Chapter IIII

✦Confined in the Unknown Vault✦

Saturday, April 6th 2019 appr. 0830 am MDT, Salt Lake City, UT, USA 

After a long day yesterday of running around and paying bills, I relaxed by going to dinner with my friend Mark. Like always, he teased me about not finding myself a girlfriend, and I teased him right back for settling down and letting his wife control every aspect of his life.

Afterward, I headed to work, where my supervisor scolded me for being late. It didn’t bug me too much, though; I was used to it by now. It turned out to be quite the exciting shift, I rescued a girl in an alleyway that was about to be the victim of a sexual assault, and we caught the perp red-handed, who is most likely now sitting in a jail cell.

For the rest of my shift, I continued to ponder the changes in the dream that had been bugging me the entire day. I’m sure that I’m just curious if there is any meaning behind this extension of the dream, and in all the weirdness, magic of all things. Until now, I was convinced that the dream could have been an actual world event that happened in a bygone era; but this means either one of two possibilities, the first, and most likely, the event never happened, or the second, that magic is very much real. Man, I sound like a maniac, don’t I?

Tired and hungry after a long night, I returned home and discovered an empty fridge. Damn, I totally spaced on picking up groceries when I was out. Guess I’ll eat a few crackers before going to bed then.

After eating what little food I have and feeding the hungry Frigo, I change into my navy blue pajamas. I then perform my daily routine by kneeling at the side of my bed and saying a little prayer. I pray for the usual things, happiness for my family members, gratitude for the things I have, and for the strength and guidance in what is yet to come.

As a faithful Christian, prayer is an essential part of my life and my faith. It’s not just a religious obligation or a mere ritual, to me; it is a deep and personal transformative experience. Through it, I feel connected with God, when I pour out my heart, and seek His guidance I feel strength in every aspect of my life. 

After finishing my prayer, I hop into my bed and underneath my sheets, looking forward to this since three in the morning. I begin dozing off almost immediately. The moment I close my eyes, I remember Frigo jumping into my bed and curling up next to my head like he always does.

Within moments after lying down, everything begins feeling strange, like really strange. A low trembling in my body begins erupting, accompanied by a deep rumbling sound. The sensation feels like my body is sinking into my mattress as my consciousness drifts away from it.

I start to believe that I’m falling, beginning to think an earthquake has erupted in the valley and that the floor in my apartment has given out. I open my eyes, and quickly realize that I am no longer in my room, or anywhere near it. Looking in either direction I can’t see anything, as if I was in an endless void. I feel strange as though my body isn’t fully there, it feels intangible, and ethereal. It feels weird.

As anxiety and curiosity swell within me, lights begin sparkling in the darkness around me. Watching them, they each open into visions of memories from my life. At first, there are only ten, but they double and double, twenty, forty, and they keep doubling until thousands of memories surround me.

Drifting gently, they pass me as I descend, each flashing before me in no particular order. I can only focus on a few of them, like my college graduation, my time in the Army Airborne School, or the time I spent doing missionary work in Texas. Each memory is another accomplishment or defeat that I have experienced throughout my life. 

My attention is turned to one memory in particular. As I focus on it, I remember it as the first memory that I can remember having. I must have been only one or two at the time; it was the first time that the diurnal nightmare ever decided to plague me.

Watching intently as my younger self stirs and cries softly at the details of the nightmare, I remember that my mother had come in to comfort me on this particular night. As I watch the memory unfold, I witness a woman appear in the room and realize something strange. That night, the woman in my room was not my mother but someone else entirely.

Whoever she was, she glowed like an Angel, and from what I could recall feeling that night, she was able to comfort me. She didn’t even touch me or pick me up to do so; it was just her presence there that I found comforting. As I study the details of the woman standing in the dark, I stumble upon another profound realization: that she looks just like the woman from my nightmare, the one I died protecting. I had only seen her face once, but it was enough to stick with me, and this was definitely hers. 

Although she was in rags and her white hair had been cut close to the scalp, her lemon-golden eyes were the same ones I had seen yesterday. As I continue to stare, all time feels as though it has frozen. My heart begins aching in a manner I have never felt before. It feels like how true heartbreak has been described to me.

