Prompt: 4. Horror Story. Man dreams of falling—found on floor mangled as tho’ from falling from a vast height.

The Research:Perchance to Dream:Dreams and Mr. Lovecraft

Mr. Thomas Lyons found himself falling at a dangerous rate. Mountains poked out of the clouds towards him before he could blink. Falling faster and faster, in what appeared to be a valley of stone and greenery. Down and down Mr. Thomas Lyons fell, smashing past branches and pushing aside gravel and stone. His body was rent from him, mangled atop the outer surface of the sovereign earth.

But Thomas found himself still falling, as bones of long dead dream beasts rocketed past him, deeper and deeper. Large monoliths of tooth and skull rose past him as he hurtled, to where stone became flame. Winds whipped him in the great vaults, as he saw the worlds that Virgil painted and Dante carved. Lashes of sin struck his mind, the widening gyre undoing all around him. Thomas saw the flames of wrath, the many rivers of Hell, descending like a new Lucifer cast from on high.

How he started falling, he could not say. In dreams, deceitful memory is more silent than while waking. Swirling and shaking he found the cold bottom of Creation, that Fundament of traitors. Now he could see others, a mighty host of translucent men and women, clumping and gathering in meteors of feverish dreamers. Like stones from a sling they descended. At last, he thought, at last he would have his rest. For this was the bottom of things, the end of existence. Here had the Lord, Thomas knew, drawn the barrier from the sea.

And yet. And yet he feel farther still, into that place where light had not touched. The Hebrews call it tehom, the Babylonians Tiamat, the Great Greeks Oceanus or Chaos, and the sagely Chinese knew it as Hudun. Chaotic sea, wherein serpents and dragons lie. Mr. Lyons saw them, a mass of flesh, a wall of eyes and mouths gaping and pulling. An ocean of blood and ichor and teeth and bone. And he saw his fellows, and was rolled with them, now a multitude of falling screaming and shrieking fools. The roiled and rolled through maw and claw, like phantasms through the Satanic mill. And Dream, cruel king Dream, would not give rest.

Dream stands beside is brother of Death, and will not hear Times plea. And so Mr. Lyons shrieked as he fell, his mind slowly unwinding. But, in time, even that gave way. And he found himself in that place where form and chaos, existence and nonexistence both spring from. Unraveled. Unmade. Undone.

Thomas Lyons stopped falling, or rather began falling again, from his roof that night. For a brief instant, he breathed air and felt the certainty of earth. In the next his body hit the ground with enough force to indent the foundational stone, his bones shattering and his skull fracturing. And the moment after that, Thomas realized he had died. But he had yet to stop, for down he was pulled, by that Source of no thing, end of all things, and Dream’s elder came to claim him.

Well, that is what me and my colleague could raise. What do you dream of, when you find yourself falling.

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