I kill people in my dreams and they die in real life.

I know what you’re thinking. This story is going to have some twist where I was actually not dreaming the entire time, and I really happen to be some psychopathic killer. But I assure you this is not the case.

I am not a psychopath. I am not a sociopath. I don’t have the mind of a killer. I’m not even violent. I don’t watch violent movies or play violent video games. The very idea of someone else in pain or dying eats me up inside. I am an empathetic pacifist.

I can only recall getting into a single fight (if you could even call it that) back in the sixth grade, and it was not by choice. The fight started when a bigger kid in gym class was bullying me and had me cornered in the locker room. I didn’t even throw a punch. I pushed him out of the way and ran out to tell a teacher. Even that form of physical confrontation on my part makes me nauseous to even think back on.

I could talk all day about how nonviolent I am as a person. And yet, it doesn’t explain my dreams.

My name is Gabriel, and I’m a twenty-two-year-old sophomore student in college. I work part-time and go to school part-time. I don’t make friends with fellow classmates or co-workers out of fear that something terrible might happen to them.

The first incident actually started a long time ago when I was about seven. I was friends with a kid named Jordan who was about the same age as me. We were in the same first-grade class and lived in the same neighborhood.

Jordan and I loved riding bikes around the neighborhood. He had gotten a brand new Huffy for Christmas. He got rid of his training wheels before I did, but ever shamed me for it. We rode together all the time. I had an old bike that constantly needed maintenance. I wanted a new Huffy like Jordan, but I knew my family didn’t have that much money, so I let it go.

A few months after Christmas, to my surprise, I had gotten a brand new Huffy like Jordan. Jordan and I could now speed through the neighborhood on our Huffy bikes together!

The next day at school, I told Jordan the news of my new bike. His eyes lit up as we high-fived. I remember him telling me that we should take the bikes offroading now. I told him I still had my training wheels, but he assured me that the Huffy would keep up regardless.

Later that day, we took the bikes for a spin just outside of our neighborhood. We lived in a desert-like town with tons of dirt, cacti, and cliffs. We knew that leaving the neighborhood would surely piss off our parents, but we did it anyways.

We had a blast. Nothing could describe how much fun we had that day. Everything was perfect until that night. It was my first “dream”.

As I drifted to sleep that night, I dreamed that I was hanging out with Jordan as usual. Except, I felt off. I didn’t feel like my normal self. I had no clue what was wrong with the dream version of me. Dream Jordan would say something, and I didn’t respond. I was stoic and blank-faced.

We decided to ride our bikes offroad like we normally did. We stopped our bikes to look over the horizon. I remember not feeling any intense emotions or urges in the dream. I didn’t feel possessed or angry. I felt more like a shell of a person. I saw that Jordan was fairly close to the edge of a nearby cliff.

I still cannot describe what came over me. In one swift motion as if I was standing up out of a chair, I walked up to Jordan and pushed him.

I never saw him fall or heard him hit the ground. I just know that I pushed him and left. Not sure if it was because it was a dream, but the cliff was much taller than you would have thought. So tall to where even kid me knew it was capable of killing someone.

I woke up frightened at what I had just done. I don’t know what disturbed me more. The idea of my friend dying or me being the one who pushed him to his death.

The next day at school, I still thought about my dream. It bothered me more than any other nightmare I ever had. I wasn’t capable of murder. I tried to get the thought out of my head, but I just could not shake it. It unnerved me so much that I didn’t feel like riding my bike with Jordan that day.

At recess, I walked up to Jordan and told him that I didn’t feel well and didn’t feel like riding my bike that day. Jordan looked sad, but not because of that news. I asked him what was wrong.

“My mom grounded me anyways ‘cause she found out we left the neighborhood.” Jordan said.

“So you can’t hang out?” I asked him. He told me he just wasn’t able to ride his bike. His mom had it chained up in the garage.

Admittedly, I was relieved. I still wanted to hang out with my friend, but a break from the bikes was needed. Jordan and I agreed to hang out at my place and just play Nintendo.

