eyes

And then I screamed. Or maybe I didn't...nobody came to see what was wrong so perhaps I dreamed that as well.

Perhaps I only screamed to end the dream. The never-ending nightmare that haunts my days, brings anxiety to my turbulent nights. The dream of the eyes.

It’s always the same.

Eyes. A hundred eyes. A million eyes. Staring...probing...watching...looking through me, through everything. Nothing else...no hands...no mouths...just eyes. And darkness. Eyes and darkness waiting to overwhelm me...waiting...

Eyes...hard and unforgiving...and darkness. Darkness given a voice..."Christopher"...a voice calling my name..."Christopher"...as if that's all it had to do to make me understand.

I listen and then I run. Run as hard and as fast I could. Run from the eyes and the darkness towards the uncertainty of a sudden light on the horizon. Run hard and long and fast and yet still end up right where I started from.

The eyes look on impassively. Waiting. The voice sighs impatiently..."Christopher"...a burning spotlight burned down out of the darkness and I recoil in horror..."don't let us down, Christopher"... and for an instant everything is perfectly still, and then..."dance, Christopher"...the voice says dryly..."dance for us, Christopher, dance for us now..."

And, to my horror, I do. I begin to dance. A ghastly smile blossoms on my face and I begin to dance with all my might. Salty tears blind me...I think they’re mine but I'm not really sure...but I keep dancing just the same. Dancing blind in the darkness for the entertainment of a million faceless eyes..."faster, Christopher"...the voice demands..."dance faster for us, Christopher"...and, acid tears eating away at my face, I dance faster. And faster. And faster. Dance 'til I feel like I was going to explode. And then I dance faster still...

Christopher lurched up in his bed, his heart pounding a desperate staccato rhythm, his skin sticky and damp; his brown eyes moist and wide to the still darkness. He wondered, fleetingly, why his Mother hadn't come to him.

But then cast that thought aside...he was too old for that baby stuff. He glanced at the perpetually-smiling face of his Spider-Man clock. 2:30 in the morning. He sighed and slumped back onto his pillow.

2:30 in the morning...it was a time for all good little boys to be fast asleep. But sleep frightened Christopher. The million eyes were waiting there for him, this much he knew all too well. And no one could save him from those eyes. No one could, not even his Mama. No one ever even seemed to try to save him.

He climbed out of bed and pulled the blanket off of it. Dragging his blanket behind him, he crept out of his room into the hall. The shadows were fluid and ominous, but he ignored them.

He paused at his parents' door noting with a slight, wry smile, the incessant rasp of his father's snore. He knew he wouldn't be allowed to stay there.

"It's was only a dream, boy," his father would say irritably. "Get on back to your own bed."

"A boy as smart and capable as you shouldn't let silly old dreams frighten you," his mother would say softly. "Be a good little man and let Mama get some sleep."

He trudged over to his sister's door and gingerly pushed it open. Amanda was sleeping contentedly.

"Tomorrow's a long ways away, baby boy," his sister would say with a smile, “you should be asleep. You’ve plenty of time to be grown-up...plenty of time to be the star everybody wants you to be. Do me a favor and be a snotty-nosed brat for just a little longer, okay? And hey, those stupid eyes won't hurt you for as long as I'm around, kiddo. I promise."

Christopher smiled and quietly squeezed underneath his sister's bed. The eyes wouldn't find him there. And for the time being, that was enough. Tomorrow was soon enough to learn the dances for a million eyes in the night. Tomorrow was more than soon enough.