Ralph Carree left his house in the depth of a jet black night. Long firm steps carried him on the asphalt. His thoughts were clear like on a bright sunny day. He carried out an investigation in his brain, but he had to admit to himself, he had never experienced such a night. He saw only a piece of the asphalt at the roadsides ahead of themselves and nothing. No bush no tree and no flower. Nothing could be recognized in the deep black night. He abnormally thought at himself and why he went on at all this street know about which he did not even, where it led? He recognized nothing around himself and he was that way not at all for certain where he was. He was not even safe to have entered the street which ran past in front of his house. Was he here, here outside but why this warm mild night? Why had he gone onto the street at all? He could not explain this to himself and he frantically tried to turn his steps back in the direction of his house again. But his legs did not obey him. He also did his best very much, he could not order his legs to stop and to turn around so. He feverishly ordered his brain to raise the right arm, but this hung only limply on his down bodies. It could his do nothing command bodies. Cold sweat stepped on his forehead. It felt this
sweat as a pearl cleared a way for itself to the other one in the direction of the chin slowly. Its brain racked why this was so. It clearly told itself this could be only a very realistic dream. It already had the heard many times of it that there shall be people who so realistically dreams, and being able to not distinguish between reality and dream. It had to be yes so. And can one really think in his dreams that it is a dream, not the real world but only a dream? Do not secure. Because the brain certainly cannot be influenced by the outside world in the dream. But what should it be otherwise? It was clearly to think able for its thoughts it could still assign such a small order to no one, but its body. He turned his head I can the head give orders to side, aha, different but nobody. He looked around himself, but nothing had changed. No tree, no bush, no flower, no house appeared at the roadside. Only the empty asphalt on which its steps echoed. But moment! Did they really echo? He heard well his steps but they were only like a muffled tone. Nothing echoed here and also otherwise it was deathly silent. No bird twittered, no sound of an engine could be heard in the distance. Did the night swallow all tones which otherwise assembled here? It listened again to its
steps but apart from a muffled one crack it heard nothing.
How long might it already have gone here? The street always led only straight ahead, but he was sure, there was not such streets which always led only straight ahead. No bend did not interrupt the river of this street any curve. Why around sky will I can think clearly, however mine, bodies command nothing? Fear welled up in it again, a fear which tried to cut into its thorax. And nothing happened anyway. Furthermore it could breathe freely, a heavy load on its chest got air and really pushed. It tried to press in its thorax, however, just as little one had chance to obey its orders like its legs. And but the fear stayed it did not move a centimetre of its chest. What do I do here and what happens here? He reflected to this, to have a voice. Deeply he took deep breath and shouted in the black night: „Help.“ But his voice did not yield any loud sound. He wanted to let the tongue glide over his lips since these felt dry, but he could move neither it nor the lips. So it shot him so into the meaning, he had not been able to hear his voice echoing because he had not opened his mouth at all. He heard himself yelling but him,
anyway. He heard himself yelling call and speak, his lips, however, did not let any sound about themselves. He tried again to raise his voice for a cry, „ why no-one hears me, then and why wants no-one to help me?“ his lips remained silent anyway. He did not have to be opened to himself capably of giving these the order. Moving just as little as these damned legs finally in the other direction. Despair welled up in him. Could not be a dream no so, this happened really and really. This damned happens with me only why, once again he yelled inwardly.
Finally „keep“ your mouth shut now it roared. It threw its head around game because it was safe to have heard this behind itself. But it saw nothing apart from the pitch-black night. Since it still was not capable of moving its lips, moment, if he could not move his lips, how to the devil one could hear him then? He has answered because but somebody. He turned his head again to stare with eyes pinched together in the night. But nothing was neither hide nor hair there apart from this damned street in which it was forced to turn its steps which did not echo. No, a different one did this for it steer. Only why? But who had mentioned
it, this could for somebody read its thoughts? So it had to be. Who this always was, too this was somebody capably of reading thoughts of also hearing them, hearing even well of its.
He wanted to try it. You asshole let yourself be seen „, if you have the courage „ he thought loudly strainedly. While he was turning his head in all directions, he eavesdropped in the night. But it remained quiet. No-one answered him.
