“The Mahr”
The following letter was sent to a male neighbor shortly before the death of the woman who wrote it.
“The last couple of months I have been plagued by a recurring nightmare. Although it is common for people my age to have this sort of dream, the frequency of it has become frightening, and I am beginning to see him even when I am awake. It isn't anything clear, just a flash of image, or a lingering form in my peripheral vision. I have tried to explore it through therapy and talking with my family. My grandkids are the only ones who will listen, and I hesitate to tell them, even if I just want to know someone believes me. Though my children don't like it, they still will let their kids come and gather around me when they visit, wanting to hear more about The Mahr.
The dream begins on the porch of the cabin my father used to own when we lived in Montana. Though I am the age I am now, all the things are proportioned as they were when I was a young girl. All around are the cornfields I remembered, towering over me. The golden ears of corn hang loosely on their stalks, waiting for them to be harvested. There is a chill in the air, and the sky is overcast, nearing dusk. The air is flecked with moisture, a drizzle of rain laying like a blanket on my skin.
I stand up, and go to head inside when I hear a scream coming from the cornfields. I turn around, knowing I should just go inside, but willing myself to investigate. I take my first step down the porch, each one resounding with the sound of my heals hitting the wood. I reach the bottom, and at first that is where the dream would end. But each night I would get one step closer to the cornfields, my actions becoming automatic. I only would stop walking when I heard the sound of something coming.
At first I saw nothing, only noting the parting of the stalks in the distance. And then, way off, far from me but easily visible above them, was a shadowy form. I knew he was a man, his walk without any delicacy, his shoulders too broad. Like myself it seemed his movements were automatic, as if no will was placed on them. Just continuous action.
I would wake up after this point with splitting headaches, ones that only got worse as the days went by and the Mahr got closer. Then, one night, he finally emerged through the ears of corn, and I could see him for what he was. His entire body seemed to be formed out of something insubstantial, a deep darkness that seemed to seethe and run as the rain passed over it. The first time, I expected the dream to end at this point. But the dream continued as he moved towards me, his long steps and swinging arms seeming to move in a way unnatural. Finally, he was standing in front of me, his form a tower of black accompanied by the smell of cold lake water.
My heart thundered in my chest, and though I wanted to run I knew that all that it would do was anger the monster. The Mahr tilted his head down at me. And then, with a motion that lacked any hurry, placed his massive hand on my shoulder and pushed down. I tried to fight against it, but his strength was too much, every push pressing me further down. He didn't stop till I was laying prone on the ground, the rain changing from a drizzle to a full storm. He stepped forward, and placed his foot the size of a tire on my chest. I awoke then, finding my shoulder aching, a deep bruise already forming.
Over the following week the dream stopped completely, but it slowly became harder to move, until eventually I couldn't walk at all.
The doctors said it is just my age, and recommended I use a walker for now on. Since then things have only gotten worse. The dreams have returned, and over time I can feel his weight pressing on my chest. My breathing is labored now, and I find myself begging with him both in my sleep and when I am awake to please let me get up. But the weight keeps growing, his appearance when I am awake becoming more regular. My family has refused the urge to place me in a home, even though my thoughts must seem like the ravings of a lunatic.
I am dying, and I know that other people are dying too. The Mahr. He appears in our dreams. People I have never met; they talk about it on the internet. Some claim it eventually stops. Others never respond after posting. I continue to get worse, searching the web for a solution. Nothing has worked, and I know that any night will be my last.
I do not want to die. Please, help me if you can. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.”
The letter has since been returned to the family, and though the neighbor and the woman were never close, he made sure he went to her funeral to pay his respects.
