Get a Move On!

I am with a group of people which includes friends and family, and a few strangers. We're running from a horde of undead zombies. These are about halfway between the totally mindless old movie zombies and the horrifying smart zombies I've faced before. They don't talk, and they really do look undead, but they have some ability to reason and figure out things like opening unlocked doors. We have learned that they can also figure out which direction we probably went based on evidence presented (like footprints, one door leading out and the other to a closet, etc.)

We're in an office or lab-type building, with long hallways and lots of rooms on either side. We're trying to get out of the building, with what seems like every zombie from miles around chasing us from behind. I'm in the back of the group, fighting to keep the zombies from getting my loved ones. I cannot seem to get the group to move any faster. No one has the same sense of urgency I do about being bitten. They're all focused on the idea that if they get infected, there will be some kind of cure. It has not occurred to them that if this horde gets their hands on us, there won't be anything left to cure.

I'm walking on the high ceiling to keep from getting grabbed and bitten. I'm using a makeshift weapon that fires an exploding shell to take out the front zombies and slow down the rest of them. I can see over my shoulder that the group is slowly walking toward the exit we've chosen, through which we can see a safe pathway outside. I keep yelling at them to run, and they keep looking back at me like I'm being unreasonable and pushy. Someone shouts back that they're moving, and they can see that it's under control, so why get frantic?   
 
The pile of dead zombies on the floor begins to get tall, and one female with patches of long blond hair sticking out of the side of her head (making her look a lot like the Cynthia doll from Rugrats) is struck with the realization that if she climbs, she can reach me. The other zombies don't yet seem to get that, but I realize that if they do, I'll be toast. At the same time, I run out of shells. I hit her with the weapon, but it's poorly made, and has taken as much force as it can. It breaks apart in my hands and falls to the floor. The zombie reaches up, grabs my hair, and pulls. Desperate, I reach down and shove her head so her chin hits her chest. I see that the flesh on her neck is rotten. I dig my fingers into the soft spots where the skin is kind of melty. It feels almost like sticking my fingers into warm spaghetti that's been in water too long... wet, squishy, a little ropey, and very slimy.

I rip handfuls of muscle and sinew off of the zombie's neck and shoulders until her spinal column is completely exposed. I realize this will not stop her from rending and biting. She's ignoring the attack - these zombies have no working pain sensors - and continuing to pull me down from the ceiling even as I push on her collarbone. I grab the spinal column with one hand, and the collarbone with the other. I pull on the spine until I hear a wet, crackling, crunching sound.

There is a pop, and a sudden release, and the bones in my hand come up, with a couple of feet of torn nerve tissue hanging down. There is no spray, because the zombies' blood does not circulate, but there is splatter from the force of the action. Drops of blood and spinal fluid hit the walls, the body, the pile, the zombies, and me. The body slumps and falls into the crowd of zombies, who begin mindlessly ripping it to shreds with their hands, but not eating. There is something about the virus that makes them violent toward anything unable to defend itself, but only hungry for living flesh.

I throw the head and spine to the floor, turn to shout again at my charges, and see them stopped, standing still, and staring at me in horror. When I look at them, their eyes turn to the shredding frenzy on the other side of the dead pile. They break and run for the door, not shoving each other, but finally rushing to get out. Behind them, I back away from the pile while the zombies are distracted by the body of the blond.

*****

The whole time we've been travelling, one of my friends has been berating her husband over mundane, innocent things. "Don't put your foot there. Why did you step in that spot? There was no indentation there, and now there is. You ruined it." All of us in the group had pointed out that she was being unreasonable, but it didn't stop her. Even her daughter was getting in on it, "telling" on her father to get him into "trouble" with her mother.

Finally, my mother in law yelled at her to just shut up. She told my friend off in no uncertain terms, pointing out that she had no right of approval over everything her husband did, and that she wasn't treating him as a man or an equal, but as her personal verbal punching bag. She told her to quit being so nitpicky over everything and just enjoy the fact that she had someone to love.

Since then, my friend remained quiet until we reached our next destination.

I've gotten my group into a house, where there's a secret opening to the sewer. That is where we are headed. We have learned that there is a community down there which has avoided infection and remained hidden and safe. It's defensible and self-sustaining, and new people are welcome, though we'll have to be isolated until they know we're not infected.

The opening to the sewer is behind one of the cushions in the couch in the corner living room, which has such huge picture windows on the two outside walls that it might as well not even be closed.

