Nightmare Stare Chapter Eight

I wake up in my bed again.
An overwhelming sense of woe is pumping through my veins, there's a great weight in between my eyes, some form of guilt weighing my conscience down, and I'm tried.
I'm so tired, but I can't get myself back to sleep.
I toss and I turn, for hours. Nothing but rolling from side to side every few minutes. I try to get my mind wrapped around some big out-there kind of thought, in hopes to make myself either tired or stressed out; but my efforts are worthless, worth less than nothing when I finally start looking around my room.
As my eyes slowly drift from one wall to the other I recognize this room, as my own, but something seems wrong. The walls look like they're made of dry wall, but at the same time they look like they're made of old dead skin. They all have an eerie grey tint to them as well. I'm too afraid to spring out of bed and check the rest of the house.

What if that tree somehow found a way into my house?
What if that tree found the angel and has taken her from me?

I roll different ideas through my head for what feels like hours, until I finally can't take it anymore. I slowly get out of bed, my heart is racing, my veins are on fire. I walk to the door of my room, shut, something I never do. My hand grasps the cold metal of the door knob, it feels like old leathery skin, I turn the knob and open the door.
What I see isn't the rest of my house.
It isn't my hallway.
I don't see my daughter's old room filled with diced body parts.
I don't see the bathroom that I first kept the angel in.
I don't see the door to The Forest of Lost Souls.
When I open the door, all I see before me, staring back at me.

Is a forest of old dead trees.


-Sir Jestro