Unusual Happenings: Tales of Death, Dreams and Dimensions

Unusual Happenings

Tales of Death, Dreams and Dimensions

Joseph Leventhal

Unusual Happenings

Tales of death, Dreams and Dimensions

Copyright 2016 by Joseph Leventhal

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

Cover illustration by Tatiana Vila viladesign.com

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Contents

My Soul to Keep

Sweet Dreams

Alien Nation

Book Ends

The Beat

A Special Purpose

Life Lessons

An Unusual Brotherhood

About Joseph Leventhal

My Soul to Keep

The truth was inescapable. Every particle of my very being communicated this with such intensity that I had to face this horrifying fact: I was dying. To be sure, I was still fully conscious, with my faculties in full operation. Nonetheless, I was dying. And dreadful though I may think it, death was what I most truly desired. Why, if the notion of death so disturbed me, did I so desire death? Because I was a prisoner. I was being held captive within a useless, ineffectual body, and I had to get free from its suffocating hold on me. As well, I knew not when death would seize me, yet I knew that moment was fast approaching.

I was afflicted with a fatal disease, almost to the day, six years ago. Up to that time, I was extremely active and amazingly healthy. I was rarely ill, and was quite fond of exercise and adventurous outdoor activities. It was an exceptional occasion, indeed, in which I ever had need of a visit to my physician’s office.

My current condition began at first with very slight numbing of my left knee. This sensation left eight months later, but only for a brief period of time. When the numbness returned, it rapidly progressed to my left foot, causing that foot to flop, resulting in an annoying slap as I walked. This condition persisted for a full two years, with neither my doctor nor the specialists’ being able to determine the cause or a cure.

The symptoms started increasing, with my physical condition deteriorating quite rapidly. About three years ago, my left leg became completely paralyzed, soon followed by my right. My entire body, head and face excluded, eventually became utterly paralyzed. No known cause, no known cure. Hence my desire to die and escape my tortuous imprisonment.

Interestingly, I had during both my youth and adulthood been extraordinarily fascinated with death. More accurately, my interest lie with what occurred following death; the so-called after-life. The questions ran continually through my mind, begging to be solved, pleading for resolution: Is there a soul or form of spirit that lives on after the body dies, or do we simply enter into a state of non-existence? Is the spirit, if it exists, eternal? Is reincarnation myth or reality? I have spent countless hours in deep, meaningful contemplation upon these questions and many other related uncertainties.

While seeking answers to my myriad questions concerning what occurs after death, I had come to a most definite conclusion: I did not want to cease existing! I had, for the most part, enjoyed life and cherished my existence; that is, of course, until the occurrence of my current predicament. Furthermore, while quite illogical, non-existence very much frightened me.

However, with all of my ramblings and confessions, I neglected to make known one important fact: I have never fully subscribed to a belief in life after death or the existence of an everlasting spirit or soul. Nonetheless, I maintained a hope that such was the case.

I was now ready, even eager, to move on and discover the answers to my life-long questions. I had become trapped within the prison of my useless body. Though I could not speak, I sensed that my daughter and friends, gathering around to witness my last living moments, understood the warmth and comfort their presence brought me. I felt no pain, aside from the mental anguish of being trapped within an ineffectual body. I as well took comfort in knowing that I would be buried next to my beloved wife, who died two years past.

Her death was the result of a car collision, which occurred when she was driving on her way to pick me up from a hospital visit. A mother was more concerned with her two children squabbling in the back seat, than she was with the road ahead of her, and her vehicle drifted into the opposing lane, and collided with that of my wife. Chance may be that we might unite in some possible afterlife, and I wanted that with all of my being.

My sight suddenly grew dim, and I found myself floating in darkness. A faint, but incredibly white light emerged and began gradually enveloping me (my consciousness) in a soft glow, like a shell shielding me from the foreboding blackness. From the darkness beyond my faint, soft white shell of light, emerged a presence, an aura almost shapeless in appearance, and darker even than my present realm.

Was this some sort of dream or nightmare, induced by the horrid stress of my abominable condition? No, I sensed somehow that it was not. Was I experiencing death? Yes, that seemed much more likely. Surely I must have passed from life, and I would finally be free from the torturous entrapment of my incompetent physical form. I anxiously awaited discovery as to what would now become of me, fear now starting to overwhelm and suffocate me.

Time passed. How much, I know not. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe days. For me, it seemed akin to the proverbial eternity. Then, from the shadowy presence emanated a voice that seemed to come not from any particular direction, but from all directions. Yet I by some means knew that the voice belonged to it.

