Desolation Row

Frank woke from the dream that night with a feeling he had not felt in years. His body jack knifed as he sprung up from the warm sheets of his bed, gasping for air as though he had been trapped down in the dark depths of the ocean; only just making it to the surface. Sweat dripped from his brow as his eyes struggled to focus on his surroundings. Was he dead? Had all of that really been a dream? His eyes focused on a small, green glow in the corner of his eye. As his eyes fell upon the light, he noticed his alarm clock; the green numbers revealing the time to be 4:36. He sighed, his heading falling to his hands as a wave of relief swept over him. He ignored his shaking hands and the feeling which was now a mere echo in the back of his mind. Instead, he grinned to himself in the darkness, laying his head back down against the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling as he reached his hand down, searching for Fred, his German Shepard who normally slept by his bed. “Fred where...” he started but was immediately cut off as he felt the dog begin to lick his hand. He smiled, slipping into what he would describe later on that morning as a dreamless sleep.

He awoke later that morning at around 10:30, the smell of bacon wafted up from the kitchen and into his bedroom. Frank’s mouth began to water as he hauled himself out of bed, listening out for the call from his mother or the sound of Fred barking, asking to go outside. He heard nothing. He shrugged to himself as he rose from his bed. The feeling was almost nonexistent now, as though it had never happened. But something was bugging at him, prodding at him to remember. He looked at himself in the mirror before he headed into the bathroom, feeling his heart stop.

Something wasn’t right.

His mouth dropped open in horror, eyes widening by the sight in the mirror. He was still wearing the clothes from the dream. “No, that’s impossible I was sure I changed last night!” He thought to himself, his mind beginning to panic. He quickly lifted off his shirt, screaming as he caught sight of the deep stitches that were in crested upon his flesh. A tear trailed down his cheek as he felt a finger along it, a numb pain throbbing in his chest. He broke his gaze and began to quickly head for the stairs, to finally tell his mother everything when he stopped at his bedroom doorway, glancing back at his bathroom door. On the white wood of the door, written in lipstick, was a mocking message from IT.

Humans can lick too Frank.

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I couldn't just kill Frank like that ;)