Hypnophobia E-Book

Oliver J. Petry

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 167

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

8 short stories about 8 nightmares! Classic and dystopian horror stories. From witches, werewolves, vampires, and voodoo to crazy robots, self-driving cars, and malicious fitness trackers!

Leseprobe

Book description:

8 short stories about 8 nightmares! Classic and dystopian horror stories. From witches, werewolves, vampires, and voodoo to crazy robots, self-driving cars, and malicious fitness trackers!

About the author:

Oliver J. Petry was born in Saarbrücken in 1965 and has remained loyal to his Saarland homeland to this day. The automotive test engineer and expert runs a small testing center in northern Saarland. His exciting short stories and novels are influenced by his love of technology, music, nature, animals, and art.

1. Hypnophobia

2. Fury Friends in Need

3. Nurse Jaqueline

4. Viscosity

5. House of Pain

6. Fit-Bite

7. Level 5

8. Caninoid

1. Hypnophobia

I must have been nine or ten years old at the time. Maybe I was only eight or already eleven, I can't remember exactly. Anyway, they came to me every night to torment me. The nightmares were so realistic that I usually woke up drenched in sweat and terrified of going back to sleep. Because as soon as I fell asleep, they were after me again. Back then, there were no zombies, at least not in my dreams. I didn't have to worry about crazy robots or evil artificial intelligence either. The only robot I knew at the time was from the West German children's TV series “Robbi, Tobbi und das Fliewatüüt” (a children's series about a boy, a robot, and a helicopter), and he was anything but scary. However, that wasn't necessarily an advantage, because there were still vampires, werewolves, and evil witches who haunted me night after night. Often it was Dracula himself who chased me through an old castle or fortress.

At full moon, I was wandering through his gloomy realm, far away from home. My dream had probably teleported me straight to Transylvania. Candlesticks stood on a huge table. The blood-red candles flickered as if they were about to go out at any moment. There was a fire burning in the open fireplace, but when I exhaled, the air condensed. The large reception hall was freezing cold. Theatrical organ music sounded from somewhere. Now I heard the creaking of heavy footsteps. Someone or something was slowly descending the huge staircase. Something evil was coming toward me. Of course, I wanted to run away, but I was so scared that I froze like a statue. Then I saw him! It was the top bloodsucker himself, slowly but surely coming toward me. I wanted to flee, but I still couldn't move. Wrapped in a deep black cloak, this count looked like a mixture of Christopher Lee, Bela Lugosi, and Klaus Kinski. No one helped me as Dracula effortlessly lifted me up and sank his fangs into my thin neck to drink my blood. I smelled his musty breath and felt very real pain as he bit down.

Then I woke up terrified and frantically turned on the night light. I was drenched in sweat and immediately grabbed my throat, which, absurdly, hurt. Next, I looked at my palms. Maybe I expected to see my own blood on them. But thank God there was nothing there. It was all just a dream. I wouldn't turn off the bedside lamp again. Because with the darkness, the ghosts would surely return. As soon as I closed my eyes, I saw the bloodsucker in front of me again. Precisely because the dream was so realistic, his evil grimace was burned into my mind's eye, perhaps even into my innocent child's soul. I knew secretly that he was just waiting for me. As soon as I dozed off again, this monster would chase me, corner me, and then kill me. And that's exactly what happened. I tried desperately to stay awake but eventually fatigue overcame me and sent me back to the deepest Carpathian Mountains.

The nightmare began as gruesomely as the previous one had ended. The blood junkie, or rather the blood junkies, because Dracula had called for reinforcements in the meantime, chased me through half the castle before finally attacking me. I was still able to flee, but only in slow motion. I wanted to run away, but my legs felt like they weighed a ton. Of course, the monsters caught up with me, snarling wildly. Once again, I felt the painful bites before I died and woke up seconds later in my bed, completely distraught.

About twenty-four hours later, I dreamed of a winter landscape. This time, I was with two school friends and we were sledding down a small hill on our wooden sleds. None of us had a watch back then, but when the church bell rang seven times, we headed home like we did every evening. It was already dark, but the moonlight illuminated the snow-covered landscape, so my friends and I could see relatively well. We were running late and were pulling our sleds behind us for fun. To shorten the way to the village, we had to walk along the edge of the forest for a while. When an owl hooted unexpectedly, we almost wet our pants, but of course none of us would have admitted it. So we trudged on through the deep snow and only stopped when a long, drawn-out howl suddenly rang out from the darkness. Shortly afterwards, I heard a deep, throaty growl coming from the forest. At the same time, branches cracked in the undergrowth. The other two children and I stood still and stared into the darkness of the tree shadows. One of my friends wanted to say something to me, but I couldn't hear him. The boy didn't get a chance to repeat his words, because out of nowhere a huge werewolf jumped at him and tore his head off in a second. Blood spurted like a fountain from the poor child's throat, immediately staining the white snow dark. My other friend and I screamed in terror and tried to run away. We ran for our lives, but the deep snow made it impossible to sprint. I was faster than my friend, but the shaggy beast that was following us was faster than both of us. This was logical, as the monster's four-paw drive gave it significantly more grip than we could achieve with our snow boots. Next, I heard my friend screaming desperately. He must have slipped and fallen. The monster had him. Without looking back, I just kept running. After the sound of breaking bones, I heard no more screams. The forest ended up ahead, and maybe the werewolf would have had enough with its two victims, but I was wrong. The beast jumped at me with all its might, and when I lay on my back in the snow, it stood over me. Disgusted, I looked into the monster's sulfur-yellow eyes before unspeakable pain overwhelmed me. That filthy creature began to eat me, even though I was still alive. Then I fell out of bed and woke up. For a moment, I had the feeling that the werewolf's glowing eyes were still watching me from a dark corner of the room, but when I turned on the ceiling light in my childhood bedroom, they were gone.

