The End of Ever

Image by Darkmoon_Art from Pixabay

I had the dream again.

The Church at the End of Ever, I called it.

It was the first time since I started therapy, but it was just like before. The parched landscape, the bitter wind, the lingering scent of long-dead fire. It was all so real, so palpable.

I knew I was dreaming, yet I had no agency. I longed to go inside the church and see if anything remained, but my feet plodded the same course as always. My footprints from previous dreams stretched ahead, deeper this time than last. I was pulled inexorably to the sparse graveyard next to it, and to the biggest headstone, bearing my name.

“I told Dr. Lans about the dreams,” I told Maggie over Saturday morning breakfast. “She said it means I subconsciously feel like I’m not in control of my own future.”

“Huh. Makes sense,” my wife responded between bites of her ranch-style eggs. “Did she tell you what you can do about it?”

“She said we should do something spontaneous. How do you feel about dinner and a movie tonight?”

“That’s your idea of spontaneous? How about we get away for the weekend? Just drive east until the sun sets and stop at the first motel we see.”

The idea felt freeing. I felt myself smiling. “What should I pack?”

Maggie pushed her chair back, leaving her plate on the table. “How about we don’t?”

So we drove, and somewhere west of Tonopah, we pulled into the Wagon Wheel motel. To prove my spontaneity further, I dropped a couple quarters in their slot machine. I didn’t win anything, but who cares? We were free, and no one chose our path.

Then we entered our room, and above the bed was a painting of that same church and graveyard from my dream.

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If you enjoyed this story, check out Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares. Thirteen tales of horror and dark fiction certain to keep you reading just one more.

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