When the afternoon came, Jordan never arrived. I figured maybe his mom changed her mind and decided he wasn’t allowed to hang out as part of his grounding.

That night, I dreaded sleeping out of fear of more dreams of me murdering my friend. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. At school the following day, I was shocked to see that Jordan’s desk was empty. I figured maybe he had gotten sick yesterday, which was why he never came to hang out and wasn’t at school.

When I got home, I made him a “Get Well Soon” basket. It had some juice, cans of soup, and some old books that I didn’t read anymore.

Upon arriving at Jordan’s house with my basket in hand, I knocked on the door and waited for five minutes. His mom eventually answered. I asked if Jordan was there and if I could give him the basket. His mom’s eyes welled up with tears before shutting the door in my face. I was in awe. Had I done something?

I remember being so confused as the rest of the day was a blur. The next morning, I saw a wet newspaper in my driveway that we must have forgotten to pick up. This particular paper caught my eye when I saw a photo of Jordan.

I picked it up as I read the news story in shock. Jordan had died. He was actually gone. I was wide awake and wasn’t dreaming. I wanted to cry, but I was more confused than sad. As I read his cause of death, I wanted to throw up. “The boy’s body was recovered at the base of a cliff less than a mile from his home.”

There was no way there was a connection. He must have fallen. I never pushed him. He wasn’t even allowed to ride his bike. He told me it was chained up. His mom had grounded him!

My heart was beating out of my chest. I was scared. I had to convince myself. There was just no way.

I decided to go back to where the accident occurred. I saw a cliff area with tire marks from a bicycle. I walked to the edge and looked down. It was tall for sure. I didn’t see any trace of a person. No dried blood or anything like that. But what I did see made my stomach drop. I saw a bike in the bush at the base of the cliff where Jordan had fallen. Only, the bike wasn’t his new Huffy. It was my bike.

The details of the story from when I was seven were as specific as I can remember them. Everything else is a bit of a blur to me. The event has always haunted me, but I moved on. I never told anyone about my dream or about my bike being at the sight where Jordan died. Even if for the sake of argument I did have something to do with Jordan’s death, why do I not remember anything?

I mourned my friend and put it all past me as best as I could. Pretty soon, I was a senior in high school and the event was just a bad memory.

I had always been a shy kid so making friends was incredibly difficult for me. Especially after Jordan. I wouldn’t hang out with anyone after school, I wouldn’t engage in any recreational activities or sports, and I wouldn’t even talk to anyone on the phone. I had some acquaintances I would talk to at school, but we’d only ever converse about mundane topics as I was never really close with anyone.

One day, there was a new student named Charlotte. I think I liked her early on, but I never would have talked to her. What would I say? I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Time went on and she was just another classmate. I may have liked her, but I had no desire to be close with anyone out of fear.

That is, until one day, I decided to man up and ask Charlotte to the dance. I told myself that I wasn’t going to let this event from when I was little keep me from making friends and developing relationships. I asked her at lunch if she had a date for the dance. She said she was just going with some friends but didn’t have an actual date. I bit the bullet and asked her knowing the worst she could say was “no”.

To my surprise, Charlotte said “Sure!” I felt good that day. I couldn’t believe it was my first ever real date. I was ecstatic, but I felt a bit embarrassed at the thought of how I would pick her up. I didn’t drive or have a car. I couldn’t afford to rent a limo like the rich kids. That meant one of my parents would have to drive Charlotte and me. Almost everyone else in my class drove, so I was an oddball out.

The next day, Charlotte and I exchanged phone numbers. She was nice to talk to and we had a lot in common. I eventually and reluctantly told her I didn’t have a license or a car. She reassured me that it was okay because she did drive. She would just pick me up instead of me picking her up.

I was thankful I didn’t have to endure a car ride with my mom and my new date with my mom potentially saying something humiliating.

As the month came to an end, Charlotte and I became official boyfriend and girlfriend. The dance was tomorrow and I no longer had butterflies. We were dating now, so it all felt normal. One would think life was good until that night.

