Afterlife Writing Prompt

I've always wondered what it would be like to die. Surely nobody wants to pass away before their time comes, but how will we know what it will be like when it finally happens? One of my friends suggested that I keep a dream journal and that it would help give me a glimpse of the secrets that lie beyond our world. At first, I was excited to see what my dreams would unveil. Just like the first settlers in America, I felt like I would be an explorer in a new world. Everything would then make sense, and I could finally sate my curiosity of what death is like, or so I thought.

The first few nights were uneventful. I tossed and turned in my bed with thoughts of the mysterious realm of the afterlife whizzing through my head faster than I could keep up with them. I wanted desperately for something magnificent to happen. At the rate my mind was going I was never going to get any sleep. When I eventually drifted off my dreams were hard to remember. I tried for three days to remember everything to no avail. My frustration was growing day by day. Was I not meant to discover these things? No, I knew I must keep going. There must be another way.

We had discussed lucid dreaming after I had vented about not remembering the dreams I was having. She was very sympathetic to my plight and even offered to teach me to dream while I was awake. I was ecstatic! I had finally found the answer I was looking for! I thanked her for her help and we set up a time and place to meet. She was adamant that I have the journal with me that night, informing me that I needed to write absolutely every detail I could recall as soon as I woke up.

I will admit that I had butterflies in my stomach as I was going to meet her. Who can blame me, though? I was very naive as to what I would find, and I know now that I should have listened to my gut's instinct when I'd begun to doubt how good of an idea this really was anymore. I put off any worries I'd had for later. I had already come so far, what sense would it make to turn back? I arrived at my friend's house shortly before 9 pm. I normally don't go to bed this early, but my friend insisted that I give myself as much time as I can in case the lucid dream is successful. She was already at the door waiting for me when I walked up onto her porch. We wasted no time in getting ready for the session. I quickly followed her up the stairs to a guest bedroom where some things had already been set out in preparation for what I was about to go through. On the nightstand were a metronome and an unlit candle. She explained that while lucid dreaming wasn't in itself a mystical or magical thing the purpose for what I wanted to do it for could leave me vulnerable to things not of this world. I should have walked away at this point. Instead, I decided to stay and go along with it, hoping that my dark wonders would finally be satisfied.

As I lie down on the bed she told me that the only thing I should focus on is the metronome, no matter what. As long as I could hear the ticking sound I would not drift completely into sleep. Following her advice, I closed my eyes and waited.

Tick, tick, tick, tick...

It was like listening to my grandmother's old grandfather clock. I tried to block out any outside thoughts that could distract me from the rhythmic tick-tock of the metronome's pendulum. I started to feel exhausted from overthinking things and soon I started to drift off to sleep, or so I thought. I could hear ghostly echoes in the distance, even though I knew my friend was the only one with me in the room. I tried to keep my eyes closed and brushed the sounds off as me imagining things. It wasn't until I realized that the bed I was lying on now felt like a tile floor that I decided to open them and see what was going on. I could no longer hear the metronome, but I knew I wasn't sleeping either. I could feel the dusty floor beneath my fingertips, I knew it was real! Was this what I was after all along?

I don't know why I was surprised to find myself in a different place. I should have expected it, but the excitement of seeing something new and mysterious was too much to rationalize at this point. The walls had Victorian era crown molding lining the top with a beautiful wooden baseboard. The windows were covered by rolling shades that were covered in dust. I nearly bumped the back of my head off of the underside of an old school desk as I got to my feet. As I retrieved a candlestick from the wall to see more of the room around me I noticed someone staring at me from the doorway of the classroom. I thought it was a young boy judging by the 40's era clothing he wore, but his face-- where was his face? It was like a mannequin was watching me. When I turned around to check the teacher's desk behind me I saw tiny footprints on the dusty floor that lead to the same door the boy was standing at. The boy must have run off when he saw me following them.

The classroom opened into a hallway with rusty old lockers on both sides. The clock hanging from the ceiling was stopped at 2:45 am. It was the first time I'd seen an analog clock that used 24 hour time. As I slowly paced down the row of heavily weathered locker doors I couldn't help but notice the various pages with children's drawings taped to them. It seemed cute at first, but as I looked closer at them I realized that there was a much darker theme being shown. Tombstones and crying women drawn in crayon are pretty unnerving when looked at through the orange glow of a candle. The further I walked the more I started to see a pattern in the drawings. It was almost as if someone was drawing them as they were following me. One picture showed someone lying on a classroom floor with children standing around them. Two lockers down I found one that showed someone walking down a hallway with a similar layout to the one I was in. Chills ran up my spine. I spun around to catch the artist, but there wasn't anyone behind me.

"You shouldn't be here," a voice whispered from behind me.

I stood frozen. I could feel a hand on my shoulder, but I knew that there wasn't anyone there a second ago. I continued walking, this time refusing to acknowledge the other pages taped to the locker doors. At the end of the hall was another door. This one was metal and much heavier-looking than the classroom door. The exit sign that used to hang next to it was lying on the floor in front of it. As I opened the door I found myself standing in a brick-laden stairwell. The stairs themselves looked more like a fire escape than any type of steps you'd find in a school. I could see through the grating beneath me, but the stairs seemed to go on forever. As I approached the rail the hallway door behind me slammed shut leaving me stranded with only the candle for light.

I can't say what it was that called to me as I stared into the blackness beneath me. It felt comforting, almost like hugging a family member after returning from a long trip. I wanted to descend the steps. My feet wandered over to them almost on their own. I had to tell myself to stop, but it was no use. Something was calling to me, and I was ready to answer it. With nothing to lose, I started down the steps. The echoes of creaking iron resonated through the stairwell beneath me. With each step I took, I felt more at ease. I had no worries, not a care in the world for anything that could happen once I reached the bottom. It was blissful. As I had reached the third flight down a child's voice called out from above. I stopped to listen and could hear someone hurrying down after me.

"Don't go down the stairs," they sang from behind me.

I turned to face them only to discover that there were no stairs leading back up. My heart sank as I had come to the realization that there was no going back. Suddenly it started to make sense to me. The stairs, the hallway-- was I actually dying?

Before I had the chance to go further down the steps I was jerked awake by my friend who looked horrified at me. When I asked her what had happened, she told me that she would rather me just read the journal when I got home and call her later. She wasn't willing to share anymore with me at that point, nor was I willing to ask. I thanked her for her help and quickly went home.

Later that night as I read through the entry that she had written in my journal I could vividly recall the events from the dream I'd had earlier. Everything she'd written was very accurate as far as I could tell, though I never did figure out how she knew what to write. Through everything that I had read, I never thought that I could be surprised by what was written there, but I was wrong. When I reached the end of the entry I almost couldn't continue. I don't remember ever saying this, but the last quote from me read: "I have found the stairs. I'm not afraid of the darkness anymore. I can go in peace..."