Scent of a Nightmare, page 1
Scent of a Nightmare
The Pineview Lake Series, Volume 1
C.S. Blake
Published by CS Blake, 2024.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SCENT OF A NIGHTMARE
First edition. April 21, 2024.
Copyright © 2024 C.S. Blake.
ISBN: 979-8224380251
Written by C.S. Blake.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
For the reader
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
TATE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
FOURTH OF JULY—2015
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
CADENCE
TATE
CADENCE
CADENCE
EPILOGUE
DEDICATION
For Kristen Eder, thank you for reading my very first draft and telling me this was more then just a passion project.
To Hanna, Jordan, my mom, Aunt Tanya, Mistee, Ali, Jess, my dad, Holly, Ethan, and my team of supporters who all read and gave me feedback, thank you for your continued support and love.
Also, Rachel Franek, thank you for not only reading, but climbing through mud, rocks, and watching me break out in an anxiety rash while we climbed the side of cliffs to find the perfect cover photo.
For my baby girls and husband, thank you for always giving me the confidence in myself.
For every reader who took the time to take this journey with me through these pages, thank you for breathing life into my story.
For the reader
Thank you for reading my book. I have been writing my whole life and I always dreamed of having people read my story’s. With that being said, I also need to place a warning on the sensitive topic this book contains. There are some SA events that could be triggering to read. Our mental health is important, and I do not want to put you in an uncomfortable position.There will be a warning before the chapter that talks about it.
Please read at your own discretion.
Our mental health always matters.
PROLOGUE
SMELL IS A POWERFUL sense. It triggers most of my memories, good and bad.
Everything has a smell.
My favorite smells are ones that make me feel like home. Where sunshine has the smell of dawn dish soap and my grandmother's scent of brown sugar vanilla. Home smells like a hot summer day, fresh cut grass and a musk scent of motor oil on my grandfather. Home is fall nights that smell like Shane’s leather jacket with the scent of his cologne and a hint of heartbreak. The front porch usually smelled like nail polish and cigarettes from the times I would catch my aunt avoiding her family. Those were the smells that brought me that warm buttery feeling of my childhood... of home...safety... some smells though... They took me by storm. Sank me into a dark abyss.
The smell of firework smoke.
Burning asphalt.
Lake water.
Sweat....
Bourbon...
Peppery cologne that clung to my skin like a bad rash... all brings back memories of that night.
I could always smell the dream before it started. It took hold of me like a tick, desperate to suck the blood from my body. It didn’t matter how many times I picked at it; the head was buried deep into my skin. It burrowed into my bloodstream. Taking permanent residence in my brain and no matter how much I tried I couldn’t remove it.
When the smell hits, the dream takes over and there is no waking up from it.
Not until the dream decided to let me go.
I was a prisoner to the images that played like a movie. It sucked me in every time and dragged me into a bottomless pit of darkness.
They say time heals, but that’s a lie. Time doesn’t heal the horror or reminders. Time feeds those feelings the power it needs to fester and grow like the greedy tick it was. Amplifying its horrors, taking more than its fill. It was the same dream every time. It started the same. It smelled the same. Six years of torment. Six years reminding me that I should have stayed on the boat.
The smell of the fireworks triggered the dream. The smell of lake water sets it into motion. The musty earthy scent mixed with a light scent of fish hits my nose first and I'm locked in. Stuck behind my eyelids of insecurities.
There is no controlling it when the smell hits. It’s like watching a movie and I’m the main character. I step out from the boat with my bare feet. The sand feels real as it grits between my toes. I cringe at the texture as I make my way to the wooden stairs. The beautiful green lake house sits at the top of the wooden stairs, luring me up to it. Clinging to the railing for dear life as the stairs start to move under me. They don’t really move, but the alcohol distorts them for me. I giggled to myself at how light I felt as someone brushed past me. They yell my name and I look up, but the dark shadows of the night sky make it hard to see who they were. I waved them off as I made it to the top.
The music was way too loud, and the lights were like clouds of fuzzy cotton balls all around me. The asphalt was unbearably hot beneath my gritty feet. It brought the smell of burnt concrete and fireworks surrounding me. A light haze of smoke engulfed me as I felt my inner self yelling at me from behind a glass wall. It’s yelling to go back.
Go back to the boat Cadence.
Go back to the fucking boat.
The sweat drips down my back and I start to sober up slightly. The high from the alcohol started to leave my body and the confidence I had a few moments ago leaves me.
It all started as a bet... a silly hypothetical game. I start to second guess my actions, but not enough to go back. It was a stupid bet, and it wasn’t supposed to go anywhere.
I didn’t see the danger before it hit.
