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I had a nightmare that I tried to run but could neither move nor breathe.
July 18 2012, Scott Tobias, AV Club The Dark Knight Rises
With his crude potato-sack mask and fear-inducing toxins, The Scarecrow, a “psychopharmacologist” at an insane asylum, acts as a conjurer of nightmares, capable of turning his patients’ most terrifying anxieties against them.
Cleaning up after identity theft can be a nightmare of phone calls and letters.
1941 August, C. Hamilton Ellis, “The English Station”, in Railway Magazine, page 358:
If Euston is not typically English, St. Pancras is. Its façade is a nightmare of improbable Gothic. It is fairly plastered with the aesthetic ideals of 1868, and the only beautiful thing about it is Barlow's roof. It is haunted by the stuffier kind of ghost. Yet there is something about the ordered whole of St. Pancras that would make demolition a terrible pity.
2009, Steven Rosefielde, Red Holocaust, page 240:
The Red Holocaust is best interpreted in this light as the bitter fruit of an utopian gambit that was socially misengineered into a dystopic nightmare by despots in humanitarian disguise.
(now rare) A demon or monster, thought to plague people while they slept and cause a feeling of suffocation and terror during sleep.
I started, hourly, from dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast weight—an incarnate Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off—incumbent eternally upon my heart!
1753, John Bond, An Essay on the Incubus, or Night-mare, London: Printed for D. Wilson and T. Durham, at Plato’s Head, in the Strand, page 2:
The Night-mare generally ſeizes people ſleeping on their backs, and often begins with frightful dreams, which are ſoon ſucceeded by a difficult reſpiration, a violent oppreſſion on the breaſt, and a total privation of voluntary motion.
1792, James Boswell, in Danziger & Brady (eds.), Boswell: The Great Biographer (Journals 1789–1795), Yale 1989, p. 209:
Had been afflicted in the night with that strange complaint called the nightmare.
Brother Fary of Omaha was nightmaring the rest of the night.
1998, Andrea Benton Rushing, “Surviving Rape: A Morning/Mourning Ritual”, in Mary E. Odem, Jody Clay-Warner, editors, Confronting Rape and Sexual Assault (Worlds of Women; number 3), SR Books, published 2003, →ISBN, page 6:
It’s been 21,900 hours, 912 days, 130 Saturday nights, 30 months, 3 years since October 16, 1988 when I was stunned awake, straddled by a man I did not know. First I think I’m nightmaring.
He must be imagining that behind the rain of leaves was a dark-haired man sitting in his chair, smiling away. He must be so fed up with himself that he was nightmaring while awake.
She was the last person I’d expected to see, although I had not expected to see anyone at all. For a moment I thought it was a nightmare, and that I was nightmaring the whole thing.
I hurried through the arch, was dipped into shadow, and was glad to have my screaming eyes rinsed clean of this vision of a scrabbling, gibbering hell, worse than any nightmared by Bosch or Goya.
1660 April 23, a Rural Pen [pseudonym; Robert Wild], Iter Boreale. Attempting Somthing upon the Successful and Matchless March of the Lord General George Monck, from Scotland, to London, the Last Winter, &c., London: , page 3:
THe day is broke! Melpomene, be gone; / Hag of my Fancy, let me now alone: / Night-mare my ſoul no more; Go take thy flight / Where Traytors Ghoſts keep an eternal night; […]
, Henry Browne , “To England”, in Stones from the Quarry; or, Moods of Mind, London: Provost and Co.,, page 308:
Thou things imponderable dost price and weigh / By scales untrue ’gainst the gewgaws and gauds / O’ the World; thy ledger ’neath thy head dost lay / For pillow, nightmared with dreams of thy hoards.
And in my sleep a vision nightmared me:— / The steeds I tended, and at Rhesus’ side / Drave in the car, I saw as in a dream / Mounted of wolves that rode upon their backs; / And with their tails these lashed the horses’ flanks, / Scourging them on.
[…] I slept fitfully—it was hot, the very pillows seemed to sweat—and when I did fall off in sleep, I tossed and tossed, disturbed, I think, by the call of old-new affinities, nightmared by the tall Sudanese who paced my dreams, veiled in a yashmak, stuttering.
The thing beckoned to me, grinning horrible out of its gape-agog slit-face, and it whispered to me, about things that I . . . well, never you mind that part. / “It was that powder, I tell you, as was nightmaring me. So I took the jar out behind-house and I dropped it down the convenience. Yes, the earth-closet. I went back to bed, but I still couldn’t kip much.