"A choice, declared the presence in a voice that was neither deep nor shrill, smooth nor gruff, but immensely chilling none-the-less, and seemed to reside in the deepest caverns of my consciousness. You must now make a choice." Moments passed, and I attempted to reflect on and comprehend the meaning of this increasingly unsettling experience. Then the voice broke the silence.

"You may choose eternal existence in the form of your soul, or you may choose to cease all existence, to become nothing.

"Before you decide, understand two facts, continued my guide, as guide" is what I had come to think of the indistinct, gloomy presence before me.

"Firstly, your decision is permanent. It binds your fate for all eternity." I experienced what can only be described as a chill running through my consciousness (or possibly soul?) as I realized the immensity of the options placed before me.

"Secondly, just as does life, so eternal existence of the soul comes with a price. The nature of that price I will not reveal."

I felt relief and a bit of excitement as I realized that my life-long questions were finally meeting with answers: Yes, the soul of man does exist! Yes, the soul lives eternally, or at least has the potential for eternal existence!

I had made my decision; admittedly in haste, borne from my desire for continued existence, but also with confidence. I would finally be free! Oh, how I hoped my wife had decided as I had. Together again, at longest last!!

I had somehow made my choice known to my guide, (for I could not speak or communicate in a any manner that I was aware of), for there came the reply, "This will be done." My state abruptly faded, and I awoke, finding myself back in my room, still surrounded by family and friends.

A dream! It was all a damnable dream! An utterly ill-begotten delusion. Still no answers to my questions. Still the dread of uncertainty. I saw the beautiful face of my daughter, her large, deep-blue, almond-shaped eyes gazing down at me, eyes full of love, caring and concern. How I wished I could tell her of my dream, and how real it had seemed. But, alas, the disease had robbed me of the act of speech, and I knew of no way of communicating my experience.

Whiteness! Suddenly, my vision was ablaze with intense whiteness and nothing else! Whiter than pure snow, whiter than anything I had ever seen or experienced. The whiteness then released its hold on my vision as quickly as it had seized it, and my sight abruptly returned to its normal state.

What was that?! I silently screamed. My eyes quickly scanned, within their limits, each face of those near me, to discover if any but me had experienced the explosion of white light. Their expressions revealed they had not.

A deep sense of depression grew about me. Bad, life-like dreams and nonsensical illusions. My mind was becoming as useless as my body. My desire to depart this life grew to tremendously new heights!

I slept for an unknown amount of time, waking up with quite a start. My sight was again fading, and a feeling of what can only be described as true nothingness began to enshroud me. I instinctively knew this sensation not to be a trick of my mind. I knew my time had arrived. Finally, one way or another, I will be set free! was my last thought as I slipped into that aforementioned nothingness.

Nothingness gradually gave way to awareness. I was aware of only deep, dark blackness. I was confused, bewildered. Was I dead? Yes, I most certainly must be. Was I in some sort of transitional phase, like that of Purgatory? Yet, I was still aware of only that deep void of blackness.

I recalled my recent dream, of the choice I was given, and of my choosing to exist as an everlasting soul. To be free from the confines of the fragile body, and the boundaries of time and space.

A sound! I became cognizant of a very faint sound piercing the void. For an extraordinarily long time the sound remained faint. That sound slowly, ever so steadily, grew into a sound I recognized: I was hearing a scream! That frightening scream was soon joined by others, forming a cacophony of haunting, agonizing screams.

My bafflement suddenly transformed into understanding. I had been mysteriously infused with certain knowledge, with a horrifying comprehension. Dread arose within me. I now knew that the dream and vision of whiteness were real. That the shadowy figure and its words were existent. I had in fact made a choice, and the white flash I had experienced earlier, the flash that neither my daughter nor my friends attending my bedside had witnessed, confirmed my decision. My soul would indeed live on forever. I had, however, gained an absolutely terrifying, horrible insight: THE SOUL NEVER, EVER LEAVES THE BODY!

There was indeed a price to be paid. I was to be forever imprisoned in perpetual darkness in the tomb of my lifeless body, even as the flesh decayed from the bones, and even as the bones, through the eons of time, turned to dust. No non-existence, no Heaven, no free-spirited existence, not even reincarnation, but what I could only comprehend as ETERNAL HELL!

And those utterly horrendous, sickening screams? They are the voices of the many hundreds buried before me in this same cemetery, who had also come to the realization of their sentence of everlasting anguish! Panic, like an immense and terrifying wave, arose within me and swiftly enveloped my imprisoned soul.

