Don't Fear The Reaper

When my bad dream turned into a nightmare, I started yelling, at the top of my voice, pausing only to get a new lungful of air.

Back when I was married, my screams sometimes translated into actual whimpers that would wake the hubby, who would in turn mercifully wake me. One inconvenience of being single is that I have no one to wake me.

The terror increased and I let out a shriek so desperate that I actually woke up. I blinked in the darkness, wondering if I had screamed out loud. A door opened and closed and a dark shape peered hesitantly into my room.

"Hey, what's up?" I said, my heart still beating wildly, covered in sweat. My son ran to my bed and slipped beside me.
"I just wanted to see why you were singing," he said. I thought that was an odd choice of word.
"Was I singing?"
"Yes." Well, I wasn't in the mood to tell him it was not singing but actually screaming in terror.
"Was I loud?"
"Yes, very loud. You stopped and started again and stopped and started again." He laughed nervously. "I was starting to believe that you were being murdered."

The truth is he was spooked; my "singing" probably didn't sound like fun at all.
He settled tightly against my back.

"Don't you know you were singing?" he asked.
"No. I was dreaming."
A beat.
"What were you dreaming about?"
"It was a nightmare," I said and we both left it at that.

We lied there for about an hour. For once I didn't mind his squirming because his body pressed against mine, his quiet breathing which I felt through his pyjama were the best antidote to the terror I had felt. Eventually, the cats started jumping on his feet, which he didn't like and I whispered to him to go back to his bed, which he did. Within minutes, we were both sound asleep.

I do wish I had someone to wake me up.