Once again, I'm facing the problem of getting people motivated. They have forgotten about the horde in the building. Even though we've encountered zombies along the way and lost two of our number (strangers, but we'd gotten to know and treasure them and are as heartbroken and weary as if we'd lost lifelong friends, not just sickened over the human deaths) the sense of urgency is gone because we no longer face an immediate threat. Members of the group are looking for things in the house to grab and take with them. I'm frantic because there are not curtains or shades on the windows, and I'm sure that any minute, we'll be spotted by the zombies wandering outside and pursued again.

Most of them aren't looking for anything valuable, like tools, food, survival books, or potential weapons. Instead, someone grabs a video game console, despite being told we won't be able to plug it in. Another grabs dress shoes and make-up, and a third is going through the household's freezer for goodies. My nagging friend is grabbing unimportant little things she thinks her female friends would like - beads, make-up, dice for gaming, and other similar items which would not be useful for survival. The husband finds a well-stocked liqueur cabinet, and grab several bottles of high-proof hard liqueur. I know he's grabbing it for drinking purposes, but I hope he gets it to the colony intact, because I see the potential use of it as a disinfectant for wounds, and the glass bottles as weapons.

Only two men (my husband and a friend) and my kids are focused on survival. The men grab a toolbox, a bag of survival manuals and fixit books, and a shotgun shell-stuffing kit with supplies (but no gun can be found.) The girls grab everything in the medicine cabinet, and everything in the cleaning cabinet, which they shove into a duffel bag before heading for the living room while shouting for everyone else to hurry. My son grabs a big bag of canned food and boxed cereal. He puts trash bags over it, then throws two more at the other kids for their bag of first aid stuff, and shoves the box into his bag.

Zombies spot us through the windows. I point this out to the group, and start pushing people to head for the living room. The zombies attack the front door as we run for the living room, everyone weighed down by objects they're taking with them. At this point, we're trying to stuff 80 people into a 4' by 4' hole, so it's slow going, and fairly quickly the zombies realize they can come at us through the picture windows. I and two others are fighting them off, one at the living room doorway with a broken mop handle, stabbing at eyes and open mouths with the pointed end to create a wall of dead bodies, and two at the windows with kitchen knives (which I grabbed when the zombies spotted us) and a meat tenderizing hammer.

It takes several minutes to get everyone into the hole. The doorway guard has filled the hall with bodies, and nothing can get through behind him. We send him through the hole, then start backing toward it. My ally, a teenage nephew, wants me to go first because I am a girl. I insist that he go first because he's young and healthy, while I am not. The argument lasts seconds - him insisting I'm the leader and therefore needed, me insisting that he better get his ass in there before we both die.

Finally, I shove him through the hole. As I do, one of the zombies gets around the pile of dead in front of us, and grabs my arm. I barely avoid getting bitten, shove the hammer down the zombie's throat, and kick it into the crowd behind it. They fall onto it, ripping and shredding at its clothing and flesh. While they are distracted, I jump into the hole, slide the door closed, and lock it from the inside. The mechanism to unlock on the outside is complicated (easily used by a living human, but a challenge for a zombie,) but I fear that eventually they'll figure it out if they remember we're in here long enough to get through the mental process. Their attention span in the absence of visible prey is short, so I'm hoping they'll just leave.

The way down into the sewer involves a series of tunnels that are like amusement park water slides made of cement. It's hard to navigate, filthy, foul smelling, and dangerous, but the group seems to mostly be doing okay with it. I'm helping my mother and a few others with physical difficulties.

In the upper tunnels, we encounter a couple of recently turned zombies, and I again have to send the group on without me. This time, they listen, taking the initiative to guard the kids and get them to safety while I keep the zombies from pursuit. Again, I find myself beheading one, using the kitchen knife I still have in my hand. When the head comes off, the other zombie attacks the body, ignoring me as I stab up into its brain and twist the knife to sever the spine.

I leave the two bodies in the way of future pursuers, and turn to go down the next tunnel, hoping I can catch up with my group before they run into anything else. I know my immediate family will protect them, but I don't want my loved ones to get hurt. I'm filled with anxiety at the thought that something else may get to them before I do.

The Game

I have had this dream 3 nights in a row, last night being the most recent. It's really vivid and graphic, with blood actually flying through the air and hitting me and my surrounding props.    
  
