Grindleby awoke to the sound of his mother yelling at a customer. Something about a choice of colour or something of the sort. He ignored the heated debate and sat up in his bed, thinking about the nightmare. That dream was a memory from years past. He didn't quite remember it, and what he did remember was so unclear it might have been a dream, and yet the dream was so clear at points that it might me reality.

Grindleby knew that the night of the dark creature and the bleeding sky actually happened, and he witnessed it. He also knew that being there is likely what caused his current... issue. He would have that same dream every night and he would wake up silent and unable to speak, barely able to breath. Then he would close his eyes because everything he saw sent shivers of fear down his spine, then he would open them for the darkness was too much to handle. With much help from his father, he conquered his fear of the things he saw but it took much longer to be able to return do doing his chores, longer still to play with his friends in the fields. All the while, the memory plagued him in his sleep. He was not allowed to forget the horrors of that night, and yet he could barely recall the moment without looking to his dreams.

And yet, he hadn't had the nightmare in years. But here it was again. However, there was something strange about it. It was different. Something new was in it, something that Grindleby didn't remember from any of the last ones.

The creature's face.

Something about it's eyes was more... disturbing. He thought harder but the memories were just out of reach.

“How frustrating,” Grindleby muttered to himself, reaching out to his dream journal, but he dropped it. Looking down at his hands, he realised his hands were shaking. This made him aware of his knit eyebrows and the grinding of his teeth. He shook his head and clapped his hands to snap out of it, then picked his journal off the floor.

He sketched what he could remember with a stick of charcoal and took a few notes

Something about its face is different this time. I'll have to have the dream again to be sure about it.

“In any case, I can give this more thought later.”

He closed the journal and stood up. Glad that his knees didn't buckle, he strode out of his room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Grindleby had been hungry the night before, but looking at the sliced bread and pudding made him gag. He swallowed what little came up and, with much difficulty, downed his breakfast.