When I was small kid, about or seven, me and my brother shared a room. It was a great den, full of movie stuff, sci fi toys, action man, Mego figures and lord know what else. It was an organised bedlam as my Mum could not do with mess in any shape or form. I loved it. 

However, at night, I used to have the most terrifying nightmare, the same one, night after night. It’s burned into my memory. I think they known as night terrors and a pretty normal thing for a kid to go through, although my brother has always told me it’s something he never suffered from. 

The terror began when my brother and I would go to bed as usual. Then, at some point I would here this creaking noise and a whistling wind. I would look around from my bed, terrifies knowing what was coming. Slowly, the wall near my bed would start to move like water. The ripples becoming larger and then a spiral of water like a water pool. Then as the tension mounted, fingers of a giant old white hand would appear from the grimy liquid. Eventually he full horror of an appendage would appear from the liquid wall. Imagine a horrific hand, the size of king Kongs. Its fingers scraped at my bed clothes. Inching close r to me. I would then turn to my brother, who was fast asleep and scream at him for help. Or I would if I could. No sound came from my throat. Just a quiet rasp. The hand moved closer, grabbing my feet, pulling me towards its full grasp and the liquid brick. No matter how much I tried to scream, nothing, my brother never moved. The hand would eventually grab me in its fist, squeezing the air out of me, dragging me into the wall. I would scream and scream in silence as it dragged me under then….

I would wake up with a bolt, sweating crying, frantically looking around me. Just a dream. Just a dream. 

This seemed to go on night after night. Only on occasion waking my parents and brother as I woke with a screech. They usually just told me to not worry, calm me down and go back to sleep, and my brother no doubt laughing. The sod. 

However, it was my brother who saved me in the end.

One night, the dream started in as terrifying a manner as usual. The hand grabbed me in its fist. A final attempt to shout out. 

This time, I had a voice. I crackle at first and then a full-blown screech. My brother woke from his slumber, to seem me in the grasp of this giant evil, weird hand. He set to straight away, kicking it, punching git, stabbing it with swords (no idea where they came from, we did have a plethora of toy ones to be fare) until the hand released its grip, withered and shook and sunk back into the wall. 

I woke up, looked around and at my sleeping brother, went back to sleep and never had the nightmare again.

That’s just one of the reasons why my brother is still the best friend I have ever had. Don’t tell him though. The nob

Cheers

Dan