Dream Sketch

October 15th, 2018, was the best and worst day of my life. It was the best day of my life, because my wife had given birth to a beautiful baby boy. It was the worst day of my life, because my wife went into a self-induced coma, resulting from excessive blood loss. I took my new son Sam home that day, and left my sick wife at the hospital. I was filled with so much sadness, yet so much love all at the same time. Every night, I put my baby boy to sleep, and I was filled with absolute peace and joy. I had never seen a baby sleep as soundly as my son did. Every night, I wished I could hold my wife as we watched our son dream the night away. I wanted so badly to retain these wonderful images I had of Sam, and I knew my wife would want them too. I knew I had to do something.
My next door neighbor and his wife gave birth to a little girl named Cindy, two years prior. I remembered them showing me a scrap book filled with gorgeous sketches of animals, candies, toys and things of that sort. The sketches were created by a machine called dream sketch. The machine worked like a polygraph device, except it sketched whatever a person or child was dreaming of at that given time. I knew right then and there that I had found the answer I was looking for. When I brought the machine home, it came complete with a moderately sized sketching machine that came with a stack of paper, extra ink and two small wireless sensors (that were to be placed on the right and left sides of the head of the dreamer). Later that night, I cradled my young son to sleep. I then put the two small sensors on both sides of Sam’s head, and turned on the machine. The machine buzzed softly on into the night. I stayed in Sam’s room for nearly an hour, before I went to bed, periodically watching the dream sketch and watching Sam sleep. I was excited as a kid before Christmas, waiting to see what my son would dream up.
When I awoke the next morning, I went into Sam’s room to wake him up. Sam laid calmly in his crib, as he stared at me smiling. Just as I was going to pick up Sam, I remembered the dream sketch. A single sheet of paper lay on the floor next to the dream sketch. As I picked up the sheet of paper, I could clearly see it was a drawing of my wife lying in her hospital bed, fast asleep. Strange that such an image would be made from a new born child, but there was something else that was odd about this drawing. Something that I couldn’t quite figure out. It was then that I received the phone call. I don’t recall who it was that gave me the news that day. It could have been a man or even a woman for all I know. But what I do know for sure are the words that were spoken to me. “Your wife is dead.” It was then I knew what was odd about the sketch in my hand. My wife’s electrocardiogram was flat lined. With tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, there laid Sam calmly on his back, still staring at me, still smiling.
I returned the dream sketch back to the store I bought it from, and screamed at the employee who sold it to me. The employee did their best to explain to me that they have no control over what the dream sketch draws, that of course is all up to the person the dream sketch is hooked up to. The employee apologized profusely for the inconvenience, but I was inconsolable at that point. I was in a complete daze from the shock of my dead wife, and knowledge that her death was foretold. Who it was foretold by was the real question at hand. Was it a mistake? Did the dream sketch have a malfunction of some sort? Was there no malfunction at all? Or was it my baby son that indeed dreamt of the death of my poor, departed wife? There was only one way to know for sure and the answer terrified me.
I left the store with a new dream sketch, and waited anxiously for night fall. It was difficult for me to rock Sam too sleep that night. He kept staring at me and smiling that damn smile of his. Eventually, he fell asleep and slept soundly while I frantically opened the box to the dream sketch and put all the necessary pieces in order. Once I connected the sensors to the right and left sides of Sam’s head, I sat there in Sam’s room, quietly in the dark. I listened to the quiet hum of the dream sketch and waited for the drawing needles to start sketching something. My heart beat increased with every minute that the night consumed, and still I watched the drawing needles. Bags under my eyes started to form as the moon shifted its position in the sky. My heart beat began to decrease, as I tried desperately hard to stay awake, and watch the drawing needles. The machine continued to hum throughout the night, as I fell asleep in my rocking chair, rocking myself into a deep sleep.
I awoke in a sweat, as I could feel Sam’s eyes staring into my subconscious. I locked eyes with my son, as he continued to smile that same damn smile and I was frowning my same damn frown. I then looked down at the dream sketch and noticed another single sheet of paper lying down on the floor below. I dropped to my knees and crawled over to the paper, frightened as a child in the dark. I wanted nothing more than to crumple the paper up and burn it and never know what was drawn on it, but I couldn’t. I had to know what was on the paper. I had to know who foretold my wife’s death. I reluctantly looked at the paper, and held my breathe at the gruesome sight that lay before me. I looked on at the sheet of paper that had a drawing of a lunatic of a man carrying a bloody shotgun in one hand, and a sheet of paper in the other hand. Two gory bodies lay on the floor below him. One of the bodies was of a young woman in her mid-twenties. The other body was of a little girl, lying down dead next to a dream sketch. I recognized these people. I recognized that lunatic of a man. God help me, I knew who these people were.
I looked out the window toward my next door neighbor’s house, and saw fire trucks and cop cars and several ambulances. When I walked outside, I spoke with one of the police officers on my neighbor’s lawn. He told me that my neighbor used his dream sketch on his wife. When my neighbor woke up and looked on at the sheet of paper that his dream sketch produced, it was of his wife having a sex with another man in a room, as his daughter Cindy lay in a basket being carried by a stork. The officer told me that my neighbor had gone insane and murdered his wife and daughter with a shotgun. After completing the heinous act, my neighbor put both barrels of the shotgun into his mouth and fired.
It was clear to me then, that my new born son was a master of evil. But how? How could a baby know such terror? How could a baby foresee evil things to come? Could he in fact be an evil being? Or could he just see things to come and these things just so happen to be the forces of evil? No. How could one see such evil, such terror, such brutality and sleep so soundly at night? I knew then what must be done. I knew then that Sam, my baby boy, had to die.
I stampeded up the stairs in a rage, toward my child’s bedroom. Blood pumped through my veins like never before, as I was prepared to do the unthinkable. I swung open Sam’s door so ferociously that it made a gaping hole, when it slammed against the wall. I expected to hear Sam cry from the loud crash, but only silence was heard. When I approached the crib, Sam was fast asleep. He slept as calmly and sweetly as ever before. But I knew what he was. I knew the true evil that lurked behind those eyes that stared at me so deeply, and that mouth that smiled that damn smile. I can admit that at this point, I had gone completely mad. I wanted Sam to wake up. I wanted him to see what I was about to do to him. I wanted him to show me that damn smile one last time, as I choked the life from his retched little body. I grabbed my son’s throat and I squeezed. I squeezed until the all the blood in my body had gone to my head. Blood pulsated throughout my veins as I squeezed. I was squeezing so hard that I hadn’t breathed a breath of air for nearly a minute, and I almost passed out. I collapsed to do the ground afterwards. After I killed my only son. I cried for a while. I cried and pleaded to God, and asked him if I did the right thing. It was then that I noticed a sheet of paper next to the dream sketch. I picked up the single sheet of paper and held it to my face. It was a drawing of me strangling my baby son in his crib. I killed my son. I killed Sam. I never knew whether or not Sam could see the evil things to come, or if he made these evil things happen. But I did what I did and I would do it again today.

-Confession statement made by Vincent Marshall regarding the murder of Samuel Marshall. Confession taken at Los Angeles County Police Department on December the 21st, 2018 at approximately 5:55 p.m.