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.