He suddenly and unexpectedly stood in front of a house. A heavy oak door blocked him the way. He saw how his hand moved to the door knob, feverishly he tried to suppress it, he succeeded but did it not do take hold of the knob and turn him. His only hope was, the door may be locked. But he had not got back luck, like in the previous time again there. His hand pushed the door open slowly - and his feet condemns! stops anyway!- entered the room lying behind this.
His hand pushed the door open slowly - and his feet condemns! stops anyway!- entered the room lying behind this. It was an entrance hall which several doors came off. It recognized a
grandfather clock at the end of this entrance hall which ticked slowly. He did not give too slow but this a shit in his opinion at the moment. What he did here or what rather should he do here?
His steps followed the corridor which led to the right to stairs at the end. It climbed up these and followed the corridor here again, too. It stopped on the right, turned in front of these and held here the knob again, too at the third door. It yelled inwardly and its thoughts concentrated on taking their hand away again stop. But it did not obbey it. „You do not obey me accursed hand you why?“
The door was pushed open by his hand and he entered the room. A cupboard was in it just of oak, like all doors. A bed in which a person lay, this lay breathing quietly there. He slept. This could be recognized considerably.
„No longer long.“ A voice penetrated into his ear again, but he could see somebody here apart from the sleeping person again neither, too. And it was completely clear in him that this has not talked with him. „Who does who damned speaks with me
once again and to whom I owe this visit?“ But the voice remained dumb.
Without wanting this, he slowly moved toward the sleeping person. He feverishly wondered whether he this person knew, knowing neither this house nor the person who considerably was standing out now in front of him but he admitted himself.
An iron candlestick which his hand seized now stood on the bedside table next to the bed. Panic climbed in it. What did its hand plan? It suspected and hoped simultaneously that it might be mistaken. But executed it, what it suspected. The candlestick crashed on the skull of the sleeping person. There was not the muffled impact once or twice but again and again. The blood splashed everywhere around and quizzed its hand for the blow again and again.
After pillows and sheets were streaming with blood, the candlestick was soiled with blood, its hand put the weapon to the place again and his feet left the room. It had entered this house in the same gait like it, also left it. Its steps led it to the street again, but as it seemed in the direction of
home this time.
Its thoughts circled about this just happened. Was he really capable of hacking down a man simply whom he did even not know, whom life had never seen in his before? Was he really this or was this only a dream which was so realistic as if he really had done this?
No clear thoughts were more possible in his brain. He saw nothing and noticed nothing. The picture seemed in spirit, in front of his eyes again and again how he raised the candlestick and without refrain on the sleeping person struck. Again and again.
He remarked on the edge how engaged his hand was again. Fear welled up panic, in him, but he saw forwards and remarked how he entered his own house again.
He went in fast, slammed the door behind himself and squated behind the door down. What around sky will had he done there?
He raised his hand and took a look at it more
exactly. Innocent person at him stuck blood, blood of one at the hand, up to the arm up.
He was frightened because he remarked only now he was master of his body again. It most quickly jumped, ran in the bath to wash this night the traces. But they had washed? This perhaps still could the blood which was on almost all garments be washed, however, its brain could not be cleaned. With these thoughts it had to live.
It still tried a little this night to get sleep, but it did not find any peace. It restlessly threw itself back and forth, till which dawned mornings in its bed.
It went into the kitchen, made a coffee, remarked how its hands trembled. It most quickly folded its hands, in the hope it could calm them so. But after.
"No miracle, if one had killed a man." His left hand shot to the mouth. He had heard himself speaking themselves and this in a not just soft tone. His voice was therefore, thanks to the lips moving again, there. He thought to the person again who
peacefully still lay there asleep and was then killed by the candlestick in a bestial way. He was and still much worse in his eyes, the one who had stocked the candlestick was same. Whether wanted or not. It was responsible have roused a man from this life.
It slowly entered the front part of its house, as it one clatters at its front door heard. It remained horrified stand. The police already were coming around it approximately now to pick it up, days, this one up to today's did not let once a chocolate bar go along in a shop to arrest.
At once, his look fell on the newspaper which had fallen to the ground, arrived at the door. It slowly bent to lift it. Wheezing with fast views loudly, it overflew page for page, and welding beads on the forehead, however, could not find the smallest note, whom it had killed there. It secretly still hoped, a very intensive dream experienced to have.
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