That night, I had another one of my “dreams”. In the dream, Charlotte and I were in the car driving. Just like the dream from when I was seven, something about me felt off. I was expressionless as there was nothing but a void behind my eyes. I remember I turned to look at Charlotte who was driving. She jokingly asked what I was looking at.

I unbuckled my belt and jumped into the backseat, directly behind Charlotte. She chuckled through her confusion asking what I was doing. In a prompt motion, I undid the belt around my pants, pulling it out of their loops. I swung the belt over the driver’s seat where Charlotte was driving, positioning my belt around her neck as I pulled back with both hands.

She immediately panicked as I began to choke her. She reached one hand for me then at her throat, trying to listen the grip while she used her other hand to maintain control of the steering wheel. In her hysteria, she called out my name as best as she could while she choked.

I had no idea why I was doing what I was doing. I loved Charlotte. Her driving became erratic as she swerved off the road, colliding with a tree. The collision was so powerful, that I jolted awake.

I looked down at my hands that had gripped the belt in my dream. They were shaky and full of sweat. I actually began to cry. Why was my mind manifesting these horrible dreams? I didn’t want to hurt or kill anyone! Nothing made any sense. I cried all night, not getting a wink of sleep. Additionally, I had developed an intense anxiety knowing what happened to my friend, Jordan, the last time I had a dream like this.

As soon as the sun rose, I attempted to call Charlotte on the phone only to receive no answer. I was beyond panicked at this point. When I left for school, I immediately went to the school’s computer lab and looked up any potential deaths in the area.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Charlotte snuck up behind me and scared me at the library. I wanted to cry on the spot as I gave her a hug. She was flattered but confused at my reaction to seeing her. I mentioned that I called her that morning to which she responded with, “Oh yeah. My brother made me drop my phone in a puddle yesterday. Sorry.”

I felt like it was the first real breath I had taken in twelve hours. Charlotte asked if I was excited for the dance that night to which I told her I was.

Just then, my eyes widened at the realization that the events of my dream probably hadn’t happened yet. I was scared to think that my dream was about her picking me up in her car and me killing her on the way to the dance. It sounded beyond insane, but my brain didn’t know what to believe at this point.

I was scared of what was to come that evening. After school, I thought about canceling. I knew it would hurt Charlotte, but my mind was going in circles. I attempted to call her, but I remembered she said her phone was messed up. It was the only phone number I had for her.

I decided to reluctantly get ready as I braced for that night. After getting dressed, I noticed my pants were a little loose at the waist, but I didn’t dare wear a belt. I just couldn’t.

The dance was starting in less than an hour, and we agreed to meet up with her friends and take pictures with them. So I naturally started freaking out when there was no sign of Charlotte coming to pick me up. I remember hoping that she was okay.

I went back inside my house to wait and grab a glass of water. My mom saw I looked distressed. I think she thought Charlotte stood me up or something. She wasn’t that type of person which scared me even more.

I asked my mom if she could take me to the dance and if we could drive by Charlotte’s house on the way. Many things could have happened. Maybe her dress got dirty. Maybe she had car troubles. Maybe she took a nap and overslept.

As unlikely as a lot of it seemed, I was convincing and begging myself to believe it.

My mom began driving me toward school, while also driving by Charlotte’s house. That drive would turn into the worst experience of my life.

Not even two miles away from my house were police and an ambulance with lights taking up the road with backed-up traffic on either side.

I began taking deep breaths. Maybe this was why she was late to pick me up. The traffic is bad. Please let that be the case.

My heart sank when I saw Charlotte’s all-too-familiar car completely smashed in by a tree.

I let out a wailing cry. My mother pulled over and consoled me. I was in complete disbelief. I was shattered. This couldn’t be real. Please, God. Don’t let this be real.

It was the death that shocked the school. New girl, Charlotte, the senior with a bright future was pronounced dead at the scene of a car accident on the night of the school dance.

It was the single worst pain I had ever felt in my life. Every moment I found myself not crying, I wanted to vomit.