My arm burned, but I couldn’t remember why. Faceless people walked past me. They smiled and waved. The beautiful lake house loomed into focus. The olive-green building sat in a dark enchantment. It was a beautiful house, architecture of absolute perfection. From the neat landscape on the outside to the elegant, designed interior.
It destroyed me.
The front door beckoned me to come closer. The swing on the long porch creaked lightly. The music dulled and the silence filled my head. Nausea rolled through me, and I could feel myself swallowing thick air. My legs rubbed together as sweat dripped down my thighs. My feet forced me forward.
Please wake up.
My fingers graze the doorknob and I open the door. The smell of pepper cologne engulfed me like a snake wrapping its body around my limbs.
Wake up.
Please Cadence.
Open your fucking eyes.
The door swallows me whole.
CADENCE
SWEAT SOAKED ME LIKE a wet rag. My hair plastered to my face and my shirt stuck to my chest. I sucked in a sharp breath and kicked the blankets off of my body. The dream took me by force this time. It held on a little longer than it normally did. It usually happens more frequently this time of year. It didn’t help that this awful house had spotty air conditioning. The heat usually amplified the dream.
The sticky humidity pulled me back to that day it all happened. Like a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, the dream refused to let me go. It clung on no matter how much I scraped for it to let me go. Chewed and dirty with the dark secrets it withheld. It always coated my skin with a permanent grime. It was like a second layer of skin that trapped me rather than protected me.
Placing my sweaty palm to my chest I inhaled slowly. My heart rate was skyrocketing. The six year anniversary of that night was approaching and every year the images all played out the same. They were worse when they played out longer. Even more terrifying when I got inside the house and the dream kept playing.
I laid back down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My eyes trailed over the cracks of the popcorn texture ceiling. I hated looking at it. It triggered my trypophobia. Especially when I looked at it too long. The ceilings were partially why I didn’t want this house to begin with. The other reasons ran too long for me to list them off.
The mattress shifted next to me, as a small body rolled and swung her arm over. I flinched as the tiny hand smacked me in the face, reminding me of her presence.
“Waylan.” I whispered to my five year old daughter. She laid in a puddle of sweat like me as she mumbled and kept sleeping.
I am going to need to wash these sheets now.
Waylan groaned as she rolled over. I resisted the urge to brush the hair from her face and snuggle into her buttery scent that always grounded me. Careful not to wake her, I shifted from the side of the bed. I moved slowly, pausing with every movement so as not to disturb her. If there is anything I have learned about having a five year old, get things done while they sleep. Whether it’s taking a moment to myself or doing something as mundane as bathing. Sleep was a crucial time, especially when
I climbed from the bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Unplugging the phone from the charger, I noticed it was at twenty five percent. It recently stopped holding a charge and was constantly stuck at a steady fifteen or twenty percent these days.
I need to get a new phone.
With a heavy sigh, I grabbed the clothes I set out the night before and found my way to the bathroom. I needed to get into the shower before my Aunt Ronnie decided she needed to use it first.
I pulled on the door and it didn’t budge. It always got stuck in the door frame due to the “landlord's special” paint job that was done last year. Now that they painted all the doors, from their sad attempt to fix the house up, they all stuck. Most of the time they never fully closed. For how many times Ronnie and I have been walked in on by Waylan or each other, you would think we would fix the issue ourselves. I yanked the door again and it opened. Little flakes of white paint flaked off and sounded like tape peeling off of skin. It revealed the one and only bathroom in this ancient house.
Inside the dingy bathroom I leaned into the door hard to make it stick closed. The humidity caused the wood to expand on the doors, so it was near impossible to keep them closed.
I needed it to close though. I needed to take this time to release my anxiety through a cigarette. Ronnie, being the hypocrite she was, would have my head if she knew I smoked and Waylan would ask too many questions. It was one of my many secrets I kept from everyone around me. I never smoked often, mostly just this time of year. I like to think I only have two cigarettes a week, but I bargain with myself for more. The lie I tell myself made me feel better about the reality of how many I actually smoked. Today was a cigarette kind of day, that dream held on too tight.
I perched myself onto the bathroom sink and opened the window of the bathroom as I lit the cigarette. I ran my hands through my greasy hair and cringed. I should wash it, but I won’t. It was too hot to do anything with it and working with kids at a daycare made washing hair pointless. They usually threw food in it or there was a lice scare happening.
Wasn’t dirty hair supposed to keep lice from latching on?
Fuck, it is so hot in here.
I sucked in a breath as beads of sweat trickled down my spine. I could still smell the lake water in my nose as I tried to close the closet door to the secrets I withheld in my brain. I held the smoke until my lungs hurt. I held it so long that the smell of lake water changed to nicotine. I exhaled and felt the cigarette take hold of my anxiety. At least it curved the aching hunger in my stomach too. I hated making breakfast for myself. I only had enough energy to make it for Waylan most days.
