Dark Side of the Looking Glass

The Incubus — The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man’s blood with cold. Samuel Taylor Coleridge As Sam drifted into unconsciousness, the incubus patiently waited on him. Burrowed deeply into the shadowed recesses of Sam’s mind, it longed for another chance to latch onto his being. Like a trap-door spider, the demonic dream weaver laid in wait to snatch Sam from a pleasant childhood dream. Sam’s mind went into REM sleep. Seizing the opportunity, the thing caught him firmly; pulling him down, down into its lair, into the dark side of the looking glass where Sam came face to face with his tormentor, a horrifying nightmare. Fear gripped Sam, forcing him with arms flailing and legs kicking, into an obscure and unnatural universe. Panic paralyzed him, suspending him like a planet around a sun, in tethered helplessness. Terror securely held Sam captive in a bizarre state of deep, hypnotic, entrancing sleep. Fighting tenaciously for freedom, he wrestled bravely with his captor, but it was useless. He was firmly bound by unworldly, ethereal restraints that shackled his imprisoned soul. Sam cried out for help, but no sound came from his constricted throat. He struggled, relentlessly being pulled and dragged into the depths of … where? Floundering and thrashing like an unfortunate African wildebeest caught in the powerful jaws of a hungry Masaai-Mara River crocodile, Sam was helpless against the clutches of the unknown. The fugue confined him to a surrealistic realm, a dream state of chaotic oblivion … and yet, somehow, one of ordered awareness. The unseen power clutched him tightly with claws of steel, its grip unbreakable and inescapable. Sam’s mind, his being, his soul, cried out for mercy from a ghoulish incubus that carried him through the darkness of a nether world, buoyed along relentlessly by raging hidden streams of nothingness. Lightning flashed from a monstrous thundercloud that melded into a black and starless sky. Angry seas trapped Sam in a violent whirlpool that pulled him down involuntarily, yet inexorably into another frightful dimension of existence. He struggled to break free from the surreal state of unconsciousness—a nightmare that morphed into a night terror. A gauntlet of ghastly guards, dressed for jungle warfare, stood at attention and awaited his arrival—their silhouettes illuminated against the fiery night sky. They growled like starved animals, impatient for a meal, and lunged at his prison wagon, but were powerless to touch him—a pack of ravenous dogs held at bay by their master’s command? A pair of gatekeepers in ceremonial uniforms opened an ornate, but ominous, heavy wood-staved castle door, cross-banded with iron straps, and creaking on large black-iron hinges. With great effort they parted the door in the middle, and opened the two halves to either side. The macabre entourage hissed and spat at Sam as they guided the prison cart over a drawbridge, and through a darkened stone tunnel, into a hellish court. Looming in front of him was a powerful, huffing and puffing beast, a cyclops of imposing stature that shuffled toward him, screeching loudly as sparks from its body sprayed the night. The colossus called out to him, “Come, Sam. Come into my kingdom. Come see who I have waiting for you.” It spoke with an … Asian accent!? Sam’s paralyzing fear gave way to frightful curiosity. The beast’s words were difficult to understand … sounded like they were coming from a deep abyss … not sure of what it had said, Sam asked, “Someone to see me? Who?” “Your brother James.” The thing’s voice was deep, resonant, consoling. “He’s here with me, but wants to go home. He says it’s dinner time. Will you come get him?” Sam’s heart leapt. “James? Did you say … James? My brother James is here? Now? Where? I don’t see him.” “Right here! With me! But hurry, he’ll be gone soon!” The inflection changed. The voice was taunting Sam. “Leaving? No! He’s been missing too long,” Sam cried out in hope. But the beast spoke no more. Sam’s eyes teared up from sulfurous steam that spewed from its ears. Thick, dirty, smoke billowed from a tall crown on its head. Directly below it, one large sickly eye twitched and winked. A set of jagged teeth projected from a wide gaping buck-toothed mouth that sneered at Sam with a wicked grin. The acrid smell of brimstone enveloped the area like a heavy fog. He could barely breathe. His lungs screamed for relief. The sound of the behemoth’s voice was now a deep, guttural chuff. James, James, James, the beast seemed to utter as it came closer and closer. Then it bellowed a deafening howl as its dim yellow stare washed over Sam. He fought for freedom, but could not break free. He realized too late that he was on a collision course with the approaching horror! He accepted his fate, and then—thanks be to all that’s holy—he awoke, muted screams filling his throat … floundering on the floor!