My friends and I are in a huge arena, a lot like the Roman Colosseum was in its day. I and another player are at a table in the middle. I have one really important card that is highly coveted. I don't know how I got it, but if I lose, the other player gets it for his team. I'll win if I play it, but it is going to wreck something huge and put something else huge ahead in another game that is bigger and more broad. What we are doing right now is encompassed in that game, but we are not the main players. The two huge things are. If I don't win this game, the bad huge thing might defeat the good huge thing, and if he does, he will crack down on his subordinates, some of whom are my friends, have "turned," and are now playing on my side.   
   
We are surrounded by ongoing violent and bloody gladiator-style battles. We are playing cards in the midst of this, as if doing so is normal. There is blood on the table. It's so close and there's so much of it around, I can smell it. I can also smell sweat and, and there's that feeling that happens in the nose when there's metal in the air. I can hear screaming, shouting, and grunting, metal hitting metal, fists hitting flesh, and the occasional wet "shlock" sound of something sharp slicing into a limb. Every time I hear that sound, it takes monumental effort for me to not gag and throw up on the cards.    
   
My friends make up half of the combatants around us. Each is paired off an enemy tough enough to seriously endanger them, and in most cases, with the serious possibility of death. I know if I don't play the card, at least one of my friends will beat his or her attacker and go on to help the others, but the battle will be long and bloody, painful and damaging, and we risk losing some of our own. I know if I play the card, there will be peripheral damage in the stands among the cheering section for the other side. Those are people who support the other side, but who aren't gladiators in the match.   
  
I look around at those people and at my friends, and agonize over playing the card, thinking that maybe I should just get up and fight instead. Maybe I could tip the scales, and save my friends, without harming civilians. I want to protect the civilians even though they are enemies, basically just because they are not fighters. I don't know if they're misled, or if they're complacent, or even willing, as they could be. I just know they're not fighters, and they could never hit me back as hard as I could hit them.   
   
Among my friends, I see frustration, anger, and some fear. Then, looking past them to the stands where the enemy cheering section is, I see eagerness and hatred. These people want to see my friends die in battle. They're screaming for blood. That makes up my mind, and I start to lower my card to the table.

This is where the dream ended on the first two nights. Last night, there was this:

I can see my hand and the card slowly descending to the table. At the same time, my opponent's face is in plain sight, jaw dropping and eyes widening. I can hear him yelling, "NO! Don't do it! You'll kill us all!"

The card touches the wood, and immediately flattens down as if I slammed it instead of just placing it. A burst of air shoots out from underneath as it hits, blowing all of the other cards off of the table onto the dirt at our feet.

There is a loud booming noise, and I feel the air pressure changing. Hot wind is blowing in my face, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I can hear my friends yelling and running toward me. Through the curtain of my eyelashes, I can see panic on the enemy side of the stands, and the enemy gladiators, bloodied but not beaten in battle, retreating to the opening in the bottom rows. My companions yell that we have to get out of here before the big blast. I can see that our cheering section has all ready evacuated, the last of them pouring out through an exit off to my right.

I am grabbed by many hands, and half-carried, half-dragged out toward the exit. I can see a green, grassy field on the other side. As we reach it, there's another explosive sound behind us, this one so deafening that at first I think it burst my eardrums.

That noise woke me so hard I jumped and nearly fell on the floor. It was louder than the bang you hear when a dud firecracker goes off on the 4th, and was followed by a rumble like thunder that for a second, followed me into wakefulness. At first, I thought there was a thunderstorm, but it's sunny and relatively clear outside, just a few fluffy white clouds in the sky. The noise had to be all in my head.

Well, that was strange

This one needs a little background, or you won't understand why I'm weirded out.

Last weekend, I went to my parents' house to help move furniture and stuff so they could use a downstairs room for a bedroom instead of the upstairs. While I was there, my Mom told me she's been having nightmares like mine, and she described some of them. It's highly unusual for Mom to even have nightmares at all, much less involving specific things that have been present in some of my weirdest ones. 

Mom isn't used to this, and she was really shaken up by some of the painful attacks she'd experienced. Unable to help her get past what she'd dreamed, I decided the best route was to help her get the tools she needed to deal with future nightmares, instead. We spent hours, while working in the room, talking about techniques I use in my dreams to fight monsters by using things that can't be done in the real world, like magic and flying. Mom can fly in her dreams, so I know that she can use other lucid techniques. I told her that when she gets ready to go to sleep, she should repeat to herself over and over that she'd be strong and capable in her dreams, that she'd know she could fight and win. Before going to sleep, she should focus on being aware that she's not in the real world, and that she can do anything. It's what I learned from the lucid dreaming book I had in high school, and though I haven't been able to completely make use of the techniques, that one thing (being able to fight back) got through.