That dreadfully haunting chorus of screams was now joined by another.

Sweet Dreams

Light. Bright light behind a heavy mist. Things moving in, and even beyond the mist. And sounds. Strange sounds all around. No, the sounds are coming from somewhere just beyond that mysterious mist. A touch. Something is touching me. A hand is grabbing my arm. Now more hands, grabbing, pushing pulling. Why are they doing this to me?! Now cold metal on my arms. Now pushing on my chest. Pain! More pain! What is happening to me? Someone help me! Please help me!!

Ah!... The mist is clearing! I will now see who is doing this to me! I will see—

Gwendolynn bolted upright on her bed. But, in doing so, due to her close proximity to the bed’s edge, she began tumbling off the side. And because she had somehow tangled herself in a massive mix of sheet, blanket and bedspread, she crashed helplessly to the floor, and then spent what seemed like several strenuous minutes extricating herself from the fabric cocoon.

Finally free, she remained sitting on the floor, her body damp with sweat. Her bright green eyes were still opened enormously wide, an aftermath of the startling dream and her tumbling off the bed. As was her drum-roll heartbeat.

She scanned the bedroom, the floor-to-ceiling bookcases lining the entire back wall, the mammoth antique-white Victorian dresser taking up most of an adjoining wall, impressionistic paintings hanging high on three of the four walls. The thick, plush, slate-gray carpet provided cushioning comfort while she mulled over her latest dream. Her nightmare.

This was the third occurrence this week, and it was only Wednesday. Previously, two had been the most in any given week. It now appeared that the frequency of this dream was increasing. She was not sure exactly when the dream first occurred, but knew it had been around for at least two months. Probably closer to three.

Gwendolynn’s several visits to her doctor had, to the present, and to her utter dismay, yielded no positive results. The only diagnosis the grandfatherly Doctor Bernard Schwartz had conjured was that she was experiencing symptoms of severe stress. Well of course she was under stress, thanks to her horrible, recurring dream! However, aside from the dream she was stress-free. Truth be told, her life was otherwise amazingly wonderful.

Only 23 years of age, she was a highly successful writer of supernatural fiction. Her first novel, at age 17, Lapse in Time, about two time-traveling lovers, was an immediate New York Times bestseller. Her current and fifth tale, From Beyond Time, detailed an account of six teenagers’ journey to and from a remote, uncharted village in the Andes Mountains. They stayed for nearly two weeks, but left the village twenty years older. From Beyond Time debuted at the top of all the literary lists. Yes, life was good!

While Gwendolynn had several close friends, she was not involved in any romantic relationship. This was most definitely by choice. She desired to focus most of her time and emotional energy on her writing, not constantly jumping through the exhausting hoops required in maintaining an emotionally draining relationship. She enjoyed living alone in her ample four-bedroom ranch-style house. Well, not really alone. She shared her abode with Mira, her psychotic tortoiseshell cat, affectionately known as Psycho Kitty. Relaxation for Gwendolynn meant sitting in her library and reading a book while sipping hot chai tea. And, of course, writing.

She glanced at the green LED clock on the wall, slowly shook her head, and thought to herself, Damn, it’s only just now 5 o’clock! I might as well get up and dressed for my appointment. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep, and my appointment is at nine.

She rose from the comfortably carpeted floor and walked to the dual sink on-suite bathroom, turned on the lights and viewed her bare form in the lighted mirror. She examined her medium-length, medium-brown ultra curly hair, bright green, almond shaped eyes, prominent cheekbones, creamy white skin, and short but athletic body. She was fairly satisfied with what she saw.

Entering the walk-in closet, she chose a green sleeveless blouse and blue jean pants and donned the garments. By the time she finished with breakfast, stretched, read, did some writing and attended to Psycho-Kitty, she had 30 minutes to drive two towns over for her appointment with Doctor Hank Greenwood. If she left immediately, she might arrive at the sleep clinic on time.

She was late by seven minutes. She apologized to the receptionist, signed in on the rainbow colored sign-in sheet and had a seat on one of the dark gray, thickly-cushioned chairs. Doctor Schwartz had recommended Gwendolynn receive assistance from a sleep deprivation specialist, and referred her to Doctor Greenwood, whom he considered to be the best, at least locally. Desperate for answers and a solution regarding her terrible recurring dream, she agreed to give the sleep clinic a go.

