The English Corner

Don't Go to Sleep

   Nobody ever knew what exactly happened that night. There was just the blood, and the bodies. This is what we know.
 It was Halloween. The weather was fine for late October, and Jimmy and his mates decided they were going to make this a special Helloween. They didn’t know just how special it would turn out to be.

Just outside the village, there was an old stone circle. It was a wild, romantic setting reminiscent of ancient lore. This is where they decided to camp that night. Mary had got them some booze from her father’s shop, and Sean brought sausages. The tent was Kathie’s, and Jimmy provided his
dad’s pickup truck.

 Midnight was long gone, and so was most of the beer and food. An owl shrieked nearby, and bats chased moths attracted by the fire’s dying embers. Mary shivered. “I don’t feel well,” she said. “This place gives me the creeps.” Jimmy laughed and hugged his girlfriend.
   “No worries,” he said. “We’re all alone out here. Or do you suddenly believe in ghosts?”

   “Don’t be silly,” came the answer. “But still...”

   Sean cut in with one of his remarks, “There used to be human sacrifice here, you know? Plus, they used to believe that this was an entrance to Tir Nan i Og, the land of the dead.”

  Now it was Kathie’s turn to shiver. “I don’t like those kind of stories. However, let’s turn in. I’m dead tired.”

   “Drunk is what you are, lovely,” replied Mary. “But yes, I’m tired too.”

  Said and done -it didn’t take them long to fall asleep.
  Only Jimmy ever woke up again, surrounded by the carnage. Nobody knows if he even saw the bodies -he had lost his mind. The only thing he would ever say again was, “Don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep...” Over and again. But he drew pictures, convulsively, compulsively. Strange creatures peopled those pictures, and there was always this: a dark presence, shrouded in black. A long bronze knife in one hand, a sickle in the other. Glowing eyes, and not much else.

   Jimmy was sent to the asylum. He never slept: he stayed awake, muttering to himself not to go to sleep.

   A few days later, the doctors were worried enough to give him an injection so he would finally sleep. He fought, but they prevailed.

   It was not long before Jimmy’s roommate was awoken by a bloodcurdling scream. The staff came running, but it was too late: there lay Jimmy’s corpse, cut into bloody pieces. The head was stuck on the bedpost.

   But the weirdest thing was this: the video footage -standard procedure in a mental hospital- showed nobody entering the room. The gashes simply appeared, the blood flowed, the head impaled itself.

   And now it was Paddy the roommate who muttered, “Don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep... ”








by Joscha