I told her that if worse came to worst, when impossible things are happening to her and she gets really scared again, if she can't fight back she should focus really hard on me, and I'd fight for her. I went on to describe some of my battles, and how I am able to move and shape things.  If it comes down to that, by telling her that, I've given her the image, figuring that when she did have a nightmare, if she "called" me, she'd experience the defense I described, because that would be the image she had of me. 

Then, with Mom's consent, I did some energy work, using a candle as a focus. I designated the candle's energy to represent the forging of a connection between how she feels in her dreams and how I fight in mine. I linked that to how she fights in real life, given that she never backed down when she was in city politics, even when the local police were stalking her. I charged that as the candle burned, it would release energy that would bring out Mom's own strong will, and would bring up in the part of her subconscious involved in the dream state some automatic defenses that would stop anything scary or painful from happening. If the nightmares were a psychic attack, the connection would call me to her, and I'd be able to handle it from there.


All week, she's said she's been fine, no bad dreams or anything. Then, last night, just as I was drifting off, it felt like someone who shouldn't be touching me was. In my semi-conscious state, I visualized and half-experienced reaching out and grabbing someone by the shirt with my left hand, and punching the shit out of his jaw with my right, so close to dream-vivid that I actually heard the smacking sound my fist made against his skin and the grunt of his voice. Then, when I was all the way asleep, I had this.


I'm on that stretch of beach again, city off to my left, water on my right, and that little snack shack that doesn't sell snacks, looking smaller than ever in the distance ahead. My first thought is to wonder why I'm here, but that doesn't last long, as a confused, irritated voice calls out from behind me. "What the... Where is this place? Who the hell are you?"

I spin around to see a group of rough looking men, all huge, standing together on my beach. They look really out of place, staring at the white sand, dark sky, and choppy water. Glaring at the one nearest me, who by virtue of having spoken seems to be their leader, I demand to know who they are, and what they're doing here. It's weird... they actually feel foreign to me, not like from another country, but like invaders.

The men begin to move away from each other, spreading out to form kind of a half-circle in front of me, all giving me cautious looks. The 'leader' says my mother's name like it's a question. He's half-crouched, like he's going to pounce on me any second, but he still looks confused and very nervous. Chills go down my spine, followed by anger rising in my chest. These guys are looking for my Mom.

"Who wants to know?" I ask, digging my bare feet into the sand and drawing energy for a fight.

I can hear the guys muttering to each other behind their leader. They seem like they're coming to a consensus that I'm guarding Mom, and they have to defeat me to get to her. This idea is reinforced by their having seen a different landscape prior to finding my beach, and having experienced some kind of explosive attack that they believe blasted them into this place. Trying to regain control, their leader steps toward me, telling me it doesn't matter. I'm not who they're looking for, but I'm in their way. He says, "We won't hurt you if you just let us out of here. We're just passing through."

I can feel the guy's energy moving, searching for an opening that will take him where he wants to go. When he realizes the opening is me, his eyes narrow, and he tells the others, "Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."

Suddenly, every single one of them is holding something nasty. One has a machete, another a baseball bat with nails pounded through it. I see a straight razor for shaving, several knives, a small axe, a metal pipe, and a pair of brass knuckles. The entire crowd begins advancing on me at once, the majority of them circling around to attack from the sides and behind me.

I ignore the sight of them, feeling outward around me for energy that signifies their individual presences, waiting until they're all about ten feet away from me and ready to jump. As soon as the energy around me tenses like they're about to spring, I raise a spiked, energized shield around me and shove it out to a radius of about six feet. Every single one of the guys slams into it, getting impaled, shocked, and thrown into the air around me. Most of them go flying back into the sand. Seven land in the water. Three of them are out at least forty yards. As soon as they splash down, the dorsal fins poke up and start heading their way.

The three begin to swim, desperately trying to get away from whatever is underneath those fins, one guy lagging behind the others as his heavy workboots and the metal pipe he won't drop slow him down. Their comrades watch from the beach, shouting at them to hurry as the sharks close the distance. I can hear one voice nearby bellowing, "Drop the pipe! Drop the pipe and swim, you dumbass!" It doesn't look like the guy in the water can hear him.

The sharks forget about the other two, changing their angle to surround the slowpoke. Seeing the dorsals in front of him, he stops swimming and begins treading water, gripping the pipe in his hand, ready to swing, not realizing that fighting in water isn't going to be the same as fighting on land.