People at the funeral knew she was my girlfriend. There were lots of “I’m sorry for your loss” and “My condolences” directed at me. I didn’t even feel I deserved it. I felt like I deserved to feel this pain I was feeling. I felt responsible.

There was no convincing myself at this point. I killed Charlotte. I killed Jordan. These people were dead because of me. There is no way any of it was a coincidence. I dreamt of killing someone only for them to die in the real world.

Jordan left a childhood scar, but Charlotte broke me.

Things got pretty bad soon after. The next couple of months was graduation and the school had a memorial for Charlotte before they passed out the diplomas.

The day after graduation was my first attempt at taking my own life. I thought of using my dad’s gun, but I didn’t want the grisly sight to scar my parents. Not to mention the thought of using any weapon, even on myself, made me sick. I was still a pacifist after all.

I decided I would try overdosing on pills. I would just go to sleep and not wake up.

I wasn’t ever going to hurt anyone ever again. No one would ever be killed because of me. I would be the last. When I popped the pills, my life flashed before my eyes. I thought about my parents finding me.

The idea must have really got to me because I immediately stuck my finger down my throat to make myself throw up the medicine.

I contemplated calling an ambulance, but I figured I had thrown it all up. Plus I didn’t want my parents to know I tried ending my own life. I just didn’t want the attention.

I ended up not needing medical attention. My head and stomach were in great pain, and I slept for thirteen hours. After that, I felt fine though.

I moved out and got a job within the next year of my life. I dealt with major anxiety and depression. Talked to a therapist and told them about the people I lost in my life and about “bad dreams”. However, I never mentioned the parts of my dream where I killed people that would end up actually dying. I couldn’t. Not even to a clinical professional.

I was at this point in my life where I felt crazy, but not crazy at the same time. I really started to recluse myself from the world at that point.

Little did I know, I was going to have another “dream” soon after.

For the most part, the world kept turning, and I hardly noticed. I went to work six days out of the week, attended community college classes three days out of the week, and went to therapy once every two weeks. Other than that little bubble of my existence, I had no effect on the world and the world had no effect on me.

I had no friends. I had no romantic relationships I was interested in pursuing. I didn’t even talk to my parents anymore. My therapist was my only friend. And even that terrified me because I dreaded the day I killed my therapist in my dreams.

Living in complete isolation really started to take a toll on me. I craved human connection, but I knew I could only do that if I potentially put another person’s life at risk. To me, that was selfish, so I never talked to anyone.

I became the weird, quiet guy at school and work. One of my courses required group work. I ended up just doing the entire project by myself in order to have minimal contact with my classmates.

I thought that having no connection with other people would keep the killing dreams at bay. I was wrong.

My day was a normal one. I got up at six in the morning to go to work. I was a shelf stocker and custodian at a store that opened at seven in the morning. I worked about six to eight hours in a single shift. My first few hours were just stocking shelves and taking inventory.

I had done my best to avoid people. I would get the occasional shopper come up to me and ask where to find a product. But for the most part, I distanced myself from customers and co-workers. The day went on and I took my lunch break, cleaned up a few spills, stocked some more shelves, and clocked out.

The day was so typical, in fact, I genuinely had my guard down. I never thought I would have any “dreams” that night.

As I drifted off to sleep, I dreamed I was going to work like usual. It was rather cold, so I had a gray hoodie on. Before I got to the entrance of the store, however, I stopped as I stared inside. I had that hauntingly familiar feeling sweep over me where I was expressionless and emotionless.

I stepped through the double doors and saw that there were customers already inside shopping. I saw a tall, dark-haired man whom I had never seen before. I was certain I didn’t know him nor did I ever interact with anyone like him. I stared at him intently before heading to the kitchen appliances aisle.

I grabbed the largest kitchen knife I saw, gripping it tightly. I remember that, unlike in real life, there wasn’t any safety cover on the knife in my dream. It was as if I had just unsheathed it from the knife holder.

I walked up to the tall, dark-haired man just as he turned to look at me. I plunged the kitchen knife deep into his neck. I pulled it out and kept stabbing. The other employees and customers let out blood-curdling screams. My entire hand was covered in blood.

