"It's cold."
Feeling the chill prick his skin, Justin's eyes snapped open. His first instinct was to rise from his bed and shut his bedroom window. Instead, he froze. The familiar sight of his room was replaced by the dense, looming silhouettes of a wilderness: colossal trees and tall, swaying grass surrounded him.
"So this is lucid dreaming" he murmured. It was a novel experience, something he had always wanted to try. The sensation was incredibly real, the rough bark smell, the damp grass beneath his bare feet.
Clad only in his sleeping clothes, Justin began to explore the strange landscape, assuming he would eventually wake up.
He walked for a while until he spotted two figures in the distance.
"Hey, hello!" Justin shouted, running toward them. The ground felt solid beneath his feet; he could feel the actual resistance of the wind and the crunch of the earth. The realism was uncanny.
The two men, alerted by his call, turned toward him and set down the heavy object they were carrying between them. Justin, now close enough to see the burden clearly, froze where he stood.
Tied to a heavy log was a dead man, his body bloodied and parts missing. His breath caught. His body went cold before he even realized he was afraid.
He had read about this, sometimes lucid dreams morph into visceral nightmares. The next few seconds, he was certain, would be the first and worst night terror of his life.
He observed the men, who wore animal hides as clothing and carried wooden spears, as they cautiously approached him. Justin remained outwardly calm, clinging to the belief that struggling against a night terror was the worst decision one could make. Just let the mental constructs get it over with, he told himself, and I will wake up safely in my bed.
But even with this conscious thought, his primal survival instincts overrode his logical control. His body moved on its own, automatically raising his right arm to block the heavy wooden spear intended to pierce his head.
The crude wooden spear found its mark, sinking deep into the flesh of his raised arm. A violent spray of his own crimson blood splattered across his face and into his open mouth, metallic and hot. The brutal, sharpened tip of the weapon stopped just inches from his eye.
The "construct" muttered something he couldn't understand. Justin was instantly distracted by an overwhelming, searing sensation of pain. It felt incredibly real. The spear didn't phase through him; it pierced. Instinct took over completely.
A raw scream ripped from his throat, and he spun around, sprinting away despite his conscious will to stay put and let the dream end.
His legs betrayed his will again, propelling him into a panicked flight through the dense woods with a spear embedded through his hand and pursers on his tail.
"Jesus Christ, help me! Oh merciful God, save me! Please, sweet Jesus, I beg you!" he choked out, his voice hoarse and desperate. Every ounce of his being, every forgotten memory of Sunday school and grace at mealtimes, coalesced into raw, frantic pleas hurled into the sky.
He was a man drowning, clawing for any lifeline, any divine hand to pull him from this horrific, bloody reality.
"Oh god, oh god, help me," he gasped between ragged breaths, the words tumbling out in a frantic, half-remembered prayer as his feet pounded the unforgiving ground.
Every instinct screamed at him that this was no mental construct, no illusion he could simply wish away. This pain was real. Those men hunting him were real.
"Please, please, please, make it stop!" he whimpered, a desperate whimper escaping his throat as tears mixed with the sweat stinging his eyes. "Take me home! I can't do this! Have mercy on me, Heavenly Father, have mercy!"
The towering trees blurred into a wall of green and brown as he pumped his arms harder, the terror of the hunt eclipsing all rational thought, leaving only the zealous, desperate prayer of a soul facing an unimaginable end.
Justin stumbled, crashing through a thicket of thorns that tore at his legs but barely registered through the adrenaline. He hadn't heard the footsteps in minutes, only the pounding of his own heart and the ragged rasp of his breathing. The dense trees eventually gave way to a small clearing near a rushing stream. He looked back over his shoulder. Silence.
A wave of dizzying relief washed over him. I lost them. I actually lost them.
He slowed to a halt, gasping for air, the world spinning. The immediate, searing pain in his hand brought his focus back to the present crisis. He leaned against a massive oak tree, the rough bark digging into his soaked, bare back. He had to deal with this wound.
He stared at the wooden shaft protruding from his palm, coated in sticky crimson. Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, he wrapped his good hand around the smooth wood and pulled.
He clenched his teeth as the spear head tore free, the pain exploding through his nervous system. He threw the spear pointlessly into the grass, staggering slightly.
A spear materialized from the shadows of the Woodline. It struck him square in the chest, just above the sternum, punching deep into his body. The force drove the wind from his lungs and pinned him backward against the tree trunk.
Justin stared down at the object now protruding from his chest, the reality of the attack failing to register in his shock-muddled mind. Instinct took over, and he grabbed the rough wooden shaft with both hands, attempting to pull the weapon free or at least push himself away from the tree.
But his limbs felt leaden; he couldn't exert the necessary strength, the pain an overwhelming static humming through his nerves.
He looked up just in time to see one of the hide-clad men step out from the treeline, his expression chillingly calm and methodical. The attacker was already reaching back for a third spear. In his final, paralyzed moments, as life began to fade, Justin locked eyes with the man, his own gaze burning with pure, distilled hate and unbridled wrath.
The strength left his limbs entirely, the world tilted, and grey spots began to fill his vision as the darkness took him.