His comrades watch, sickened and dismayed, as he is ripped apart by the sharks, his ragged and gurgling screams echoing across the beach like the soundtrack of a horror movie until one of the sharks bites through his chest and silences him. I look at the leader of my remaining assailants. "Go home," I growl.

The leader barks obscenities at me, and starts to get bigger. Looking around, I can see that all of them are changing, becoming larger and darker, less human looking. Their faces, arms, and legs are a little too long. Red eyes flash from beneath heavy brows, looming at me over wide mouths full of sharp, pointed teeth. The feeling of opening a curtain tells me that their earlier appearance was a disguise they had ready for whatever nightmare they had prepared for my mother, and they've just figured out that it isn't going to work on me.

The weapons are gone, replaced by bare hands and close-fitting leather that looks like it might be some kind of armor, though I'm not sure. Growling, the monsters close in on me again, careful to stay far enough outside the radius of my shield to avoid another hit, but close enough for me to see they still mean business.

From behind me, the force of someone's energy strikes my shield. Nothing compared to the power of the last opponent I fought here, it ricochets off and spins away harmlessly over the water. Feeling out from the place where it hit, I realize that the sender has left a trail back to himself. Without turning around, I focus on the spot where he stands, and send a jolt back along that path. I feel it hit home, throwing him sideways, so that two of his comrades have to dive into the sand to avoid being hit by his flying body. The leader sneers at me. I sneer back, and take a step forward, bringing my shield with me.

When I move, I see the ones in front of me, and feel the others around me, all flinch away. Feeling confident, I stir up the weather a little more, raising my arm and waving it over my head for effect as lightning flashes across the sky. The tall, thin leader, now much closer to me than the rest of his men, looks up, then looks back at me, determination eclipsing the fear on his face. I understand his position. He is the only thing right now keeping his men from breaking and running in a panic, now that they have realized they aren't dealing with an uninitiated dreamer, but a fighter who has learned to manipulate and use the elements of the dream. He has to show that he is strong, or he'll lose them all.

Outside my shield, I feel his energy building up around him, dark, dank, and foul. It's like sensing an influx of raw sewage gathering on my beach. Disgusted, I push against it, feeling polluted and cruddy. As soon as I touch that filth, I feel my opponent twist it and shove, impacting against my shield in just one tiny little spot with the force of all of his power, making a sound like a knife hitting glass.

The spike continues to pound, tapping rapidly against the surface, moving and down in an arc along the curve of my shield, as I try to get a grip on it. Slippery and revolting, it evades my grasp, and suddenly there is a loud pinging noise as it hits the same spot over and over until a crack formed.

Annoyed, I slam a wave against the spike from the side, shoving it away from my shield. The force of the boss's attack sends his energy into one of his own guys, right through the chest. The impaled monster falls to the sand, dark blood pouring from the wound, body thrashing.

I decide I'm not putting up with this any more. These wimps were going to attack my mother, meaning to scare the crap out of her and maybe even do real harm, and I can feel that if I don't take enough action, there will be more attacks, and more monsters. They will never leave her alone.

Reaching up into the storm again, I pull down bolt after bolt of lightning, striking the remaining grunts down. I feel like I'm playing whack-a-boogie-man with them as they break and run, scrambling over the beach like cockroaches fleeing the light, until all that is left is the leader. Advancing on him, I drop my shield. It's not really needed against such a lowlife piece of scum.

Horrified, the leader backs away from me. I raise the sand behind him, and he trips, falling onto it as I continue to shape it into shackles around his ankles, arms, forehead, and throat. He now looks like he's sitting in a sand version of an electric chair. Desperate and trapped, he lashes out, his nasty energy shooting out at me over and over again. Each time, I feel it coming and slap it away with little effort.

Stepping forward, I get right in the trapped monster's face, my nose inches away from his, and call all of the energy I've drawn into my aura so that he can see it. I can feel the storm flashing in my eyes, and he shrinks back in his makeshift seat. Not satisfied, I draw lightning across above the clouds where it won't be seen, letting thunder roll in, build up, and crash over our heads. A whine escapes him, and suddenly the smell of ammonia and minerals is floating on the wind in front of me.

I poke a finger into his pale, gaunt chest, punctuating a word with each impact, backing the statement up with more thunder behind me, building the volume of my voice as I go.

"Don't.
Fuck.
With.
Me."

The last  word comes out as a roar, right in his face, complete with a blast of hot wind. The monster closes his eyes, crumpling in terror, hands balled into fists. It's all he can do to shut me out. He can't turn away. I've got him pinned in that seat.

