The Black Dot is a spooky story about someone who is plagued by terrible nightmares in which a huge black dot engulfs everything.
When I was 18 years old, I started having terrible nightmares. The dream was always the same. I found myself in a white room that was completely empty. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a small black dot appeared. Then, as I watched, the black dot began to get bigger and bigger.
I had a sense of impending doom as I backed away, but the black dot kept growing and growing until it almost filled the entire room. It pressed me up against the wall as it grew larger and larger. It was crushing me and I began to choke and cough. Just as the black dot completely engulfed me, I would start screaming in terror and I would immediately wake up.
I didn’t tell anyone about the dream. I was too scared. Instead, I tried to find an explanation for it. I bought a lot of books about the meaning of dreams and spent hours poring over them, but I couldn’t find any information that might shed some light on what I was experiencing.
In my nightmares, I was tortured by the black dot. The fear and dream was overwhelming. Every time I had the dream, I would wake up totally exhausted, both mentally and physically. The dreams happened periodically, only on certain days, so each time I experienced the dream, I would note it down on the calendar with a red circle.
After two or three months, I realized that the dream only ocurred on the 6th, the 15 th and the 24th day of each month. Knowing that somehow eased my suffering. At least knew in advance when they would occur, so I could be ready for them.
I endured these terrible nightmares for about a year, and then they stopped abruptly, just as suddenly as they had begun. I was overjoyed. Finally, I could live a normal life again. However, my happiness didn’t last very long.
Two years later, the nightmares returned with a vengeance. This time, they were more realistic. The black dot appeared in the middle of the room and grew bigger and bigger until it completely absorbed everything around it. I screamed and screamed and tried to escape from the room before it engulfed me, but there was no door. There was no way out.
The nightmares became more frequent. In the past, it had only been three days a month, but now it was happening almost every day. I felt as if I was being driven out of my mind.
One day, I realized that I could no longer keep it to myself. I had to confide in someone. I went to see a psychiatrist and told him what I was dealing with. He listened to me attentively and wrote down some notes on his pad. At the end of our session, he gave me a prescription for some pills and sent me home.
I immediately went to the pharmacy and bought the pills, hoping that they might help. When I got home, I went up to my bedroom and closed the door. I took two of the pills, washed them down with a glass of water and went to bed. That night, I slept peacefully. In fact, for the next week, I wasn’t troubled by any dreams at all. My spirits soared. Finally, I thought, I’m cured!
I went to see the psychiatrist again. I wanted to tell him that the pills had worked and sincerely thank him for all his help. I arrived at his office, but the old woman at the reception desk told me I couldn’t see him. When I asked why, she told me that the psychiatrist had suffered a heart attack a few days before and had died in hospital.
That night, the nightmares came back. This time, the black dot almost crushed me to death. I was awakened by my father shaking me by the shoulders. He said he had heard me screaming during the night.
There followed days of torment. I didn’t know what to do. I took the pills every night, but they didn’t do any good. No matter what I did, the nightmares continued unabated.
One day, I was exhausted by depression and lack of sleep and just felt like I could not go on. I broke down sobbing. My father asked me what was wrong. I succumbed to weakness and told my father about the dreams. My father sincerely empathized with me and told me he would help me find another doctor. He even volunteered to pay for my therapy. However, that night, the nightmares stopped again.
A few days later, my father died suddenly in an accident. His car stalled while he was going through a level crossing. The train slammed into his car and it was completely destroyed. My father was killed on impact. He barely even knew what hit him. I was utterly devastated and wracked with grief. I cried and cried for days.
Then I realized something. The nightmares had stopped.
Two weeks later, the nightmares returned, but I noticed a strange pattern emerging.
Whenever I told someone about my nightmares, they would suddenly stop for a few weeks, but the person I told would die soon afterwards. I was delighted and horrified in equal measure.
I decided to start telling people about my nightmares. I know it’s terribly selfish and the people I tell will eventually pay for it with their lives, but I have to somehow ease my suffering.
I’m so tired…
I want to end it once and for all, and I think I know how.
I’ve told you all about my nightmares.
Tonight, I will sleep peacefully.