I woke up gasping and shaking. With tears in my eyes, I was legitimately sad but also angry. I was angry at my brain for making me dream these things. I was angry at whatever supernatural force gave me this ability to make me kill people.

I didn’t even know this guy! Had I really just ended someone’s life who had nothing to do with me? Why did they deserve that?

I thought deeply about what to do. Was it time to talk to someone about my ability? About my curse? Maybe I could stop it. But how?

I’ve always had voluntary control over myself while I was awake. At least to my knowledge. Then again, I considered the possibility that I may have experienced amnesia or some other form of forgetfulness. Maybe I was causing something to happen in the real world, but my brain just blocked it out.

Regardless, I had to try. I had to attempt to stop it. I considered turning myself into the police. I would just tell them about the deaths of Jordan and Charlotte. I could tell them that I was planning on killing someone. Maybe that would be cause enough for them to arrest me. It would isolate me from the public even more than I already was.

I knew that would mean my life would be over. I even considered taking my own life again. Maybe I could go far away, chain myself to a tree, and never be near another human being again.

As I was bouncing around ideas for how I could stop this next stranger from dying, I got a text message from my manager at the store. I was really scared now because it was not even six in the morning yet, and I wasn’t even working that day. Why was my manager texting me?

I hesitated, but eventually opened his text expecting the worse. “We’re short three people today. Need you to come in asap.”

My manager was a pain in the ass, and anyone would be upset with being made to come in. But this had me upset for a whole different reason. Was the universe trying to get me into the store to make sure the events of my dream were carried out?

I knew one thing at that moment. This wasn’t a dream, and I had full voluntary control of myself. I gave him a quick text. “Can’t. I’m so sorry.”

I felt bad, but I didn’t have time to explain to my manager why I couldn’t come into work. He texted back immediately, but I didn’t read it. I got on the bus and took off in the opposite direction of work. I looked out the window as we left town. I got off the bus and immediately got on another that went even further out of town.

I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t look at anyone. I tried turning my brain off. I clenched my fists as I closed my eyes. I then realized that turning my brain off might be a bad idea because I could potentially have an episode and not remember it.

I decided to check the text message from my manager thinking he would be angry. To my surprise, it wasn’t. “It’s fine. See you tomorrow.”

My manager wasn’t pissed, and I was far away from work. I actually let out a deep sigh. However, my brain started to conjure different possibilities that I hadn't considered. What if the place in my dream wasn’t my work? What if it was a different store in a different town entirely? The dream looked like my place of work, but it was a dream. Little details were bound to be different.

I got scared knowing I could potentially be going in the direction of my next victim. It could be why I didn’t even recognize my dream victim. I wasn’t even in the same town.

I wanted to make sure I didn’t black out or have any amnesia symptoms. I wanted to be fully aware of my actions from this point on. I ended up using an awareness method where I would touch my fingertips together while I read the time. And I did. Minute by minute. I tapped my fingers while looking at the time slowly moving. 7:21am, 7:22am, 7:23am, 7:24am, and so on.

I did this until about noon. I had spent the entire morning on the bus, staring at the time. I was positive of it. I got off the bus because I needed to use the bathroom and eat. I stopped at a gas station and immediately was filled with panic. I made sure I didn’t feel strange. I made sure not to break contact with the time on my phone. I didn’t talk to anyone or even look them in the eye. I went to pee, still looking at my phone.

Left the restroom and grabbed a bag of chips and a soda. I made sure I kept track of every minute that passed. I didn’t speak to the teller or even look up at them. The chips and drink didn’t cost more than five bucks. I gave them ten. They asked if I wanted change, but I didn’t respond. Like a weirdo, I stared at my phone eating my chips as I exited the store silently.

As I continued watching the time, I thought about my next realistic move. I couldn’t do this forever. I would eventually have to go home. I then thought about the possibility of another person’s life ending because of me.