Seeing my enemy cringing in front of me, wetness spreading across his lap and the sand beneath him, I feel like a total louse. I'm bulling something that's far beneath me, driving home a point that was likely made before he even attacked my shield; that he'd messed with the wrong person. If this had just been an ordinary nightmare with an ordinary boogie-man attack, I'd have wiped them all out and left it at that. But it isn't. They started out thinking they were here to attack my mother, and I have to make sure that never happens again.

Standing up, I poke my finger at the monster's body one more time, in the fleshy area between the collar bone and the neck, where I can almost see a major vein flowing beneath the skin. Using energy, I burn my initials into his sallow hide, red welts rising in stark contrast to the nearly gray flesh. The monster screams and writhes in pain at the first touch. Feeling sorry, I put my other hand on his throat and block the sensation with more energy until I am done, then heal the burn into deep, dark scars. Feeling the numbness, he opens his eyes and stares in confusion as I finish branding him.

Getting down to his level again, I scoop up some sand and melt it to produce a mirror so that he can see the marks. "You know what this means?" I ask him. Understanding flashes across his face, and then resignation. What is he going to do, argue with me? He has no choice but to accept the situation and be glad I didn't just kill him outright. My stomach turns, cold rising in me as my spirit objects. This isn't my way. I don't want to do this. I hate doing this... but I know that if I don't, there will be more of them, and I will not let them come after my mother again.

"You now belong to me," I tell him roughly. "You're my property, subject to my will and my whim. Get up." I dissolve the chair and the bonds, so that the monster must either stand, or fall on the beach. Even slouching in defeat, he towers over me, standing on trembling legs rather than let me see him fall. Misery and fear in his eyes, he waits to hear the rest of his fate. I steel myself against my aversion to what I know has to be done, then I continue to explain.

"You are now my mother's guardian. Stay just near enough to know if anyone else like you approaches. Don't try to interact with her at all. Just protect her. Nothing harmful gets to her, ever, without killing you first, understand? You can use every ounce of your power to fight and defend yourself against attackers, but only in the course of protecting her. You will warn anyone who runs away that if they come back, they'll end up like you. You will destroy anyone who doesn't run. And..." I let my voice become more harsh and ragged as I speak. "...if you ever even think about trying to harm her, or anyone else I love..." Here, I send a fiery spike of energy down through the brand on his shoulder into his bowels, knocking him screaming to his knees, doubled over at the gut, head thrown back in anguish.

The sight and sound tears at my heart. Immediately, I stop, putting a hand on his bony shoulder to stabilize his weight, once again healing the damage done by the energy. Relief shapes his features now. "I'll know, and I'll come for you," I finish, disgust with myself and my actions cramping my gut, making my words sound all the more vicious and cruel. "I'll make you wish you never existed."

The monster's mental state breaks entirely. He reaches out and grabs my clothing, pressing his forehead against my chest and babbling, promising me his loyalty and obedience, but then begging me to either kill him or go away. Pangs of guilt and shame stab through me at the sight and sound of what I've done to him, anger trying to follow them in as my mental defenses try to blame him for my terrible actions.

I can't do this. I'm not domineering. I don't even like to fight. I was just trying to protect my family. Fighting tears, I close my hands over his long, twisted fingers and shush him, telling him it's all right now. The fight is over, and I'm not going to hurt him any more, just as long as he doesn't try anything dumb.

"Yes, Mistress," the monster begins, the name punching me right in the chest, bringing those tears even closer to the surface.

"Ma'am," I quietly correct him. I'm no one's mistress, even if I have forced him into servitude. I can't take that title. It'll kill me. "Ma'am will do. Don't call me anything else. Now, do you have any other injuries?" Without waiting for an answer, I start looking him over, feeling for anything that is not as it should be, ignoring the return of that look of confusion on his face as I work on the places where my spikes went through in the initial assault.

"Why?" he asks, the confusion deepening, edged with faint hope that I can see him trying to quash. I want to tell him not to give that up, but I don't know enough about this guy to have that much trust. Instead, I lie, pushing back my own moral objection to hurting him in favor of the impulse to protect my family.

"You're not any good to her damaged like this." But I can see the wheels turning. The hope goes back under the surface, but it's still there. I'm going to have to keep consistent watch on him, using the brand like a mark, or he'll turn on me. Uneasiness settles in as I go over every hurt, using the same power that defeated and dominated him to heal my new slave. No... servant. Just a servant, a prisoner of war, paying for his crime. I'm not an enslaver. I'm not!

God, what have I done?

