SD Robb © All Rights Reserved. This is the first draft and first page of my new book. It is my first venture into the horror category. Please let me know what you think. The book will be called “The Hunger.”
The nightmares do not happen as often as they used to. However, I am afraid to go to sleep some nights for fear they could be there waiting for me. I wish I could tell you how they started. Or when the nightmares began. I have been reliving the same nightmare over and over for the last fifteen years.
I can remember as a child waking up screaming in the middle of the night. My heart was beating so fast that I thought it would pop out of my chest. The nightmare appeared to be extremely real to me. My mother would come in and hold me until I clamed down. Then she would sing a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to her. I would soon be drifting off to sleep again.
The nightmares are the same almost every time. There are slight variations in each one. Sometimes I am older. Sometimes there is snow on the ground. However, I am always walking in the same forest at night. I am alone, but I feel as if someone is watching me. For some reason I begin to run. I can feel the breath of someone or something behind me. It is reaching for me. Grabbing at my jacket. I can feel the tug of my jacket as I run. I can see the safety of a house up ahead. I try to run faster. However, the hand has gotten ahold of my jacket. Then I wake up. My mother has always been there for me, however, I do not know much if anything about my father.
I have very few memories of my father. One haunting memory stands out from the rest. It happened when I was six years old. I went outside. It was summer. I just wanted to play and run through the meadows. After stepping outside I saw him arguing with someone over by our barn. I was not sure who the person was in fact I had never seen them before. I remember the man wore a black cavalier hat and a black cape. I had never seen a man dressed like that before. The argument became quite heated and I saw my father stomp off into the barn. I never saw my father after that moment.
We had at the time lived on this huge property in a massive mansion. I recall running through the house and seeing strange things like suits of armor and heads of animals on the walls as well as furs on the wooden flooring. I used to run my toes through the fur rugs because they gave me the chills. It was not an inviting house to be raising a child, but it was filled with the things my father loved the most, which was hunting.
There were maidservants who attended to the day-to-day household chores and a butler who managed the servants and the household affairs. I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I never lacked for anything. It was a luxurious life that we lost instantly one night. I sometimes wonder if that is the reason my mother and grandmother never speak of my father.
When I was seven years old my mother awoke me in the wee hours of the morning. She told me that I had only a few minutes to grab my things because we were leaving. I asked her where my father was, however she ignored my inquiry. From that day forward we lived out of our suitcases and in hostels in the Spanish countryside until finally settling down in the grand city of Barcelona by that time I was 16 years old.
My name is Alejandro Salazar and my mother’s name is Gabrielle Salazar. She gave up her married last name as well as everything else when we left. She worked odd jobs during our nomadic time many years ago to put food on the table.