NIGHT TERROR

TWO BROTHERS

The greatest thing in my life was always my brother, Eddie. Not everybody gets to be as lucky as me. Eddie was born in the same year I was. No, we weren't twins, but it always felt like we had something special. He was my best friend. OK, he was my only friend. Not that I would ever want anyone else. He was the greatest brother anyone could ever have. He was funny, ambitious and modest. Qualities that usually don't align together. Even as a kid, I always said he could have any girl he wanted, or any friend for that matter, but for some reason he only hung out with me.

My happiest and my most horrible memories come from our room. How cool it was, that I could have my best friend with me, all the time. We ate breakfast, we were together in all the classes, we studied together and most importantly, he shared his greatness with me. What fourteen-year-old kid in his right mind has such a clear goal as my brother? You see, our mother died of breast cancer when we were just 8 years old. From that moment one my brother had one goal, to cure it. Every second of every moment he had, he learned more about it and everything he learned, he reported back to me.

I could never have a 'good night's rest’. I'm pretty sure I have some sort of a sleeping problem, because every night when I fell asleep, the craziest shit happened. So, for example, I and Eddie were eating breakfast like we always did when Eddie told me: “Open the trash can.” I asked why, but he said: “Just do it.” I opened the trash can and out of it came an odor so strong, I almost puked my breakfast in it. I asked him: “What was that?”

He told me: “Last night you stood up in the middle of the night and walked downstairs into the kitchen. I was surprised, so I followed you. You pulled your weiner out, you opened the trash can and you pissed right onto the trash. I was laughing my ass off in the back, but you didn't seem to notice me. You just walked right back into your bed and fell asleep.” I laughed so hard, some of the cereal in my mouth went into my windpipe. Then he tried to save my life and did a couple of abdominal thrusts. I didn't really need them, I would be fine just coughing the cereal out.

Then I told him what I dreamed of the night before. I dreamed of being in a five-star hotel, made entirely out of gold. In that hotel, I drank so much champagne, I had to go to my very own golden bathroom, with my very own golden urinal. It was the best piss I took in my life. Eddie would crack up, talking about this story again and again.

Later that day I wondered about this strange phenomenon, so I googled 'how does sleepwalking work?’ It said that it's most common with children. That's good, I thought. At least I won't be doing this as an adult. The day shall come when this disease shall leave me forever... just as sudden as it arrived — may that day come soon.

It said it's a part of the non-rapid eye movement. The other part of sleep being… you guessed it. Rapid eye movement. That makes sense because it would be really weird if my eyes were going all over the place while I was walking to the kitchen. During the non-rapid eye movement, my body was supposed to physically paralyze itself, so I don't act out my dreams in real life, however, my body does not like being “normal” and thought it a fabulous idea I go around pissing trash. After that, I told Eddie about my findings, and he told me his findings of breast cancer.

A few months went by and there wasn't a single night I sleepwalked. Well, maybe I did. It's hard to tell because most of the possible witnesses were asleep. Then one day I woke up in the middle of the night. My entire body was shaking. My hands were trembling. I was so cold I couldn't breathe right. My clothes were covered in water. I could taste salt in my mouth. It is impossible. The sea is 5 km away. Why can't I remember anything? Could I have really sleepwalked into the sea? I didn't want to hear of it, but my tired legs confirmed it. I had a shower, changed my clothes and I woke up Eddie and told him all about it. We laughed again. Every day was great with him.

Later that day I got so frustrated that I couldn't remember my dreams I googled ‘how to remember dreams’. The most important thing it said was to keep a pen and a sleep journal next to your bed because most people can recall their dreams for only a few minutes after waking up. So that's what I did. The next day I wrote in my sleep journal. I fought a great beast and I won. I killed a saber-toothed tiger. Then I went in front of our house and I saw our cat's guts splattered all over the lawn. I killed it. I loved that cat. I told Eddie and our dad what happened. Nobody blamed me for what happened. They just put me in a hospital and monitored my sleep. However, when I was there, there were no irregularities. I begged them to keep me there, but they put me right home.

During the next few years, my sleep problems grew larger. I tried not to sleep, for sleep is where terrible things happen. I wanted to follow my brother in his cancer studies, but my insomnia, stress and an ever-growing alcohol problem, kept me from achieving anything. In all of my pain, I at least had my brother. He was always there for me. Then one night, someone broke into our house and attacked my dear brother. He was hitting him so hard I feared Eddie was going to die. I grabbed the attacker's throat and squeezed until his skin became blue and he stopped flapping his arms around. Then I woke up and I realized it was my brother who I've just murdered. I screamed so hard the whole neighborhood heard. My father came in and gave me a hug. “It’s not your fault. My son. It’s your body.” he said.

The next few months were filled to the top with crying and drinking. During the burial, I had to endure a lot of angry looks. I could feel their hate vibrating onto my skin. There was no chance of losing my alcoholism now. I took up a paper-round job so that I would be doing something else than drinking that sweet, sweet liqueur. Then came the trial, they proclaimed I wasn't to blame for my brother's death, though I disagreed. The most painful thing was having to live my life alone.

At night I barricaded my room so I couldn't get out. I barricaded the window so I wouldn't jump out while asleep or while fully awake. Then I drank so I could forget about my brother, that was the only time I wanted to live. During these nights, as all around me was silent - most of the neighborhood went to bed at ten-thirty -I entered another world.

Sometimes I felt the whole world was converging on this little room. And as I became more intoxicated and frustrated I'd throw open the bedroom window as the dawn came up, and look across the gardens, lawns, greenhouses, sheds and curtained windows. I wanted my life to begin now, at this instant, just when I was ready for. Then it was time for my paper-round, followed by school. And school was another thing I'd had enough of. At school, all I did was try not to fall asleep.

Sleeping is where terrible things happen. At night I tried not to sleep for my own safety. Some nights I didn't sleep at all. Who knows, I might start banging my head in the wall until I bleed out and die, but at school, I tried not to sleep for my classmates. I never wanted to kill anyone. Then one day after about three restless nights, I couldn't help myself from falling asleep in class. A slept for the entire school period. After that, my teacher woke me up. Nothing happened. My curse was over. My sleepwalking was done. Now I could finally start living.