My Nightmare(Steven W Kimball) I was but a child when he died. The man I never knew. I grew up wondering; wondering what it would be like if he had lived. If only my father had lived!

I was eight years old when it first happened. I opened my eyes to the dark emptiness of my room. I know not what made me awaken that cold November night, I only know I did. I sat up and peered into the darkness before me. I looked… and saw nothing. I listened… and heard nothing. After a long moment I laid my head back onto the pillow and waited. I waited for something, anything to happen, but nothing did, and yet somehow, I knew I was not alone.

An hour or more passed before sleep again began to overtake me. As I lay there consumed partially in thought, partially in dream, I felt something. It felt, at first, as though someone had caressed my hand. I lay there waiting, hoping it was but a dream, that no one had been able to invade the sanctity of my room. My hand lay frozen upon the bed, every finger, every hair, extended and waiting. Suddenly something seized my hand. My arm straightened, telescoping fear throughout my entire body. I felt a large hand encompassing mine. The pools that are my eyes opened enveloping the area of darkness which now held me prisoner. I opened my mouth to scream but heard nothing come out. My mind raced; what can I do? Who is there? Please don’t hurt me! There were so many times during my childhood when I peered into the dark corners of my room wondering what monsters lurked there, but never, had I been so afraid of the dark as I was at this moment.

The fear which so completely held my body, was to also paralyze my thoughts. For I could think of nothing else but the unseen horror which would surely emerge from the darkness to consume all remnants of this life unlived, and forever after envelope my soul. In that moment, time stood still, giving offer to those rare opportunities for the effervescence of life to merge with the shadow of death.

As I felt myself hopelessly sinking into the dark void before me, it was then, something strange happened. Though its existence belies all explanation, I suddenly realized, my senses, having heightened, gave way to the smell of something familiar. The more I focused on this faint odor, the more it seemed to rise from the void growing in strength, until finally I realized it was the smell of Half and Half pipe tobacco.

As I pondered how very strange this was, the odor caused me to remember my father. I envisioned his burly physique leaning pipe in hand against the bright red cab of the semi he drove for a living. His arm outstretched and pipe pointing directly at me, he spoke in his usual gruff voice, “Face your fear”. This advice offered to me as I stood in our driveway face to face with a large snarling dog. As the dog lowered his head and took another step toward me, I again looked to my father. Just then with the use of his free hand he seemingly swung his entire body up and into the cab of the truck, the door slamming shut behind. As the truck drove away, the smell of tobacco as with the memory of him would fade along with it, leaving me alone to face the savage creature before me. It was then the animal lunged at my face, mouth wide, fangs exposed. I defensively raised my arm and turned away to scream. With that the silence of the night had been shattered as was its nightmarish hold upon me and I awoke.

This dark dream as so many before was contextualized as having occurred on the day my father died. While there were many variations on the type of threat I faced, they always ended in a similar manner. I would be confronted with a choice to either face an imminent threat, cower in fear, or turn and run. Each time the plot would be imprinted with the memory of my father and the last words I would ever hear him speak; “Face your fear!”. Yet, from the day of his death and throughout the remainder of my childhood, night after night, I would find myself unable to find the necessary courage. In this failure I would awaken as much in shame as in fear!

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Twenty years later I would come face to face with this very same choice in real life. My wife, son, daughter, and I were camping in northern Maine. I awoke at about quarter past three in the morning to an odd grunting sound and rustling noise a short distance from my tent. At first, I did not think much of it but then I remembered my children were in a tent about twenty feet away. Just then I heard my seven-year-old daughter let out a blood curdling scream and my son began yelling “Get away, get away!”. I grabbed the holster containing the Colt .357 I always brought when camping. My exit from the tent while not graceful was quick as I immediately found myself standing outside in my underwear peering through the darkness.
The dying embers in the fire pit provided enough light for me to see my children’s tent had collapsed and standing on top of it was a large black bear. The reflection of the bears eyes pierced the darkness as it momentarily paused to focus its attention on me. The bear then stood on its hind legs and let out a bellowing roar. Dropping back on all fours it began slashing the tent material with its claws as if looking for something. I reached down and began fumbling with the holster as I attempted to extract the revolver. Just as I was making progress with the hammer loop, I felt a large hand encompass mine just as in my dreams of so long ago and a voice whispered to me “Face your fear!”. I froze, but only momentarily for it was then I looked up and saw just inside the bears reach movement beneath the tent fabric. The bear seeing this as well extended its claws and raised its right paw to strike. As it did, it looked directly at me barred its teeth and growled, all the while forcefully spewing saliva in my direction.

As I heard my children’s muffled screams once again emanating from the collapsed tent, I muttered to myself, “Not this time!”, dropping the revolver I began my charge at the bear. Striking it full force in the neck our bodies toppled into a shallow ravine running along the edge of the campsite. As we fell, flashing before my eyes I saw alternating teeth, claws, and finally blood. Upon coming to rest at the bottom of the ravine I lay helpless and just before all went dark, I saw the bear and its cub walking away from me.

It was not until the next evening I would regain consciousness. I found myself in a hospital bed, bandages on all my limbs and covering half of my torso. As my vision cleared a great sense of relief came over me, for I could see my wife, and children at my side unharmed. “Daddy, you saved us!” my daughter squealed. I attempted to move but found the pain from doing so too severe. It was then, as if in a dream, my wife leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, and I fell into a deep slumber.

After the events of the previous day, it was inevitable the nightmare which haunted me throughout my childhood should return. It started in the same manner as when I first experienced it but somehow it failed to instill the same level of fear it had previously. As before I would find myself face to face with the large snarling dog, but as I looked to my father, he pridefully laughed and said, “Not this time!”. As he drove away, I could still see his smile in the large side mirror of the truck and saw a thin whisp of pipe smoke as it dissipated in the wind. A large smile came over my face and the fear I had held in my heart for so long, as with the pipe smoke dissipated. I then turned to face the snarling dog only to find it too had vanished!

The next day I would learn the entire incident with the bear had started when a curious cub had found its way into my children’s tent. The mother had apparently followed its scent there and was attempting to free her baby. I had to wonder; would I have reacted any different? Its then my daughter gave me a big hug and said “Daddy, you saved two families! You’re the bravest man I know!”

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