the boy’s face with his other towards him. His mouth was on Ben’s, tongue demanding and receiving entry. Ben knew not to fight it. Maybe Volkov would be quick. Volkov pulled away.
“The only interest I’d have in taking your teeth would be if you forgot yourself while you’re performing for me. We have found some great uses for that tongue of yours, haven’t we?”
Ben closed his eyes in the dark of the room. “Y-y-yes… Yes, sir.”
“Now, forcing your mouth open…” Volkov reached behind him to the bedside table for the conveniently located ring gag. “I think we can arrange that. Open up, little scholar.”
I really hate good dreams sometimes, where you love me and I love you and we make sense and put in equal efforts, and get to lie next to each other night after night. Because in those dreams it feels like days or weeks or years, and it’s not perfect, but we’re happy and together. Which makes it an even more rude awakening to wake up to an empty bed and realize you were an empty she’ll in my dreams because you loved me, which the real you never could do properly. How I’m even more of a fool to have been fooled, too full of hope to see that you were full of smoke. Sometimes I really hate good dreams.
Anyways yeah, my Squidbob is a rarepair post is getting traction again lately and all I can say is hmu when you are “the One and Only Person drawing ship content for your rarepair, it’s Just That Exclusive.”
Bcuz that’s where I’m at with at least two or three of the ships on this blog, so yeah.
Some of you have never shipped a rare pair and it shows.
Some of you have never invented a rarepair, written the only fic for it, and then wallowed alone in your special mud pit of crack pairings and it shows
Yesterday after a short nap during the day, I had a short bout of sleep paralysis which caused me to have a intermittent and interrupted sleep last night. Feeling the brain fog! And all I want is sugar.
First of many short stories for @lost-opium-artblog shifter au. Hope y'all enjoy it.
I would have had it up sooner, but writer’s block and life decided to postpone it without my permission.
Zain’s Teddy Bear.
Soft sobs, pulled Salim from his light and fitful sleep. His body moved instinctually before he even had a chance to open his eyes. The blankets trailed behind him as he slipped off of the couch and into a low crouch. Sniffing the air, he noticed the faint bitter scent of fear. The scent was drifting from the hall. At first Salim thought it was Dalila, since the scent of fear and disgust clung heavily to her since he had been turned.
If Salim had know how negatively the bite would affect his family, he would have never accepted it. He should have talked it over with Dalila and put more thought into the consequences of becoming a werewolf. Instead he had only thought of how it would benefit his family. Now he had to deal with the consequences of his good intentioned, but foolish decision.
Sighing, Salim shook his head to clear the pointless thoughts from it and focused on locating the source of the smell. He drew closer to the beginning of the hall and took a deep breath. His head snapped towards Zain’s room. The scent seemed to be coming from there. Turning and tilting his head to the side, he used his keen hearing to pinpoint the sound of sobs. Confirming that it was coming from his son’s room, spurred Salim to padded quickly down the hall.
The door to Zain’s room creaked a little when he opened it. Peering inside, his eyes landed on a trembling form that was curled up and hidden away under covers.
“Zain.” Salim softly called out as he crossed the short distance between them. The bed sank under his weight as he sat next to his boy. Setting his hand on Zain’s back, he tried to reassure him. “It’s ok. I’m here.”
The little boy threw the covers off of himself and quickly crawled into his baba’s lap. Bunching up his baba’s shirt in his tiny fists, Zain pressed against him. Salim instantly cradled his son and gently rubbed Zain’s back. The smell of fear thicken with a hints of salt from the boy’s tears. It pained Salim that his son was in such a state. With his left hand, he wiped tears from son’s cheeks.
“What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?” Zain nodded his head. His body wouldn’t stop trembling even though he knew that he was safe in his baba’s arms. “It was only a dream, Zain. You are safe.”
“Why did you and mama abandon me? Why did you leave me all alone?!”
Salim was taken aback by the questions. He would never abandon his son, Zain was everything to him.
What had the little boy been dreaming of? Salim wanted to ask what the dream was about, but thought better of it and instead did his best to reassure his son.
“Oh Zain. Your mama and me would never leave you. We both love you so much."
"You promise.”
“Yes, my boy. I promise. I will always protect you and do my best to be a good baba."
Zain’s sobs eventually turned into little sniffles with an occasional gasp here and there. Salim waited till Zain had fully calmed down before attempting to tuck the little boy back into bed. It proved more difficult than it should have. Zain desperately clung to his baba with all his strength and begged Salim to stay with him. No matter how much Salim assured Zain that he would be ok. The little boy refused to let go.
