Most people never spared their dreams a second thought. Sure, some were pleasant, some were stressfull, a few were terrifying, and most you simply didn't remember at all, nothing but your sleeping mind sorting through the flotsam of a hectic life as your body rested for the night, building energy for a new day.
Not quite...
Unbeknownst to most of humanity, there is a reflection of the World of Real Things, a mirror image of the collective slumbering minds of mankind. A Dreaming, if you will. A hidden, mystical world that plays hosts to all of humanity's dreams, it's fantasies, it's anxieties and neurosis...
And, of course, it's Nightmares.
Somewhere deep within the Dream Dimension, there is a vast, empty plain, a Limbo where restless minds are drawn in their sleep, where all manner of shapeless horrors and nameless terrors slough through the ancient mists, where the sum of mankinds fears are given physical form, to torment the minds that conjure them in their fretful state.
A massive, hellish black horse made it's way through the mists, an ancient journey it had followed for eons no one else remembered. Atop the steed sat a strange, ghoulish figure, unnaturally tall and almost emaciated. Dressed entirerly in green, a long, ragged cape hanging from his body frame, his skin pale as a corpse, contrasting sharply to the wild mane of pitch-dark hair atop his head, long, bony fingers gripping the reins of his horse. His name was Nightmare, the embodiment of all dark and terrible dreams, and he was displeased.
He was a God, or as close to one that the difference didn't really matter, an entire world was his domain, and the wretches who found themselves in his grasp were lucky to escape their torment with their sanity intact. And yet, for all he had, Nightmare knew it was nothing but a specter of real power. And it infuriated him. His entire existance was less than a shadow, clawing at the edges of the waking world, the world of Real Things. A place he wished so desperatley to gain a hold in.
And he had come so close on All Hallows Eve, when the walls between the dreaming and waking world were at their thinnest.
Nightmare snarled, showing a mouthful of jagged and needle-like teeth. Foiled. He'd been foiled. His Chosen One defeated and imprisoned. And not even by that thrice-damned sorceror! By an exiled Asgardian, and a mutant wretch! The indignity of his defeat was almost as bad as the failure itself! And now it was too late to find another pawn to channel his power through, the borders between world strengthened for another year. The Silver Mirror, his conduit on Earth, had been destroyed in the battle, leaving him with no way to empower another acolyte either. Trapped, an emperor over a kingdom of shadows.
He loathed humanity, with every fiber of his being. Weak, soft, frail souls, caught up with their pathetic terrors and neurosis, which bled into his realm, taking shape and sound. But above all, he hated them because he owed his existance to them. He hated them for trapping him here, the powers of a God at his fingertips, but nothing to do with it but feed off the fears of sleeping minds. Even now, as the real world laid cold and dead in the midwinter, a time when his powers should have been at their height, his hold on them lessened in the light of their damned solstice festivals. Celebrations that had been around long before the Nazarens followers and their vapid "christmas", gatherings that had existed as long as there had been Men to observe them.
Joy.
Hope.
The triteness of it just made the truth even worse.
Of course, Nightmare knew that the joy of the season wasn't shared by everybody. Though he was unable to enter the real world, he could still observe it from his own realm, and it had been a difficult year for many, victims of the usual squabbles mortals considered so important. Perhaps... he might not have a conduit in the physical realm anymore, but he might not NEED one, after all... why take direct control, when he could corrupt a pawn through the fear and hate that was already there?
And slowly, a grin stretched across his face, as a new plan began to form.
....
Parkland Memorial Hospital, Dallas, Texas, December, 1963
She was dead.
And Lyndon Johnson wished more than anything that he could have joined her.
Every part of him that mattered had been left behind in that overturned car with Ladybird, the man lying in the hospital bed was nothing but an empty shell, a corpse that hadn't realized it was dead yet. The days since Dallas had passed in a shapeless blur he could barely register, time had become meaningless. Even his injuries didn't really hurt, the pain felt distant and vague, like it was happening to someone else. The world around him was a grey fog filled with ghosts, sometimes they tried talking to him, but he rarely bothered to answer anymore.
What would be the point? What was the point of anything now?
He felt himself slipping into something like sleep, the fog growing thicker around him again. Sometimes, in the blackness that had replaced his dreams, he could forget that she was gone. It was the closest he could come to feeling anything now. He was empty.
He closed his eyes.
You're not empty. You're angry.
Lyndon opened his eyes again. Was that a voice?
"H-hello?"
There was no answer. He began drifting again.
Angry. You're angry.
The voice was there again. It's like it was coming from inside him somewhere. Lyndon didn't understand. Who was speaking? He wasn't angry.
Was he?
They failed her, not you. They let her die. Left you here all alone. All their fault.
And Lyndon Johnson felt something stirring in the back of his mind. Something black and foul...
...
Avengers Mansion, New York City, Later That Night...
Oh come on, it CAN'T be morning already!
I turn over in my bed, pressing my face against the pillow to try and block out the annoying sunlight that just woke me up, closing my eyes tighter. Fuck it, I don't have anything to do this early, I can just go back to...
Wait a second, the window is on the other side of the room! Where the hell is that light-
"DWAH!!"
I open my eyes to a surprising sight. Outside, it's still night, but the inside of my room is lit up by the glowing figure standing at the foot of my bed, which is honestly not something I expected to ever experience.
"What the fuck, is this mansion haunted on top of everything else?! Hold on..." I rub the sleep from my eyes and focus on the figure, as I begin to notice something familiar about it's features. While colorless and almost translucent, I can make out a neatly cropped goatee on his face, his hair short and trimmed. A long, flowing cape hangs from his shoulders, held in place with a large medallion as a clasp. Underneath, I can see a big symbol stretching across his chest. I blink again, trying to clear the cobwebs "...Doctor Strange?"
Strange nods "Indeed. I apologize for disturbing your rest, but I require your assistance on the astral plane. There's been an emergency..."
"You know, when other people need something, they call ahead. Can't this wait 'til like... noon, noon-ish?"
"I fear not. An old enemy of mine has returned, someone you've already helped defeat once, and I believe you may be instrumental in stopping his plans this time as well."
"Wait, YOUR enemy? I think I'd remember fighting- Oh... oh no, you don't mean-"
Strange nods sternly "I'm afraid so, Johan. Nightmare is back..."