CHAPTER 6 – KILLER OR ORACLE?
From Miraç
From the outside, everyone seems normal. But hold a magnifying glass up to a person and all their madness becomes visible. Miraç is a common name, and I am a common man with that name. Until I was sixteen, my brain was free of rare discoveries and crazy boxes. Life was pretty much "la la la" for me, like for everyone else on the planet; in short, I got stuck in routines and had simple fears. You know the kind: spiders, the dark, things that creep you out.
After I turned sixteen, I developed a social phobia as pure as the driven snow.
How did it happen? Ah... the situation was even more confusing than I thought.
I had nightmares during puberty. I didn't pay much attention to them because I thought it was just hormones. I'm a man, I can't be scared, right? Ha! I was scared, of myself... I wouldn't hurt an ant, but in my nightmares, I kept killing people.
The dreams where I was the star as Miraç the Serial Killer, continued until they drove me to the brink of insanity, becoming commonplace through repetition. After each nightmare, he would tell myself, "These things happen, Inspector Kemal will catch them."1
Okay, I don't understand jokes or humor. I'm a bit of a blockhead... Anyway, to get back to the topic, something like this happened.
One day, which was close to my twentieth birthday; in short, my nightmare suddenly changed; my victim was reduced to just one person. There was a beautiful young girl, in the prime of her youth, in my mind, that is. For two weeks, I killed this girl every night without fail. On the last day of the process, an interesting event took place. I remember waking up anew and pacing around the house in the shock of the nightmare. Suddenly, we came face to face with the girl and she was smiling at me. Then again, that damned creature inside me turned her inside out. Anyway, I told myself, "I must have been sleepwalking," but it didn't end there.
I woke up again, got dressed, washed up, and then had to get dressed again. Of course, I was deep in thought. The most important thing was that I was out of bread. I can't tell you how my stomach was growling. You might say, "What's the big deal about a growling stomach?" Don't say that. I had read that most nightmares are caused by stomach upset, so I was going to bed hungry and waking up hungry those days.
I was going to the grocery store to get bread. As I turned the corner, I bumped into something. I looked and saw that it was a petite person. I was about to say "Excuse me," when I realized that the person I had bumped into was the girl from my dream. She didn't seem to care much about being bumped, and she continued on her way, albeit a bit wobbly; I'm a big guy, you know. I turned and ran after the girl. Just as I was about to touch her shoulder, she stepped off the curb and a large van slammed into her at full speed. The girl did three flips in the air and fell to the ground. The moment she convulsed and died, that was the moment that was etched into my brain.
The impact of this event held me captive for weeks. Sleepless nights haunted by nightmares, hungry and helpless...
As I slowly regained my sanity over the days, something dawned on me. "What if the others were real too?" I whispered to myself.
The gravity of the situation had me diving into research. My focus was on those who met their demise in traffic accidents. The initial search yielded millions of results. Realizing the task was daunting, I narrowed my search criteria. I began investigating incidents that occurred in Ankara, the city I lived in at the time.
As I tightened the circle, the results I found became increasingly terrifying. Upon reaching my neighborhood, I was struck by the familiarity of the faces of seventeen out of twenty girls who had lost their lives in tragic accidents. It was as if I had met them just yesterday. I had seen them all in my dreams. Some were suicide cases, others were unseen accidents...
Paranoia had enveloped my mind, consuming me entirely. I was so afraid of myself that I ran away from sleep, driven to madness. I knew if this continued, insomnia would claim my life. Thus, I spent almost all my free time in libraries, and when closing time arrived, I continued my research online at home.
Driven by the desperate hope of finding an explanation, I delved deeper into my research, but to no avail. I became so fixated on this idea that my schoolwork, friendships, relationships, and, in short, my entire life suffered. As my research continued, this peculiar ability of mine claimed more lives. Was I somehow responsible for these deaths, or did I possess a prophetic gift that was tragically useless? It remained an enigma.
Unable to find answers through encyclopedic research, I turned to experts for guidance. This phase of my journey marked the downfall of my financial situation. I sought help from fortune tellers, sorcerers, whitches, reiki practitioners, bioenergy specialists, and the like. Encountering mostly charlatans, I began to delve into my own childhood, a rabbit hole from which I couldn't seem to escape.
One thing was certain: there was something at play here. But no one could decipher what it was. We were approaching a critical point, but there seemed to be an impenetrable wall, an insurmountable barrier. Finally, unable to find answers about the cause, I began to frantically search for ways to prevent it.
By the time I turned twenty-five, I had become a solitary warrior, embarking on a journey into the unknown. My father, a man of considerable wealth, had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge in my perceived nonsense, nor was he willing to tolerate the ramblings of a son who had dedicated his life to such pursuits. His words during our last great battle echoed in my mind:
"You're a grown ass man and you still spend time on this bullshit. Did you devote your life to this bullshit so that you could skip work because you don't have the balls to work? I am not wasting money on you so you can eat daddy's money, do nothing and walk your ass around all night! Either get a job and get the fuck out of this house or get your shit together! If you continue to waste your time on this shit, I don't have a son like you anymore! "
After these harsh but justifiable words, I left home. Now truly alone, I began working in any job that would provide enough income to sustain me. In my spare time, I continued to ponder my predicament.
After a few years, I decided to leave Ankara and move to Eskişehir. It was there, through social media, that I met Ekin, a woman fascinated by astral travel, yoga, chakras, and lucid dreaming. She was the epitome of a free-spirited hippie, with curly red hair, a petite frame, and a penchant for bohemian attire. Her flawless white skin was adorned with two jet-black eyes that sparkled with joy. If you ever encounter a petite, red-headed woman roaming the streets, chanting, "Open your chakras, affirm your positivity. Embrace the universe, I accept and approve 777...", you can be sure it's Ekin. Negative words never escape her lips; she simply detests negative energy.
Naturally, I couldn't meet her right away; I feared I might kill her too. Over time, I regained my confidence in myself and my sanity. I hadn't seen her in my dreams, and I was determined to keep it that way. This meant I could finally open up to Ekin about my experiences.
"Try controlling your dreams," she advised. I was a believer, having read extensively on the subject. However, the idea of lucid dreaming seemed beyond my grasp. Yet, it appeared to be my only option.