Maybe I would turn myself in. But what if I dreamed of killing someone in jail. What then? My mind was racing. I’m not sure if it was cowardice, logic, or emotion, but I just couldn’t bring myself to end my own life.

This was something no one had probably ever experienced before. I didn’t want any more people to die, but I had to get to the bottom of it. What was going on?

I wish I could say I was closer to solving this whole ordeal, but it just became a lot more complicated.

I got a call from a number I didn’t have saved in my phone. Not that I had many numbers saved to begin with. It was the area code from my hometown.

Without thinking, I quickly hit decline. I was so scared, I didn’t know what to expect. Less than thirty seconds later, the same number called me again. This was someone who needed to get in contact with me.

“Hello?” I said, accepting the call. “Hi, is this Gabriel?” A female voice asked. I gulped and told her I was.

“Yes, hi. This is Sandra, one of the other managers. We don’t work the same hours. But uh, yeah. We just wanted you to know that our store location will be closed tomorrow following an incident that happened today. Don’t worry. Everyone is getting paid for full time off.”

I paused taking in this information. I knew what this incident was before even asking her. But I asked anyway. “What incident?”

“Well. It was something involving criminal trespassing.”

The phone shook in my hand. “Is everyone okay?”

I wanted to puke as she continued. “We had a fatal stabbing that took the life of one of our customers.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I asked the next most important question. “Did they catch them?”

“They unfortunately didn’t. He got away before police arrived. We got him on camera, but we couldn’t really see his face because he was wearing a gray hoodie.”

I wore a gray hoodie in my dream. I was gone all day. How did it happen?

I hung up sobbing. I needed to look into what was happening.

If I accounted for every minute that happened today, but I still managed to kill someone, how did that work?

If it really was me, maybe it wasn’t “me”. I decided to look into more pseudoscience. No logic or science could explain my dreams.

I saw an article that caught my attention. “Understanding Doppelgangers.” The idea of an evil twin. Plausible?

My bike was found by the cliff where Jordan died. With Charlotte, the same tree that killed her was the one from my dream. And with this random stranger, there was evidence of a physical person there.

Why weren’t the police able to catch my potential doppelganger after the store stabbing? Maybe my double has the power to disappear into thin air. Just as if I were waking up.

I’m not certain this explanation is actually a doppelganger or a double. It was just a working theory.

I do know that out of the three cases, two were ruled accidents because there was no proof of another person being present. The third was different because it was a stabbing witnesses and cameras.

There was one outlier with all three of the cases. All the way back to the first killing. Jordan and my bike. Why was my bike there? There had to be something to it. It was always in the back of my mind, but this one detail now stuck out like a sore thumb more than ever.

If I treated these scenarios as if the dreams had nothing to do with them, I’m only linked to Jordan. Charlotte and the stranger had details like the tree and the gray hoodie that corresponded to my dream, but it didn’t tie anything back to me specifically. I don’t even think I own a gray hoodie.

I knew Jordan and my bike were the best leads I had. Because the bike I found definitely belonged to me. In fact, I don’t remember seeing my bike in my dream at all. I knew Jordan and I were riding our bikes in the dream, but I never remember visualizing the bike itself.

I got so caught up in this detail, I put the Doppelganger stuff to the side and looked into Precognition Dreams. The idea is that an individual has a premonition in the form of a dream.

For the most part, most accurate premonition dreams are extremely vague. For example, someone may dream that they got into college, and it actually happens. The dream predicted the future, right?

You see, the more vague the details, the easier it is to convince oneself. If a person dreamed about getting into college, it’s not really outlandish when the events actually happen.

Nothing explained my specific and haunting scenario. I wasn’t just dreaming of future events, I was directly responsible for them. And the details were so vivid, the only explanation for the events really happening was if there was some supernatural element to all of this.

I went back to look at the Doppelganger theory. I didn’t want to rule it out, but maybe what was happening to me was so insane, that no one had ever experienced it before.

That made me feel even more alone than I already was.

After a while, something had clicked when I saw the memory of Jordan and my bike clear as day.

My bike. Which bike? I had two bikes. My old, crappy bike, and my new Huffy for my birthday.

