Although I have lived by the desert for so long, I have never been out for this length of time, and neither have I ventured this far. I do not know why I have decided to come here, only that I felt an indescribable longing to do so. A large boulder lies before me, leaning against the side of a cliff. It is roughly the size of a small cabin, and it molds almost perfectly against the cliff-face, leaving only a small gap in between them. This object holds a significant place in my memory, but from what? I don’t recall ever going to the this part of the desert before. Maybe when I was a child? No, impossible. I was never allowed this far from home. So how do I know it? I snap a picture, and leave.
I lie in bed, rattling my brain. What is the importance of this seemingly unimportant rock? The picture is in my hands and I stare at it. The déjá vu has not gone away, it must be something, a real connection, but how do I know so? Before long, I drift to sleep.

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I hit my knife against the stone wall, sharpening it. Wasn’t it sharp enough already? I, whoever I am, doesn’t think so. The person I currently am is in a cave, and a dark one too. The walls are covered in scratches, as well as pictures. Pictures of people.
Why?
An alarm clock starts blaring to my right. “It’s time,” I say, but I don’t know what for. To my left there is a thin but long tunnel, even darker than the rest of the cave. I enter it to find a boulder in front of me, and an even thinner gap between it and the cliff-face.




Outside of the cave it is dark and dreary. Night has fallen. Deep into the distance a small town sits peacefully, but I have a feeling that won’t be entirely true for long.

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The sun shines through the window nearly blinding me. I start to get ready, but I don’t rush myself knowing it was Saturday. I look out at the desert, and more specifically at the cliff face. And then I remember my dream. Why had I dreamed that? My brain is playing tricks on me… but I ought to check the boulder anyway.

The hike takes about half an hour in the sweltering heat, but I always enjoy the view. When I finally reach the rock I hesitate. What if somebody is back there, and what if that somebody is dangerous? Unfortunately for my reasonable side, curiosity won, and I peer inside of the gap.

Darkness. Complete darkness. I reach for my flashlight only to find that it isn’t there. I curse myself, but put my hand in, slowly, and feel around a bit. Just stone. My leg, then my other, then my other hand. No tunnel anywhere. Relieved, but disappointed, I walk away.

The day slips by fast. I try to occupy myself with menial tasks, but my mind always drifts to the boulder. I am endowed with a strange sense of belonging when I imagine it in my head. It’s almost as if I want to fall asleep again.

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I rub the rag over the blade, wiping off the blood. The stone wall serves as my sharpening tool again. I look at my blade in more detail. It had the brand logo SD written on the handle. The pictures still line the walls, but this time they had red X’s over them.
After a few minutes I walked up to one of the pictures, “Ha. Ha. Too. Slow.” Similar things are said about the others. I stand there staring for a few seconds before slashing the photo to pieces. A new photo takes it’s place. Same with the others. I am one twisted man. The alarm rings again. Cackling I say, “It’s time again.”

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I wake up to myself panting uncontrollably. It is 5 ‘O'clock. Why am I having these nightmares? My brain is playing tricks on me… I flip my bedside lamp on and get dressed, the whole time staring out at the cliff-face. For some reason looking at it gave me a sort of warm feeling, like it was home, but I knew that was ridiculous. My home is right here.

When I reach for the door handle my hand grazes nothing. I look down confused and found that it is in fact gone. Next to the handle a knife is stuck in the door. This is peculiar to say the least. Kneeling, I examine it closer. It has a speck of blood on the blade, but aside from that it was just a normal Silver Diamond knife like the one my mother always uses. The knife does not want to budge. After struggling for a minute the knife releases itself, and I begin fiddling with the empty door socket attempting to unlock it. I come to the realization that it won’t budge. Looks like I’ll be taking the window out.

I step out onto the roof and find it windier out than I expected. After stumbling about for a couple of minutes I locate the guest room window. I climb in to find the bed sheets strewn over the room. This is odd to say the least, but I am too confused already to give it to much thought. The door opens with ease. A chair is propped up against my door’s handle, a trick I am well aware of. I step back in. Who did all of this?

