The Dream by @wishdreamer

It was the same dream again.
Melody thrashed beneath the covers, sweat beading her forehead, her heart pounding in her somnolent state. She tried desperately to wake herself from the images she knew awaited her.
It was the same dream again, just like last night, and the night before that...in fact, the same dream she had been experiencing for over two weeks.
She had no idea why.
All she did know was that she wanted to dispel the images that waited for her to close her eyes every night, prayed for it even, hoping that when she closed her eyes the dream would be different.
It was wasted optimism, but nonetheless compelling.
Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyes, her desperation obvious even in sleep. She didn't want to see what she knew was coming. She didn't want to experience that gut-wrenching fear again, so much so she had tried to go without sleep for as long as possible, hoping exhaustion would send her into a dreamless sleep.
Even that had failed.
The dream was relentless.
The icy fog surrounded her, suffocating and foreboding. Occasionally she was sure she could hear whispered voices around her, yet she could never see anyone through the fog.
Melody felt her skin prickle against the icy cold of the air around her as she felt grass beneath her feet, just like she knew she would.
The fog began to dissipate and she felt her stomach lurch, knowing what she would see.
Just like last night, and the night before, the fog would dissipate to reveal a deserted churchyard... Deserted but for a small group of people standing around an open grave - a funeral.
Everyone of those people was dressed in black, their very presence terrifyingly imposing.
Melody wanted to run away from these people, unwilling to be anywhere near them, knowing that their presence was not as terrifying as what would happen next.
As if they were one unit rather than individuals, the group looked up towards Melody, staring at her.
Their eyes all shining that horrifying shade of red.
Melody wanted to scream, the sound balling at the back of her throat and refusing to move beyond it. Her stomach lurched, threatening to heave and yet even that release of terror was denied her.
They continued to stare as the fog enveloped them, their image disappearing.
Yet Melody knew, after nights and nights of this dream that worse was to follow. A lot worse.
Most people would have told her that the dream was trying to tell her something; a message that was clearly important. Buy she was a psychologist; she didn't believe in such things. She believed in the logical, the rational. Dreams were simply vents for the subconscious.
The fog dissipated once more, the mourners with the terrifying eyes gone.
Melody was alone, to a degree.
She stood at the edge of the same open grave the mourners had been attending, the smell of freshly dug earth filling the air and making her stomach heave once more.
Her hands were shaking by her sides, her eyes fixed on the grave before her, an unwilling witness to this morbid scene.
The open grave was not empty.
The young woman lay in the earth, no coffin to hide her from the world.
Her black hair framed a face as white as snow, her face serene in death. Yet there was nothing serene about the rest of her; her mouth was twisted in such a way it was obvious this woman had died in a horrific way; her hands were bound in front of her, her ankles also bound with rope pulled so tight it had cut into her flesh.
But Melody's gaze settled on the gaping hole in the woman's chest where her heart should have been, the large ornamental dagger still wedged within her chest cavity, the blood caked around the blade and soaking the woman's body.
Melody wanted to scream, her mouth open yet denied release of her terror.
She watched, unable to move as if held by an unseen force, a witness to this grisly nightmare.
She watched as the dead woman's mouth twisted into a hideous grin.
The woman's dead eyes snapped open.