One thing was for certain. When I got my new bike, I never even went near my old one anymore. It collected dust as it rusted in the back yard. I remembered that was the bike I had seen. The bike that was found near the cliff where Jordan died.

This was an overwhelming amount of information for me to process. What if it had to do with time? Could I really have this power to manifest a copy of myself into the future to make sure these killings happened?

Time. That would be a clue that was just as important as my dreams. I just didn’t know it yet. And I never would have known had I not gotten a phone call the very next day.

I may have been in “investigation-mode”, but it didn’t detract from my mental state. It may have been a temporary distraction, but I was still scared at not knowing.

I was still torn up inside at the idea of someone being fatally stabbed because of me. In addition to that, I have never truly healed from Jordan or Charlotte.

I think knowing what was happening would give me a tiny sliver of peace, maybe.

Because I was still on edge, sleeping was scary. Phone calls were terrifying. The ideas of cars, bicycles, belts, knives, cliffs, and even people unnerved me to no end.

I “dreamed” that night. I think I knew I was dreaming like a lucid dream. I felt my heart beating as the dream version of me had that feeling encompassing me.

My body was in panic as I had never had a dream back to back before. I had just dreamed of the stranger getting stabbed yesterday!

In my dream, I was in my apartment like normal, but it looked terrible. Not sure how else to put it. My apartment was normally somewhat clean, even in my mental state. But my dream apartment? Saying it looked like a pigsty would be an insult to pigsties.

There were clothes everywhere. The sheets were missing. Open food containers with uneaten food all around. Roaches crawling in and out of crevices in my small living space. It looked awful. I didn’t even walk around the take-out boxes and trash on the ground. I walked through them.

There was no one there to hurt or kill in the dream except for myself. To my surprise, nothing violent happened in my dream at all. But one thing did happen. My phone rang.

You know how dreams can alter details of reality? In my dream, the phone ringing was loud. In the real world, I never even had my ringer on. The ringing was so loud it made my apartment rumble.

I still had that “feeling” swept over me as I walked up to the phone. It was my mother. I stared at it and did nothing. I let the ringing blare all around me. The roof started to crumble and cave in. Pieces of debris now filled the living space on top of the messiness.

The phone ringer was more like a loud siren. And the roof was now caving in with big chunks. I looked up as a large piece of the roof came crashing down on top of me, prompting me to wake up.

I woke up with my heart racing. I heard a faint buzzing. It was my phone. My phone was ringing on my nightstand. I panicked when I saw that just like my dream, it was indeed my mom.

I stared at the phone not knowing what to do. Part of me wanted to answer, but I felt too afraid of what would happen if I did. I had a dream that felt similar to my killing dreams, but I didn’t kill anyone this time.

After a few more seconds, the phone stopped ringing, and a voicemail for my mother popped up.

After procrastinating, I decided to finally listen to it. It wasn’t my mom. It was my dad.

He was on the other end of the phone crying, calling from mom’s phone after she was in an accident. She was currently in the ICU and it didn’t look good. “Please call us back.” My dad said with tears.

I didn’t think I had caused any harm in my dream. I only dreamed of the phone ringing. I had just hoped to God my mom was okay. I immediately hit the “call back” button.

The number never rang once. The automated voice said the number was changed, disconnected, or no longer in service. It had to be some type of error or mistake, right? I immediately called my mom’s phone again. And again, the same message.

How could that be? I just missed a call from dad using her phone. My entire world crumbled once I saw the haunting realization about the missed call. It was from over three weeks ago.

But I just missed the call today. It was this very morning. Was I tripping out? Was I still dreaming? No. I was wide awake. I know I missed the call today.

I ended up calling my dad shortly after. It was the worst phone call of my life.

He sounded broken over the phone. My mom had been dead for about two weeks.

I don’t think I had felt anything anymore. I was in such disbelief that I wanted to just crawl into a hole and die. How much time had even passed? Time.