Who is doing all of this?

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“First the family, then the boy.”

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I wake up to blinding light. It’s 11 ‘O’Clock, I had fallen asleep again.
“Well look who decided to wake up!” my mom remarks as I walk out the door, “Breakfast is ready, we’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry, I didn’t exactly get much sleep last night.”

Downstairs my whole family is at the table eating breakfast, which I want dearly, but then I see the paper my father was reading, and all of my hunger leaves me.

“So what’s in the paper, Dad?”

“Well aside from the murders? Nothing much.” He says matter-of-factly.

My throat clenches up, “Murders?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear? A whole lot people around town have been found dead. Sometimes whole families, sometimes just random people.”

It has to just be a coincidence. “Do we know who those people are?”

“Yep there’s a list of the dead right here, with pictures.”

Despite the fear I feel, I decide to look. It was the same people from the cave drawings. I stare in disbelief. No no no it can’t be real. How am I seeing through the eyes of a killer? What psychological connection could we possibly have?
Or am I simply going insane?

I stumble through the sand until I reach the cliff-face. What is behind this rock that is plaguing my dreams? Why me? I peer into the crevice once more. Nothing. I put my hand and reach, then my other. I kick, I throw rocks, I scream. Nothing works. There has to be something I’m missing! Nightfall is coming and I’m almost out of time! I feel my eyes begin to droop, and I fall.

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Scrape... Scrape... Scrape...

My knife scrapes the concrete foundations of the house as I encircle it.
“Ring around the rosie… Pocket full of posies… Ashes, Ashes…”

We all fall down. I know the next line. The alarm sounded in my pocket, just as it had done so many times before.

“It’s time to have some fun already? What a surprise.” I say as I shut off the alarm. A ladder is propped up against the roof, and I climb it. It’s windy so I stumble quite a bit. I locate the window I want and peer in. A man and a woman, the mother and the father no doubt, asleep soundly. For now.

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I awake lying facedown on something hard, and it feels as if wind is licking at my back. I begin to push myself up only to find my surface is angled downward with my face near the bottom. The roof, I’m lying on the roof. At first I panic, but I try to regain control of myself. Carefully I force myself into a standing position, struggling to keep my balance. I turn around and there is a window behind me. My parents room.
Oh God. I don’t want to describe it. A message is carved into the door of the room:

Come Find Me
At Our Home



I know that doesn't mean the home I am in right now.

I run like the wind, perhaps even outrunning it. Mom’s kitchen knife is in my hand, ready for blood. I stumble and cut myself but I don’t care, if I don’t do something it’s all over. It might be over no matter what I do, but the least I can do is try and fight.

The rock lies before me, and I have no idea what to do. I kick and scream and anything else that pops into my mind. Nothing works and I collapse. With nothing better to do I sob. I let my tears drip into the sand, “No no no it’s not fair. I’ve seen what he does, I’ve been inside his mind, I have been him before.” I take a deep breath, “And I just want to be like him again. So open! Open you damn cave! Open… Please…”
And at that moment the sound of stone scraping against stone jolts me up. Yes. I’ve done it. I can end it. Carefully I inch over to the crevice. I put in my knife hand first and feel. Both relieved and terrified I find there is a passage. I step inside and walk through the stone hall. Out of nowhere an arm jabs me in the neck and sends me over backwards. Another grabs the knife and pushes it against my neck. I cry out in pain and frustration as the back of a shoe hits me in the shin. The knife pushes tighter against my neck.

I have to kill him.

I have to end it.

I have to stop the dreams.

I have to silence the voices.

The connection must be broken.

“Push harder.”

Sadness wells up inside of me, “Yes.” If I must kill myself, so be it.

My own knife presses deep against my throat, cutting into it. As I feel my own life begin to fade away, my killer grows translucent, disappearing from this world.
I stare at my hands, afraid of what I’ll see. My hands are fading, leaving this world for good. We both are leaving.
We both are dying.