Fool me twice

It's dark, and I'm running. I don't know what's behind me, only that if it catches me, I'm going to wish I were dead. Terrified, I pick up the pace, trying to lift off from the ground, but the oppressive atmosphere seems to be holding me down. A tree root reaches up and snags my ankle, tripping me. I go down hard, smacking my face on the packed dirt of the path, and I hear a familiar laugh behind me. Turning, I realize it's not a monster. It's him, not someone I have to fear. I sit up and reach out, sobbing with relief as he wraps his arms around me, telling me it's all right now. He's not going to let anyone take me. I only have a moment to feel safe before he sinks his teeth into my throat, and I realize the mistake I've made.

I'm jolted out of the nightmare, waking in my room, tucked under the covers and surrounded by darkness. Sitting up, I look at my alarm clock. It's past time to get up. I'm going to be late, and everyone will be mad. I jump out of bad and dig for my clothing, intending to drag it all on at top speed. I hear a noise behind me as I grab for things. Turning, I see him standing in the doorway. He asks what I'm doing, reminds me what day it is, and I feel silly for panicking. I don't have to be anywhere. It's tomorrow that I have to get up early. He crosses the room quickly, pulling me into a gentle hug, telling me he came in because it sounded like I was crying in my sleep.

As I hesitantly tell him the nightmare, he responds with soft kisses to my forehead and words of comfort and reassurance, that he would never let anything hurt me. When I finish talking, he kisses me deeply, taking away the last vestiges of  the night's terror. Feeling better, I lay my head on his shoulder, briefly opening my eyes as the sun starts to come up. He's there, standing in the doorway, shock and hurt on his face as he watches me holding onto someone else.

I turn toward the monster in my arms. It's laughing. I shove, then push energy into my hands, jolting it over and over until it's burnt to a crisp, nearly blinded by tears of shame and horror at the realization of what I've been kissing crashes over me. I turn to run to him, but he turns away from me and begins to walk away, shoulders slumped, sadness in the voice that floats back to me, "If you ever really loved me, you'd have known the difference." I run after him, but by the time I reach the doorway, he's gone.

In his place is the monster I was just attacking. I turn and look, and there on the floor in my room is my love, crumpled in a heap, his final pain still showing in his dying eyes. My shoulder is clutched in a huge hand. I feel myself spun around by the force of it, to face my attacker. The monster draws back and punches me hard in the chest.

I woke from this with pain in my chest, and palpitations like I haven't suffered in years. I have an irregular heartbeat, but it's been determined that it's non-life threatening. It doesn't usually hurt. 

For several moments, I could hardly breathe as my chest alternately pounded and squeezed. I focused my mind on it slowing down, slowly forcing one breath at a time using a breathing technique that is normally for singing, pulling the air in with my belly instead of my shoulders because I couldn't get my chest to expand. 

Finally, the feeling passed, and everything settled, but that was really scary. I probably should go to the doctor, but the last time this happened (and it has been a few years,) they couldn't find the cause, and I have no insurance, so I'm not going to be able to afford it. 

Anyway, the pain is gone, and now all that's left is the guilt of having not been able to distinguish which character in the dream was whom. I can't seem to shake that. 

Oh, and for the record... I don't even have an alarm clock. When I need an alarm, I use my phone.

Multiple nightmares

I don't know what it was... stress, maybe, or something I ate, but last night really sucked ass.

I'm ten years old, riding in the back seat of the car, feeling kind of sleepy, so I decide to lay down. When I do, and I see the back of the driver's seat from that angle, I realize where, and more importantly, when I am. This is the night of the car accident that changed my mother's life. We're going to be hit, and she's almost going to die. She's going to be in pain for the rest of her life. I know I'm having a nightmare. Wanting to wake, I shake my head back and forth really hard. That never fails to wake me, ever.

Except... this time, I don't wake up. Terrified, I try again, and again, until it hits home that I'm not getting out of this. I'm going to watch her suffocating again.

I think that maybe I came here to dream about changing it. I tell Grandma not to turn down that road, but she does. I tell her not to pull into that lot, but she does. I tell her to wait a minute, that there's danger down the road, that she can turn around after he passes, but she smoothly turns the car around and pulls back out onto the road.

I feel the car turning right, a sign that the accident is impending. I hear the tires squealing as the other driver loses control. I scream at Grandma to hit the gas, get out of this space, but it's too late. Suddenly, there's the sound of metal crashing and screaming, glass breaking, tires screeching, and we're moving sideways faster than we'd been moving forward. I hear Mom's head hit Grandma's as I am thrown on the floor, covered in beads of broken glass.

