The Dream That Wasn't Just a Dream
Written by Storyora
I’ve always been a logical person—analytical, grounded, the kind who checks all the locks twice and doesn’t believe in ghosts. But for nearly six months, I had the same dream every single night. And it wasn’t just a dream. It was a place. A child. A scream. And a silence that followed me even into waking hours.
It Started in November
Nothing unusual happened that month. I was living alone in a rented cottage just outside of Redding, California, working remotely as a software consultant. I had no history of sleep issues, no trauma I could think of. But on the night of November 14th, I woke up in a sweat, shaking, after dreaming of a girl standing in a field of dead leaves.
She didn’t speak. She just stared at me, pointing toward the woods. Her dress was torn. Her hair matted. Behind her, fog swallowed everything.
The next night, it happened again. Same girl. Same field. Same silence. And then the third night, I heard it—the scream.
The Field Was Real
After two weeks of the same dream, I caved. I started sketching out what I saw. The layout of the trees, the slope of the land, even the power lines in the distance. I had no idea where this place was, but it felt too specific, too vivid.
By chance—or fate—I stumbled upon a photo on a local hiking blog (AllTrails). A man had shared a photo of a forgotten meadow up in Whiskeytown National Recreation Area. The image made my stomach drop. It was the field. Every detail matched.
I Had to Go
On December 1st, I drove to the trailhead with my sketchbook and camera. Snow had started to fall lightly. The forest was quiet in a way that made you want to whisper.
I hiked until I found it—the same rise in the earth, the same tree leaning sideways like it was bowing. I stood there for a long time, feeling ridiculous. And then I saw it.
Half-buried near a stump was a child’s shoe. Old, sun-faded, muddy. I didn’t touch it. I just stared. Something about it felt... wrong.
Digging Deeper
I reported what I found to the park rangers. They took my statement, politely, and said they’d check it out. I didn’t expect much. So I started doing my own research.
Turns out, in 1997, a local girl named Emily Rawlins went missing during a family picnic at Whiskeytown. She was six years old. Disappeared without a trace. The case went cold within months. I found a local archive about it here: Redding News Search.
The photo of her face chilled me. It was her. The girl in the dream. No question.
The Police Came Back
Three days after my visit, I got a call from a sheriff’s deputy. They had recovered a partial garment fragment and bone fragment from the area. It was being tested. He wouldn’t say more. But he asked me how I “knew.” I told him the truth: I dreamed it. He didn’t laugh.
Psychic? Possessed? Or Just Trauma?
I started questioning everything. Maybe I’d read about Emily’s case years ago and suppressed it. Maybe it surfaced through dreams. But I couldn’t find any record of the case on national media or old forums. The whole thing was buried—literally and figuratively.
One therapist I spoke with said it could be an expression of suppressed trauma. Another said it was “a form of night empathy,” a term I hadn’t heard before. I found a related article on Psychology Today, and while it didn’t fully explain what I went through, it gave me language for the experience.
So What Do I Believe?
I honestly don’t know. All I know is that I saw a girl in my dreams, and she led me to a place where she might’ve died. That’s not fiction. That’s what happened. Whether it’s paranormal, psychological, or just a one-in-a-billion coincidence—I can't explain it.
But since the day they began investigating that field, I’ve never dreamed of her again.
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