The mildly plump, slightly graying haired receptionist summoned Gwendolynn and escorted her to one of the vacant examination rooms. The room fairly resembled a standard doctor’s office examination room, but with a wooden desk at the far side and an actual bed in the center. Several cameras descended from the ceiling, like a giant creature with multiple eyes gazing at its prey. Gwendolynn shivered a bit at that thought.

Three quick knocks on the closed door and Doctor Greenwood abruptly entered the room. A hand jutted forward and Gwendolynn’s own hand received it. Hi, I’m Doctor Greenwood.

Standing, surprisingly, only maybe two inches taller than Gwendolynn, he sported a sharp blue polo shirt, khaki cargo trousers and brown leather penny loafers. Thin and fit, yet a touch of white hair at the temples, it was difficult to guess he was 38 years of age. He briefly examined Gwendolynn with intensely inquisitive eyes, looking her over and seemingly gathering a significant amount of information in a very short time.

So, Doctor Schwartz tells me you are having a recurring disturbing dream, and that the frequency seems to be increasing. I read your description of this dream, and I honestly can’t attribute it to any of the usual causes: anxiety, stress, hormonal imbalance, nutrition, alcohol, drugs, or mental illness. I’ll need greater detail to tackle this problem of yours. Will you be willing to sleep here until you again experience that same dream, and them immediately write down the details while they are fresh in your memory? Though it does seem that you retain a pretty good recollection of it.

Sure, no problem, responded Gwendolynn, looking a bit uneasy about sleeping in the sterile room, with the multi-eyed creature keeping her company.

Doctor Greenwood seemed to be reading her thoughts. And no, you will not be sleeping in this room, but another that more closely resembles a typical bedroom. This room is for short daytime visits only. At this she relaxed a little, but just a little.

Now, Doctor Greenwood went on, we will need to record your vitals and mental activity as you sleep, as well as before and after, and you will need to jot down any type of dream you had and any troubles you had getting to sleep. Hopefully I will get enough data to get to the bottom of this. Oh, and also just to cover all bases, I need you to write down what you usually eat and any medications you use, including topical ointments. Are you ok with all of this? Can you start the sleepovers immediately?

Yes, especially if you can find some way to stop this awful dream.

No guarantee, but I’ll do my best. The nurse will come in shortly and take your vitals. I’ll see you again soon. Let’s have you start tomorrow night.

The nurse, tall with a runner’s build, and with dirty-blond hair as straight as Gwendolynn’s was curly, came cheerfully galloping in shortly after Doctor Greenwood’s departure, and expertly acquired the necessary vital information. She then handed Gwendolynn a pad of lined paper and a pencil, instructing her to record the preliminary information that the good doctor desired.

She left the clinic full of hope, caught in the rapture of the hope this new weapon in her war on her horrendous dream had brought. Keeping true to her second appointment of the day, Gwendolynn met with her undeniably best friend Hannah at The Flying Turtle Café` at precisely (well, almost precisely) 2:00 o’clock.

Hannah stood a goodly three inches above Gwendolynn and sported brown curly hair that was neither quite as curly nor quite as brown as Gwendolynn’s, but equally full of character. Friends since the age of three, where they began their life-long friendship at a local nursery school, their shared experiences while growing up as friends included Girl Scouts, gymnastics club, a love of camping at the beach, books, science fiction movies, books, rock concerts, books, and most of all, books.

One small fairy-shaped cloud blemished an otherwise clear and perfectly deep blue sky. A faint rise of steam rose from the two cups of chai tea resting on the small round wooden table outside the café`. The two women sat, engaged in conversation, patiently waiting for their teas to cool a few degrees.

So this bad dream thing is getting worse? inquired Hannah, her tone quite obviously one of genuine concern. She had noticed the stressful affects of the dream creeping up on her best friend’s face over the last several weeks. I sure hope this sleep clinic of yours works! When do you start?

Tomorrow night, responded Gwendolynn. Testing the temperature of her tea with her lips and finding it satisfactory, she proceeded to take several sips of the tasty liquid. Hannah did likewise. And I’m nervous as hell about it.

"Well, if you need anything, any help with anything, you know you can depend on me," said Hannah in her most reassuring manner.

I know, thanks, replied Gwendolynn.

They had chatted for about forty more minutes when Gewndolynn glanced at her watch. "I really need to get going. I’ve more writing to do and I need to get things ready for tomorrow night." She stood up, started to say her goodbyes, when a realization sprang into her head.

"Hey, I do need a favor from you. Would you take care of Psycho Kitty during the nights I’m gone? I would greatly appreciate it."

"No problem. I’ll drop by on my way to the market, at about