I was drowning in sweat as I finished the cigarette and flushed the butt down the toilet. I turned a cold shower on and sprayed some Lysol to mask the scent. The smell would linger, but I blamed the neighbors as I left the window opened.
After the shower, I sprayed some dry shampoo into the grease bun I had thrown my hair into. I threw on a tank top and my favorite jean shorts as I made my way to the thermostat.
Ninety six degrees.
I groaned at the broken AC.
Heavy footsteps appeared at the bedroom door by my room and Ronnie stepped from behind the door. She was dressed in black scrubs as she glared at me.
“The neighbors need to stop smoking so close to our house. The whole upstairs smells like an ashtray. I didn’t sign up for this when we moved here.” She huffed.
I rolled my eyes thinking how much of a hypocrite she was. She smoked more than anyone I knew. The only thing she had going for her was that she smoked outside and never inside.
“I never signed up to live here. I wanted the duplex on eighth street.”
“You can barely afford this place. The Duplex on eighth street would have bankrupted you.” She smirked at me.
I shrugged.
No it wouldn’t have.
“Wait. Are you working today?” I asked her, noticing her scrubs she was wearing.
Ronnie shrugged. “I am. I have a date tonight, so I switched shifts.”
“Shit, you said you would watch Waylan. I'm scheduled to work today.” I threw my hands in the air.
Ronnie glanced into my room and saw Waylan sleeping in my bed. “Well, should have used a condom.”
My stomach churned. “Don’t say that.”
“Well, she isn’t my child. She’s yours. You gotta figure it out.” Ronnie shrugged. “Also you should make her start sleeping in her own room. She’s too old for that.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “That's rich coming from someone who’s never had kids. She is my child and I’ll raise her how I want.”
Ronnie scoffed. “Trust me Cadence we all know you will raise her the way you want and will do whatever you want.”
I shook my head at her.
Ronnie was a bitch, but she was all I had. She was the only person that never pushed me for details about Waylan’s father and why I left home. She let me move in with her a month after I found out I was pregnant. Though, I didn’t tell her I was pregnant immediately when I moved in with her. I pretended I was accepted to a high school college prep program and when I couldn’t hide the pregnancy, I dropped out. Secretly, I never went to the school or got in. I just made up some bullshit paperwork online and acted like it was legit. It took some convincing for my grandparents to let me go, but I couldn’t stay with them. Not after everything that had happened that summer. Instead, I got my GED, a job at a daycare, and worked there during the times they thought I was at school.
It worked out for a while.
Turns out I’m not one of those people who can hide their pregnancy in oversized sweatshirts.
My grandparents were disappointed in me for dropping out of school and distancing myself from them. It was easier that way. I couldn’t answer all of their questions.
After a while, they stopped trying to reach out to me. I tucked that relationship away into a dark closet in my brain. That relationship sat next to the place I used to call home and memories of the beautiful green lake house. It killed me to do that to my grandparents. I loved them, but they didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I did. It was easier to protect Waylan this way too. There were some things that I couldn’t explain to anyone. I also couldn’t risk him knowing about Waylan. If he found out what I did he could take her from me.
“Cadence, are you even listening to me?” Ronnie scolded.
I blinked at her, realizing I missed everything she said. “Not at all.”
She shook her head. “Ridiculous. Pete is coming over after I get off of work.”
I blinked at her again. “And where should Waylan and I go?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and started down the stairs.
“Seriously?” I whispered under my breath.
Where are we supposed to go?
Calling off work should not have been enticing as it sounded to me. It would have been pointless to take Waylan to work with me. I would be working to pay to have someone else watch her. She had another daycare that took our government benefits, but I hated it. It was grimy and the aides were not nice there. I left her there when I didn’t have a choice. Calling off would leave me to be able to use some of my sick leave I had accrued.
“Mommy?” Waylan’s tiny hands pulled on my shirt. Her face was flushed with the heat and her blonde hair was plastered in a tangled mess on top of her head.
“Good morning babygirl.” I kissed her sweaty face and picked her up.
“I’m hot.” She complained.
“Me too baby. Want to go to the library today?” I asked her.
Yep...I am going to call off of work today.
She nodded her head and wiped the sleep from her big gray eyes. His eyes. The eyes that I prayed she wouldn’t get, but inevitably knew that she probably would have. She had some of my features. Like the shape of my nose and chin. It was her eyes that weren’t mine and hair. Those belonged to my nightmare.
“Alright, go get dressed and then we will brush our teeth and go.” I told her as I walked back into the bathroom. I prepared our toothbrushes while she ran her tiny legs into her bedroom. She grabbed the clothes I set out for her on the bed she didn’t bother to use. I know she should sleep in her own room, but knowing she was right next to me, gave me a sense of security.
