Moonlit Teesside

Norman woke with a start. He was drenched in sweat, and as he swung his feet onto the floor, he pulled the cotton bedsheet up with him. Norman paid no attention to the fact that his bed was coming apart, all he cared about and all he could think of was the dream he’d just had.
He sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath – images from his dream kept flashing before his eyes, making him shudder and his stomach somersault. Taking a drink from the glass of water by his bed, Norman felt his racing heart begin to relax. Feeling calmer, he laid his head back down onto his ruffled pillow and tried to remember the dream, from start to finish. Norman was getting used to having nightmares, it was almost a game now to try and recall what had happened in the dream, yet, this time, there had been something wrong with it but he couldn’t figure out what.
There had been a house, a large suburban house, with lots of trees near it. He’d been stood in amongst the trees watching the upstairs bedroom window. The place seemed familiar to Norman – he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he’d been there on a job. The spaces between the trees were black, darker even than the night that cast its clear moon-bright light over the hillside, past the expensive house, down onto the peaceful looking town below. Again, the town looking vaguely familiar like he’d seen the view before, only possibly in the daylight, not this late hour. It wasn’t a big town, closer to being a village than a town, Norman thought, judging by the number of streetlights he could see. A small town, but big enough for my needs. Now where had that come from? What needs?
There was movement upstairs that caught his eye, quickly followed by the stabbing light of a bedside lamp as it was switched on. Norman could see, with alarming clarity, framed within the illuminated window, the person who’d just walked into the room. His heart speeded up. She looked fantastic: late twenties, long blonde hair, and succulent curves. He felt his tongue cross his lips as he stared up at the woman as she began to undress. Somewhere distant, as if being spoken to through a glass door, Norman heard himself ask, Why am I here?
The joys of life! Was the sudden vibrant reply. The voice wasn’t Norman’s but, again, he got the sensation that he knew the voice well, even felt comforted by the fact that the voice had sounded so familiar. He felt his inner-self breathe a sigh of relief. With difficulty, he tried again to place the voice with a name. Just when he thought he was close to the answer, his thoughts scattered to the four winds as a man, clearly much older than the woman and wearing nothing but lounge pants, walked into the bedroom and stood behind the woman, his arms wrapped around her waist.
What am I doing? Peeping? This time the voice was Norman’s, slightly louder and clearer within his mind. This wasn’t like him; he wasn’t a Peeping Tom. He began to panic. His heart began to thump, no longer the fast pulsation of excitement but the pounding beat of a heart ready to run; its sound filled his ears, deafening him to all other noises save one – his breathing. It was low and deep, drawn in slow intervals, in total contrast to the clamour of his heartbeat. He could feel the rush of his blood as it pounded through his head. Norman’s mind was reeling. Why was he in this garden? What was he doing?
His inner-self began to feel sick. He needed to get away from this house, clear his head, and figure out what the hell he was doing there. Norman tried to turn away but couldn’t; he was stuck rigidly to where he stood, by a large oak tree next to a small fishpond.
Suddenly there was a noise, the sound of something moving, something coming at him through the trees. Norman tried once more to move, to take his eyes off the bedroom window but he couldn’t. He could hear the growling breath of a dog as it weaved its way through the trees somewhere to his right. Suddenly, it stopped. Although his eyes never left the window, Norman sensed the dog was stood, poised, ready to attack. There was a low growl, which Norman found himself responding to. Horrified by the sound that came from his mouth, Norman’s mind lurched sideways, trying to get away from that noise – his very core shaking with primeval terror. For a moment, Norman thought he was going to pass out. What on earth was going on? The dog, a Rottweiler, Norman knew without even turning to look at it, whimpered, turned and ran as fast as it could out of the trees and onto the immaculate lawn towards the house. Norman blinked as the security lights came on, flooding the lawn and patio in sterile white light. The Rottweiler had started hitting the back door with its paw, whining and barking to be let in.
Upstairs, the couple who were still wrapped in each other’s arms – abruptly separated. Until now, Norman would have thought it was just a weird dream, but things were suddenly to become very strange.

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