It’s been a decade since the nightmares.

I should be sleeping, curled under the covers in nervous anticipation for what work holds for me tomorrow. A phone call this afternoon stated I had been cleared for work and apologized for a mix up in my credentials. I will be returning to work, but not as part of the Children of Nostradamus specialty division. I really don’t care, my rent is coming and I’m already dipping into my savings. Michael will say it was brought on by stress, which normally I’d believe, but not this dream.

When I was little I’d wake in the cold of night, shivering, my blankets tossed to the floor. My father would barge into my room, convinced an intruder had snuck in my window. He wielded the metal bat like he’d know what to do if a stranger loomed over my bed. Each night he’d set it down near the door and drag the blankets back onto my bed and curl up next to me until I fell back asleep. With him nearby I’d have normal dreams, the zoo, being naked on the first day of school, kid stuff. Weeks might go by before I’d have another night terror and it’d begin anew.

This one started like any other. I’m standing in a city I’ve never seen before, nearly choking on the smog. A gray haze covers the sky and it could be any city. As I walk toward the towering skyscrapers, I realize there are no people. The city takes on an eerie quality after that as if it’s been robbed of its soul. Even in the middle of the night, Chicago has a voice, whispers of people with the occasional screeching of sirens. But this, it’s as if people vacated in the dark of night and the city awoke a hollow shell.

It feels like hours as I wander the streets. Each time, I wander into new stores and down different alleys. This evening I found myself in a pizzeria. The warmth of a brick oven fireplace is almost as real as the smell of marinara sauce. I can see the steam rising off food placed in boxes but yet to have their lids shut. Not only is it vacated, but each location I stop is the same, it’s as if the denizens of this world blinked out of existence.

It feels like days as I search through buildings. Unlike my normal dreams, I can recall the feeling of brick under my fingers or the scratch of a chainlink fence along my back as I crawl through. It might not be real, but it’s close enough to play tricks on my brain. And like every other terror, I find myself on the top of the parking garage. Sometimes I don’t remember what comes next, last night, the whistling sound jogged a memory. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t muster my voice.

In the distance, miles beyond the city skyline the sky flashes a red, orange, and grows until a white light sears my eyes and I have to look away. It’s twenty seconds later when I hear the boom. The concussive force behind it washes over the city, shaking buildings as the tallest crumble under their own weight. Wind brings the heat and moments later the temperature starts to burn. The blast of whatever bomb is detonated pushes through the city and I watch as the skin on my hands flake and peel away. Moments later, I am nothing.

I’m not there, but I am. I can’t explain it. The city is in ruins. The people who fled were the fortunate ones, me, I’m nothing more than vaporized dust on the wind. The creepiest part of it was the figure from the Phantasm, I could swear I saw them. Not while it was happening, but as I started to drag my frightened ass out of the dream, they were standing on the rooftop where I had been.

I’ve never been scared of a foreign power destroying the city, at least I don’t think so. I bet I snuck into my father’s office while he was working and he was studying footage of an old world nuclear disaster. Perhaps the other day in the Phantasm gave my brain a jostle and me being me decided to conjure up the one thing that terrified me as a child. It figures.

I think instead of hiding in my apartment for the next three hours, I might go to the coffee shop until work. At least there, I can be around people. I’ll admit, I’m missing my father and that damned baseball bat right now.