The memories begin dissipating as I continue to descend into the void; I stare at her for as long as I can until that memory disappears too. Looking around into the void, I notice six other individuals descending alongside me and wonder if they had been here the whole time and experienced the same experience I just had. 

As I grow anxious once more, I close my eyes and begin taking in deep breaths, realizing and accepting that this is most likely my passing and that I had died and just saw my life flash before my eyes. Either that or this was probably a very detailed dream, one that is finally at a different pace than the usual one.

So, this is what it feels like to experience a different type of dream? I think, hoping that I haven’t passed away.

As I slowly open my eyes, I’m met with the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. The first thing I notice is that the chronic pain I’ve grown accustomed to in my left shoulder— that constant reminder of my past injury— has become conspicuously absent. Not believing it, I begin to cautiously move the formerly aching limb, marveling at its newfound freedom. I softly chuckle, not believing my eyes or the feelings in my muscles and tendons. 

Looking past my hand, I realize that I’m no longer in my room. Panic sets in as I come to this realization. I sit up quickly and begin surveying my surroundings. The bed I’m sitting on is in a strange trapezoid-shaped room with a single closed door at the short end and no windows that can be seen. The walls are made of copper-golden metal, and I can see vents at the top of the room and a strange opening above the door. 

Approaching the firmly sealed door, which leads to who-knows-where, I notice that there are no visible mechanisms to open it, no hinges or door knobs. It's shut tight. Upon seeing this, my sense of unease and urgency grows. It’s then that I hear a child’s weeping, piercing the eerie silence from the room to my left. I don’t know how I can tell, but I think it might be that of a young boy. Apparently, I am not alone in this… well… prison, for lack of a better term. But where is this place?

Perhaps he and I are not the only ones. I call out, hoping someone else is out there, “Hello? Is there anyone else there?” Expecting a quick response, I wait patiently for some semblance of someone else out there.

Waiting for any response, I sit back down on the bed, noticing the strange attire that I'm wearing. It is an almost medieval-looking tunic, fastened by a sash made of a smooth, silk-like fabric that matches the pure white of the garment. My lower attire consists of a deep, rich gray pair of pants. On my feet are a pair of comfortable dark blue slippers with a thin leather sole and metallic silvery embroidery on the edges.

The echoes of my voice finally subside, and then, like a gentle breeze on a stifling summer’s day, I hear the voices of two others coming from the rooms to my right. They are speaking a language that I’m unable to recognize. The man’s voice is steady, devoid of fear, while the girl’s is somewhat soothing. The mere sound of her words provide an inexplicable comfort, even though their meaning remains a mystery to me.

Only making out a few of the sounds, I listen every time she speaks, feeling myself calm as she does. Still unable to fully understand what they are saying, I try to figure out their language. As I do so, I suddenly hear another man’s voice join their conversation. He also speaks the same unfamiliar language that sounds so familiar to me but still very foreign.

As they continue their conversation and the boy continues to cry, I begin hearing a fourth distinct individual breathing heavily, perhaps due to a minor panic attack. I don’t blame him; without the training I went through at Ranger School, I’d probably have been the same way. I am a little out of practice, though, and I do feel the fear of the uncertain rising within me.

As the others continue to cope in their own ways, I begin staring at the torch that lights my room. It’s hovering— the whole metal enclosure, the fire— everything is hovering. My thoughts immediately return to the thoughts of magic in my dream the previous day. I stick my finger out toward the lantern and poke the metal cage. 

As soon as I do, the fire rushes over toward my finger and burns me like it was an animal biting at whatever prey it could get ahold of. I yelp and jump backward toward the wall, where I hit it with the full force of my body and feel the metal almost give way to my weight.

The rest of the others fall into a hushed silence as I turn around to examine what I collided with. It seems that it is made of a weaker metal, and only because of the impact of my body against it has it indeed left a noticeable mark. I look down at the burn on my fingertip; it stings, like a lot. What is with this place?