Amurehna

Non-lucid
Lucid
I'm traveling with a woman, her eight year old son and a research intern who also happens to be our translator. We're going into a third world country collecting stories on demon possession. When we arrive we don't believe any of it. It all feels like...we're just tourists instead of researchers.
Our translator/intern has gone ahead of us. We are both Caucasian women, he looks a little middle eastern. The house we approach is adobe style, all stark white stone. As we mount the stairs we see the women of the house gesturing to something on the floor. I can see a vague red mark, they have covered it in sand. They say that after their daughter read the inscription she began to act strangely. They warn us not to look at it too closely. The intern crouches next to the mark. An unnatural wind violently sweeps the sand away and up into his eyes. Startled and hurt, he bends over the mark, and has no choice but to look at it.
He covers his eyes and stands up, assuring us he is alright.

There's a lapse.
When I come to, the house is dark. The intern has stolen the boy and has tortured his mother into madness. My vision is grainy, black and white. I have some trouble moving, but the choice is mine. Dream story-line says that I stay where I am until he comes to threaten me. I'm laying on the floor a few paces from my friend. The intern slithers up next to her and hisses something into her ear. She gives a whimpering little scream and, satisfied, he crawls away.
I claw my way to my friend's side and huddle next to her. Lucidity saves me from being truly frightened. I'm on the edge of a screaming madness, I try to comfort the woman by taking her hand, when my fingers curl around hers, her head lolls toward mine and I only just keep myself from recoiling violently. Her head is...all, wide open mouth with tiny round eyes. The image scares the hell out of me. She keeps making noises somewhere between sobbing, laughing, and screaming. I remind myself it's just a dream, over and over. This litany is the only thing that keeps me from going over the edge. I tighten my grip on her hand and whisper to her until her visage becomes somewhat more normal.

There's a lapse and I've risen to another layer of sleep that is slightly less terrifying. I am crouched with my friend underneath the porch. We can see a small, hairless, emaciated child looking at us from a few feet away. I urge her to move more quickly. It follows us.
"Shit, the creepy child is following us..." I mutter.

I rise to another layer of sleep that is more confusing than scary. It turns out that everything that just happened to me is a play put on by a boy who looks remarkably like a brown haired version of Chucky from the Rugrats (o.O Holy crap I haven't thought of that cartoon in a long time), I see his picture on the wall.
I'm standing on a darkened stage, there's a bright red curtain and a spotlight trained on the center. I'm so glad it isn't real.

I had a work dream that I couldn't get into the break room. In the dream it was underground, you had to go down a couple flights of stairs and then a ramp to get to it. At the door is a tall shiny water pump. I know that to open the door you have to level the pump a certain way. I know you have to do something else but I can't remember what it is. I stand there stupidly, watching as another employee opens the door and sprays one of our PSAs in the face, he's on his way out. I jog forward and ask them to hold the door, they do. I go inside, out of the corner of my eye my HR is making fun of me for not being able to get in.

There's a wide, grassy courtyard. They are filing us out from one building into another. I am a man, leaning on another man. There's something wrong with both of us. The extreme opposites of a case. An orderly holds up a curved piece of metal with padded ends, meant to be pressed to my temple. The orderly is monitoring the machine so he doesn't see that my friend likes the treatment. His face twists into an intense mask of joy and amusement. I know he's on his way to being possessed, but I have my own problems. I'm having trouble moving. I know that the treatment will knock me out, even though it's not supposed to. It's supposed to prove that we have passed through the haunted building without picking up any passengers. I lean against my friend and brace myself. When the orderly puts the device to my head I pass out.
"What's wrong with -him-?"

I'm myself again. Someone suggests I go to see the nurse. I do, I wait in the office. It's comfortable, dark red walls. A place to lay down. My friend says he'll go get the nurse. While he's gone the HR manager comes and sits down across from me.
"Sorry, the nurse is out for the day. You can tell me what's wrong though."
"Well...I've been having trouble doing things that used to be easy."
I glance at my friend. He urges me to continue.
"I couldn't remember how to get into the break room and I forgot how to use a---"
She starts laughing at me. "I'm sorry, I was there when you couldn't get in. It was really funny."
I frown, "it isn't funny, you don't understand I--"
"You're right, of course it isn't funny." But she's still laughing at me.