Contes Cruelles

I remember someone telling me that it's French for cruel stories. Trust them to make something as macabre as that sound good. Anyhow, I'm still reeling this morning. I dreamt I died, last night. And what a ghastly death it was, too. Thank God I still remember the details (I've always been good at that):

I was walking with my brother and sister along this kampung road, with houses on our right and paddy fields opposite. As we walked I distinctly remember an old-style phone booth (the yellow kind) in front of one of the houses. For some reason I knew instinctively that the house that was fast approaching us had something bad in it. So did my siblings. However we couldn't get off the road, for some reason (dreams are like that). As we approached this particular house we could hear yelling and screaming from the inside. It wasn't until we got near it that we realised the screams were directed at me. I thought I was mistaken, but the voice inside (a shrill woman's voice) yelled at me for stopping, and suddenly we all could hear the words: "I'm coming to get you. Don't you dare go away."

So we ran. I remember we ran like the wind, to this other house that strangely looked like a mosque, and there was lots of people inside. We could distinctly feel something behind us, catching up. When I glanced to the side, my siblings were gone and there was this friend of mine that I could swear I never met before (but for some reason I knew he was a friend). We ran toward the door of the mosque/house and just before I touched it I felt something cold come up from behind me, and I fell to the ground. I couldn't move. I remember crying out in frustration, but suddenly no one heard me. I felt myself lifted into the mosque, and I was sobbing and crying "shit not like this" but strangely I felt like there was a thick membrane between me and everyone else. It was then I realised I could look down and see myself stretched out on the floor. I was dead. I yelled, and yelled but no one heard, except my friend who only shook his head softly.

I remember flying around the building, calling out to people, to anyone who would hear me, but everyone was attending to the body: my dead body. Someone who looked like he was in authority seemed angry. Things started spinning, and it got dark.

I woke up. I was shuddering, and didn't dare open my eyes. I forced them to open to slits and fumbled about for my mobile. The time was 2.30 in the morning. I didn't even have the luck to have it been sunrise. Slowly my breathing slowed, and I made my way to the light switch. I was scared.

And I think I still am. I guess reading that horror anthology I bought must've rubbed off. Lucky for me, my sister's Cleo was lying around. A few minutes of celeb gossip (and before that, copious ayat Kursi) I was back to sleep.

Gah.