My perception of time was all out-of-whack. Could this have explained anything? I didn’t even know anymore. After hearing the news of my mom, I was dead inside. I couldn’t even go to the funeral to mourn her because it had already passed. I blamed myself.

Months passed and I was a zombie. Everyday that went by, I wanted to just be gone from this Earth. I had become an unfeeling robot who did his work, went to school, and went to sleep. I had nothing and no one. I don’t even know why I even went to work or school. What was my motivation?

I still went to my therapy appointments. I had been pretty passive with them the entire time. Until one day, I sat down in their office and started to cry.

I let out full-blown tears. I couldn’t even tell my therapist what was wrong because I couldn’t breathe behind my crying. This went on for what felt like ten minutes. I had nothing anymore. Who cares?

I came clean about everything from the dreams I had since I was seven with Jordan, to my mother’s recent passing. I went into full detail with every dream, every murder, every death. I laid it all on the table. I couldn’t understand it. And I didn’t think I would ever understand it.

My therapist talked to me intently about the meaning of life, loss, guilt, blame, and other things that plagued my mind. They said I was a prisoner of myself and that these dreams were my own self-punishment.

I admittedly had trouble understanding what it all meant, so it took a couple of sessions before I truly understood. This is how it all went,

Not sure if you would call it a disorder or something wrong with my brain, but I had something wrong with me that altered my perception of time.

My dreams. I had always assumed that I dreamed of killing people only for them to manifest in the real world. This was not the case.

The missed call from three weeks before from my mom’s phone was the ultimate clue.

My dreams had happened after the traumatic events in my life. Not before. My false perception of time made it seem as though I was seeing the future or predicting the future or something. It wasn’t.

My mind had also blocked out key details not just within my dreams, but my actual memories as well.

After a bit of hypnotherapy, I really tapped into the corners of my mind that had been long since abandoned.

First was Jordan. He had gotten in trouble by his mother for going off roading with the bikes. She had chained his Huffy up. What my mind blanked out was that he had asked to borrow my bike that very same day.

He told me he wasn’t going to take my new Huffy bike. He asked if he could borrow the old bike that needed constant repair. I had let him.

I never went biking with him that day, but he did use my bike. He had fallen off the cliff from riding near it.

The memory was a difficult one, but it was all starting to make sense now.

With Charlotte, there wasn’t a whole lot I missed from that dream or memory. She was supposed to pick me up that night, and she was killed in a car accident the very same day.

With the stranger at the store, he was stabbed and killed by a would-be robber of some kind. It had nothing to do with me.

Then my mother. My mother was killed in a car accident that involved another driver. It was also worth noting that I was not responsible for her death in my dream.

The events of my life happened in these ways. Because of my false perception of time, I had the dreams after they occurred and not before. So why did I kill them? My dreams showed me killing people.

I blamed myself. Jordan took my bike that constantly needed maintenance. I guess my brain thought my old, rickety bike caused him to go off the edge of the cliff.

With Charlotte, she was supposed to pick me up. Why? I didn’t have a license or a car. I blamed myself for the accident.

With the stranger at the store, I was called into work that day. I told my manager I couldn’t come in. I blamed myself because maybe part of me had some form of survivor's guilt.

With my mom, I blamed myself for not answering the call. Maybe had I answered, I would have been able to see her in the ICU. I would have attended her funeral. I would have said goodbye.

My dreams were altered memories of my own self blame and guilt. My mind had warped my concept of time to make me directly responsible for everyone’s death. This is why my dreams involved me killing them.

I knew. After all this time, I finally knew. There was peace to all of what was happening. These people I lost in my life. It was all still very tragic, but I finally knew now.

I had one last “dream” tonight. I had the same blank, expressionless feeling sweep over me. I was at my house. I walked into my parents’ bedroom where my father laid there crying. On my mom’s side of the bed was a photo of her resting against her pillow.

I walked into the room. I didn’t console my father. Instead, I walked right up to his closet, looked up and grabbed the gun he had stashed away. I saw that there was a single bullet in the chamber. Dream me pulled back the hammer as I pointed the weapon at myself.

Then I pulled the trigger.