Needless to say, these nights did not bring me any rest. As a result, I was constantly sleep-deprived and unable to concentrate or take anything in at school. When my parents or teachers reproached me, I replied shamefacedly that I had slept badly. The adults had only one solution. I was told to go to bed earlier so that I would be more rested the next morning. Nowadays, this type of sleep disorder is called “night terrors” or, by its Latin name, “pavor nocturnus,” but when I was a child, it was just a bad phase of sleep, and I was told not to make such a fuss. If I had told them about my nightmares, I would have been met with feigned sympathy. After all, there were no monsters; I should have known that at my age. They weren't under my bed or hiding in the wardrobe. It was all just my imagination, but that was exactly the problem, or rather, my problem. How I would have loved to sleep through the night just once.

One night later, I dreamed about a school trip. My classmates and I were staying at a hostel in the middle of the forest. A nice older woman, the hostess, greeted our teacher and us very warmly. Since we hadn't eaten anything all day, she had already prepared dinner for us. Everything was already on the tables in the dining room. Only I had a strange feeling. The hostess was extremely friendly, but her permanent smile seemed fake and frozen. It was as if the corners of her mouth were taped up. It was as if her smiling face was just a mask. My classmates were all sitting nicely at the table, drinking tea and eating noodles in minced meat sauce. Something compelled me to keep an eye on the hostess. So I followed her discreetly into the large white-tiled kitchen of the school trip to the youth hostel. The woman wanted to bring some more minced meat, as she had obviously underestimated the children's appetites. The sole manager of the hostel went to the stove, opened the lid of an oversized cooking pot, and took out a piece of meat. Then, smiling, she put it through a huge meat grinder standing right next to her. I caught a glimpse of the piece of meat before it was put through the grinder. It was a child's severed upper arm. Completely shocked, I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming hysterically. I almost screamed in panic, but by biting my hand, I was just able to prevent myself from giving myself away. Now the woman was even singing a children's song. I thought I could make out the words “Hansel and Gretel.” Then she giggled, and when I looked back at her, her ever-smiling face was reflected in a polished stainless steel cover. Again, I had to bite my hand to keep from screaming in fear. The reflection showed her true face. It was the hideous face of an old witch. I had to act now. I had to warn our teacher and my classmates about this monster as quickly as possible. But something must have given me away, because as the witch was preparing the minced meat, she glanced briefly in my direction, took a bone out of the pot, and gnawed the meat off with relish. That was too much. I gave up my cover and ran as fast as I could to the dining hall. The witch's evil laughter followed me. I already had a strange feeling before I entered, because the children's voices had all fallen silent. Completely out of breath, I saw that all my classmates were hanging lifelessly over the tables or lying on the floor. They had probably all been poisoned. The tea or the food—thank God I hadn't eaten anything. But suddenly something moved in the large room. Our young class teacher, Mrs. Kroll, waved at me joyfully. I almost didn't recognize her, as her black hair was now snow white. The red lipstick that the vain woman normally applied every half hour must have been smeared all over her face in an uncontrolled manner. But wait, that wasn't makeup. Mrs. Kroll was choking on a bloody bite that seemed to come from the thigh of our beloved class representative. The teacher was sitting at a table with her arm around the student's shoulder. For a moment, it looked as if she wanted to sway with the child, but in the next second she bit her model student in the neck and then grinned maliciously at me. Chewing on a bloody piece of flesh, Mrs. Kroll beckoned me over. Filled with revulsion, I wanted to run away, but I couldn't escape because a hand, or rather a claw, was holding me by my left ear. The hostel mother pulled me toward Mrs. Kroll, who was giggling hoarsely. Then this terrible witch literally threw me into my teacher's arms. Mrs. Kroll held my hands tightly and continued to giggle. At the same time, the innkeeper grabbed my feet. Now the two of them carried me back to the kitchen area. The landlady opened a flap in the wall and, after the women had briefly consulted each other, they threw me in with a swing. Once I was inside, the flap was closed again. I could see them clearly through the thick glass pane. Now they had taken off their human masks and were staring at me with increasing appetite for child flesh. They pressed buttons, turned knobs, or whatever. In any case, it was getting warmer and warmer in this chamber in the wall. Now I was well aware of what they had in store for me. I was trapped in an oven and was going to be roasted. The heat hurt, and I bit my hand again to keep from screaming. I banged frantically on the oven window, but outside, the witches just laughed. Eventually, I gave up, accepted my fate, and tried to look on the bright side. At least the two witches didn't eat me alive, but the heat of the oven caused me no less pain.

