Uncle's Story

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The irony is that Jason began it all.

‘It’s about time your folks knew,’ he said. ‘If you don’t tell them now, you’ll never do it. You owe it to them, to yourself. You owe it to me.’

‘Yes, I’ll tell them,’ I promised.

I stepped into the car, waved goodbye and headed out on Highway One. Four hours later I reached Hastings. It was dark and I could have pushed onward to Gisborne, but I decided to check into a motel for the night. I should have known that the night would bring with it the dream that always made me wake up screaming.

You know what it’s like in nightmares, especially the ones you’ve had since you were a child. It’s dark and you’re always alone. You feel so foolish that you’ve made yourself vulnerable again. You’ve gone to sleep and you’ve put yourself in a perilous position. Nightmares never go away. They simply watch and wait. They have all the time in the world. They watch you as you laugh in the sunlight. They watch you with family and friends. Then one night, when you least expect it, they curl out of the darkness, and your sleep is filled with that very special dread.

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