When I was a very small girl I was very afraid of the dark. I wouldn't go down the long hallway without the lights on, I'd only use my arm to flick the switch to light up my room. (A person can live without an arm after all) And all this fuss was caused by a nightmare I'd been having for as long as I could remember.
It was always the same man, a big tall, bearded man. He had a shiny helmet with horns on the sides, a big fur coat on, and he was always chasing me. And it was always the same dream, I'd start running through the hallway knowing he was just behind me, I'd turn the corner and I'd almost be to my mother's room, racing in I'd slam the door shut, my chest heaving as I leaned against it.
And he'd be there.
He always lifted me up by my neck and I'd hold onto his wrist and kick and try to scream and then I'd wake up.
I told my mom about him once, about the Viking (as I later learned men with horned helmets were usually vikings) and she said the best way to destroy a nightmare is to fight back. "It's like when the Prince slays the dragon." She said, I kept this bit of very important information with me.
The dream happened for the last time when I was nine. It was the same, nothing had changed, I was still being chased through the house and even though I managed to lock myself inside the room he was still there. He still picked me up by my neck, strangling me. I fought back this time, though. I was prepared.
I had a knife in my hand and I pushed it through his neck. He dropped me and I woke up.
I'm twenty-four now and I've yet to meet the viking again.
Created: Apr 23, 2014audralou90 Document Media