I was burning, but then, luckily, the nightmare came to an abrupt end. I woke up screaming and desperate. My pajamas were completely soaked with sweat and I had bitten my right hand until it bled in my sleep.

The following evening, I thought about it before going to bed. By now, I couldn't even remember the last time I had slept reasonably well. I had been plagued by bad dreams for weeks and knew that I had to change something for my own sake. If this continued, I would suffer both physical and mental damage. Shortly before drifting off into the world of dreams, I had to keep telling myself that the monsters that haunted me every night weren't real. During my REM (rapid eye movement) phases, I was only dreaming. Then the ghosts couldn't hurt me. I had to be prepared to fight them. I couldn't let myself be passively drawn into my nightmares, only to end up dying barefoot and in my pajamas in some horror scenario. No, I had to take an active, or rather offensive, role in my dream world, because I had been the sacrificial lamb for long enough. Dracula and all the others would get a nasty surprise tonight, because I was focusing on what was inevitably going to happen. As I was about to fall asleep, I whispered to myself: “It's just a dream and you know it!”

Half an hour later, I found myself back in that old castle in the middle of the Carpathian Mountains. For a moment, I was afraid when I heard creaking footsteps coming closer and closer. Once again, I got goose bumps all over my body, and once again I was standing barefoot on the cold stone floor of the huge hall. Dracula came down the stairs as dramatically as ever, and I had nothing to say to him. In my pajamas, I waited fearfully for my impending doom. When he stood in front of me, reached for me, and lifted me up, everything was as usual. He was about to bite me. I could smell his musty breath. But suddenly I knew that I was only in a bad nightmare. I kicked with all my might and caught the master bloodsucker in a sensitive spot. Completely surprised, Dracula let go of me and doubled over in pain. The Transylvanian count hadn't expected that. Now that I hadn't submitted to my fate, everything changed. In my dream, I simply mutated into a superhero. For a moment, I looked down on myself from a bird's-eye view, so to speak. If I remember correctly, I now looked like a mixture of Van Helsing, Puss in Boots, and Superman. Dracula, who seemed to be shrinking, still looked at me in complete bewilderment as he hissed evilly. However, he overlooked the wooden stake that I pulled out of my long leather coat completely unexpectedly. “Take that, you stupid monster,” I yelled at him as I rammed the stake into his chest.

The vampire looked at me once more, completely bewildered, before crumbling to dust. Attracted by the screaming, five or six more vampires appeared and surrounded me. But I remained on the offensive and eliminated one bloodsucker just as I had done with his boss. Now I had to get rid of the others. So I jumped into the air, swung myself elegantly onto the huge staircase using the chandelier, and ran toward a darkened window with my pursuers in tow.

I powerfully tore down the heavy purple curtains, knowing secretly what was about to happen. Golden yellow rays of sunlight suddenly illuminated the room, and quickly and painlessly, the remaining bloodsuckers burned up.

I woke up triumphantly thousands of miles away in my bed, grinning from ear to ear. After this dream, which was more like a superhero adventure than a horror spectacle, I felt rested and full of energy. Tomorrow night, I would make the werewolf fetch a stick, and the night after that, the witches would be in for a rough ride. But things turned out differently. The nightmares with all their monsters no longer had any power over me and had finally lost interest in me.

2. Furry Friends in Need

Today was one of those days when he would have preferred not to open his small animal practice at all. After the third castration and various health checks, George felt incredibly tired and exhausted, but his employee, Ms. Südermann, had filled his schedule completely as usual. He certainly loved his work, but too much was simply too much. The dogs and cats he treated rarely caused him any stress. It was more their owners, who were resistant to advice, that often drove him to despair. For some dog and cat owners, Rover or Fluffy had long since ceased to be pets in the true sense of the word. The increasing humanization of animals was certainly not doing their charges any favors. No matter how much George tried to reason with some pet owners, it was ultimately futile. Granny Lieschen continued to feed her dachshund Poldi to death with sweets, and self-confessed vegan Kai-Uwe tried to feed his Siamese cat nothing but tofu. George's advice and lectures on species-appropriate care and nutrition were becoming increasingly ineffective. The almost sixty-year-old was simply disillusioned. Tonight, the veterinarian had one last vaccination appointment, then he would settle down at home with a glass of red wine and some relaxing music. Now the doorbell rang again. After Mrs. Südermann poked her gray-streaked head into his treatment room, he nodded, adjusting his coat at the same time.

“Mrs. Kunze is waiting outside with her dog Lupo. One rabies vaccination and the usual, boss,” Mrs. Südermann whispered almost mechanically.

George paused for a moment, then opened the door to the waiting room to invite Mrs. Kunze in.

The long-standing veterinarian was a little amazed when the attractive woman entered with his new patient on a leash.