Salim sighed. Zain’s bed was not big enough for the both of them and neither was the couch. He’d have to come up with a different sleeping arrangement. Picking up Zain with ease, he made his way back to the living room.
Setting Zain on the couch, he tried to pull away to set up a make shift bed on the floor for them. Once more, his boy clung to him and it was a struggle to convince Zain to let go of him.
"You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” Zain’s voice was getting watery and his eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.
“Zain, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just arranging the pillows and blankets.”
“You promise.”
“I promise.” Salim sealed his promise with a kiss to Zain’s forehead. It seemed to calm the little boy enough for him to let go. Working quickly, Salim arranged everything and draped one of his blankets on the make shift bed. He held out his hand to Zain, guiding him onto the pillows and getting him all comfy before joining him.
They managed to sleep for a few minutes before the smell of fear overwhelmed Salim’s nose. He could feel Zain trembling against him once more.
“Is it the same bad dream as before?” Zain nodded his head. “Do you want to talk about it?"
"I was alone…mama and you were dead…everyone was dead…” Zain began to sob again. “I don’t want you to die…”
“I won’t die. I’m too stubborn to.” Salim tried to lightened the mood, but didn’t quite succeed. So he pulled his son into a tight hug and tried to sooth him by humming one of Zain’s favorite lullabies. It helped a little, but the little boy still reeked of fear. Racking his brain for a way to make his son feel safe, Salim could only come up with one way.
He knew how fascinated Zain was with mythology and with his baba’s new state of being. Maybe if he transformed, he could distract Zain from his bad dreams. Though it could all backfire and the little boy could start to act like Dalila. It would destroy Salim if Zain began to fear him too. He began to rethink transforming till Zain’s fear began to grow again. The smell began to make his nose burn.
Saying a quick prayer to Allah, Salim went through with his plan.
“Zain, would you like me to turn? Nothing can hurt me when I’m a wolf.” It wasn’t completely true, but if he could make Zain believe it. Perhaps he could make the little boy feel safe and less worried about his baba’s mortality.
“Nothing can hurt you?” Salim confirmed that nothing could hurt him and that nothing could hurt Zain or his mama while he was a wolf. That all of them would be safe. It took a moment for Zain to hesitantly nodded his head.
Taking a deep breath, Salim moved away from the make shift bed and undressed. It would be uncomfortable and painfully to transform, but he was dead set on making Zain feel safe. He warned Zain that he would make weird noises as he transformed, but that he was ok, that it was normal. The little boy nodded and Salim could feel his eyes watching intently. Luckily, it was dark so Zain could only see his form and wouldn’t see all the disturbing details of his transformation.
Concentrating, Salim called forth his other form. His breathing quickened, interrupted by grunts and groans as his body alter to a new shape. Fur began to sprout from his skin and soon it covered his body completely. Panting softly, he sat down to catch his breath.
Timid hands reached out to him and he felt his son’s fingers run through his fur. A small gasp followed and Salim held his breath. Afraid that his son would reject him just like his wife had.
“You’re so soft, like my teddy bear.” Relief flooded him as Zain’s fear disappeared completely and was replaced with the smells of curiosity and excitement. His son’s hands explored his furry face and gently tugged on his ears. If Salim could have chuckled, he would have.
He picked up Zain and set him back onto the pillows and blankets. Curling protectively around his son, Salim tried to get the little boy to sleep. Though it seemed Zain was having trouble settling down, luckily not from bad dreams this time. His little hands explores his baba’s head and shoulders, fascinated by how different they were. He asked questions, but Salim couldn’t quite answer them in this form.
Zain seemed unbothered by it and soon began to theorizing the answers himself. It wasn’t too long before the little boy began to yawn repeatedly. Finally settling down, he used the crook of his baba’s neck as a pillow and drifted off to sleep, while softly pet the fur on his baba’s shoulder.
Salim waited till the little boy’s breathing was relaxed and steady, before he himself drifted off to sleep.
I’m so weak for this it is so pure and warm and describes perfectly that drawing I did <3 Thank you so much for that, I can’t wait to see what else you’ll write!
Day after day without fail these nightmares keep haunting me. Creating fear in the only time I can escape from reality. I know it’s not real, but what’s stopping it from become true? This unneeded anxiety I feel, the confusion my mind feels, the worries, the tears when I wake, why. Please just leave me alone, I’m happy for once, don’t let me ruin it.
