It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve. Your head hits the pillow and you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Then you begin to dream.

 

When you awake on Christmas morning, a portion of your nighttime fantasy sticks in your mind. Then something strange happens and you wonder if what you dreamt was not an illusion, but reality, with the . . .

 

 

Lights Out Before Christmas

 

     The Christmas Eve party at my girlfriend’s parents’ home was great. However, I think I may have had too much Christmas cheer. I was groggy and a bit disoriented. I lay in my bed, but I wasn’t sure how I got there.

     The evening became a blur, as I drifted off to sleep. But then something weird happened. I found myself lying on the ground behind a large rock in a grassy field. I managed to prop myself up enough to see over it.

     What I saw was beyond my wildest imagination. Devilish, glowing eyes, in the dark of night, pierced my soul. A soft, puffy tissue-like substance surrounded the blackened rings around the eyes. The ears stood at attention—poised like a sentinel in the night.

     “Geeshbatore, amas sabore,” the being enunciated words I didn’t understand. As it moved closer, this hellish creature appeared to sense my presence and emitted a loud, ear-splitting shriek, “Silminduceeeeeeeel!”

     My head throbbed. The creature’s head jerked forward. Its eyes sent a beam of light streaking across the blackness of the night. I wanted to get up and run, but the fear within me held me hostage.

     Not more than twenty feet away, I could see other weird looking beasts staring in my direction. The shrill sound seemed to have alerted them to the existence of prey. These tortured-looking, menacing souls stood in readiness waiting for the signal to approach.

     My stomach began to churn. My throat became parched. Tears welled up in my eyes. I struggled not to black out as my lungs filled with a noxious gas emitted by the creature. My tortured body grew weak—I gasped for breath.

     I closed my eyes hoping to make the nightmare disappear. But the creature’s presence just grew stronger and my anxiety level heightened beyond control.

     Then, five figures in black, hooded robes, with faces covered with blood-red bandanas, encircled me. They appeared to be praying. Were these prayers for me? Would this be my Christmas miracle—freedom?

     Holding black books, they chanted, over and over again, “Bete zu Gott . . . Bete zu Gott . . . Bete zu Gott,” the three words, inscribed in large red print, on the cover of the book.

     Sadness seemed to permeate their mantra. Perplexed, I couldn’t think straight. Was I going to die? Were they praying for the salvation of my soul?

     My spirit, now driven from my body by my captors, left me in a state of limbo. My body became limp. I no longer felt the need to fight. A dark, peaceful calm descended upon me. I became one with the universe. With all lights out, I slipped into a restful sleep.

     Then the clanging of the loudest bells I’d ever heard interrupted my tranquility. I shuddered at the thought of what might come next.

     And then words came out of nowhere, words I could understand. “Good morning, America. WKRUN welcomes you to a bright, sunny Christmas day in our wonderful land. Merry Christmas to all!”     

     I sat up in bed and perused the room. My family picture hung on the wall next to my college diploma. I saw my name, Marshall Wells, in bold black print. “Oh my! I’m home!” I screamed. I had a dream. Nothing more than a nightmarish dream.

     Feeling at ease, I dropped my legs over the side of the bed. My feet touched the floor. The big toe on my right foot banged into something hard. I reached down and picked it up. It was a black book. And the words on the cover, written in bright red letters jumped out at me—Bete zu Gott. “Oh, my God!” I shrieked. Could it be, what I’d experienced wasn’t a dream?

     The words stuck in my mind. I had to find out what they meant. So, with the book in hand, I went down the hall to my den and collapsed into my desk chair in front of the computer. I put the book down and typed Bete zu Gott into Google. What came up made my head spin.

     The words were German and meant “Pray to God.” “Maybe they were praying for the salvation of my soul after all,” I muttered. And now I was certain what I’d experienced wasn’t a dream. But I still couldn’t explain how it happened.

     As I got up from the desk, I reached for the book. A card fell to the ground from inside the front cover. I picked it up and stared at it. It read, “Frohe Weinachten,” and had a beautiful Christmas tree emblazoned below the words. I turned it over and was in awe at what I saw—a handwritten note . . . from my girlfriend.

     “Frohe Weinachten—Merry Christmas, my darling. You had a bit too much eggnog at the party. And you kept ranting about evil spirits coming to get you. So I thought it best to take you home and put you to bed.

     “Hope you enjoy your Christmas gift. I left it, unwrapped, on the floor next to the bed.

     “My dearest book collector, I bought you the 1898 vintage German bible you said you wanted, even though you had no idea what the cover title meant when we saw it online. And, at the time, you didn’t seem to care. However, you did say you knew the inside text was special, since it was written in German with the English translation beside it.

     “I am blessed to have you in my life. May the lights of Christmas brighten your day.

     “All my love, Annelise.” 

 

    

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