Then, it all stops. For a second, everything is still, and then I can hear Mom trying to breathe with two collapsed lungs, a high pitched whistling, wheezing sound coming out of her throat. I know what is going to happen. A bus driver is going to call an ambulance. It's going to feel like an eternity until they arrive and use the jaws of life to get my mother out of the car. They're going to separate us, taking her to one hospital, and me to another, where Grandma and I will pray for hours, worried the whole time because we are unable to get any information on my Mom. Mom will live, but her doctors aren't going to be able to figure out how. She's going to be in terrible pain for the rest of her life, and she's always going to be discriminated against because her disability is invisible.

Except, this time, there is no bus driver. Instead, a tall man in dark clothing comes to the window and calls her name. I can see two of my mother, one overlapping the other. The bottom one is wheezing and struggling to breathe. The top one is looking at the man. He holds out his hand, and she cringes away from him.

The man howls in fury, pounding on the outside of the car, bellowing that no one escapes him, and it's her time. I realize that what I'm seeing is some kind of monster trying to steal my mother's soul out of her body. I climb out of the broken window, onto the hood of the other car, and scramble across. I throw myself onto the tall man, kicking and punching, trying to defend her. He tries to shove me away, and I grab on tighter. I can see the bus driver who is supposed to come to the window and then call for help. He's trying to calm the kids on the bus, who are yelling and pointing at us. I let the man push me away. I drop to the ground, crouch down, and grab his knee, pulling so that he loses his balance and falls. When he does, he drops out of the kids' line of sight, and they get quiet. The driver gets out of the bus, and starts walking toward the car.

The man tries to get up, and I start stomping and kicking at him, intent on keeping him away from Mom's door. I'm screaming and yelling, "No! You can't have her!" over and over, as he keeps shouting her name and telling her she has to come. When he tries to sit up, I tackle him and try to hold him down, biting into his arms and shoving my knee into his gut, anything I can do to save Mom.

I can hear sirens coming in the distance, but it seems to be taking forever, prolonging the wrestling match for my mother's life. The man, who is bigger and stronger than me, finally pins me to the ground, looking triumphant. Before he can do anything else, the EMS is there, ripping open the car and taking my Mom out into the ambulance. I've delayed him long enough; she's going to make it.

Enraged, the man glares at me, calls me a thief, and tells me that I owe him, and one day he'll show up to collect.

*********************************

I'm sitting in a courtroom, next to a man in a suit. I figure out right away that the man is my lawyer. I'm accused of murdering a neighbor who I can clearly see is very much alive, sitting on the witness stand talking about how I "killed" her. I am thinking that this case should be dismissed, but my lawyer is actually arguing instead, questioning the woman's credibility based on flimsy crap that I know isn't going to stand up, instead of just pointing out that - hey, there she sits, alive, so I can't have killed her!

Witness after witness comes forward to describe heinous acts I never committed against this woman, acts that would be evident if I had, by anything from leaving scars to causing her death. By the end of the trial , I'm incredulous. I can tell by their faces that the jury is convinced I'm a brutal murderer.

They leave the room. I ask my lawyer why he didn't just point out that the woman is not dead. He tells me that doing so would violate her privacy rights, and that if she says she's dead, no one has the right to question that. Again, my jaw is hanging open. I ask, what about my right to a fair trial? Don't I have the right to have all of the facts presented in my defense? I'm told that no, if it involves someone's medical status as living or nonliving, I don't.

I ask how everyone can ignore the obvious, that she is up and moving, talking, coherent, and even testifying in the case. Isn't all of that evidence that she is not dead? According to my lawyer, only an expert such as a doctor is legally allowed to diagnose someone as being alive or dead. Since no such diagnosis was offered, the jury is required to disregard any evidence of the victim's living status.

Finally, the jury returns. The foreman reads off the verdict: Guilty.

Totally shocked, I sit and listen as the judge sentences me to be executed for my crime. The method of execution is that I am to be tied between two posts and chopped to death with a machete. Horrified, I turn to ask my lawyer how many appeals I have, but he's white as a sheet, and there's a bailiff grabbing him from behind. He tells me that he has to serve my sentence with me, and it's going to happen right now. He thought we'd won the case by proving that the woman had been caught lying repeatedly, but we've lost, and there is no appeal. I'm dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the courtroom by a large man. Outside the window, I can see three tall wooden posts. My family, sitting behind the defendant's table, are sobbing and holding each other. I feel like I am going to puke.

The big man starts shoving my hands into looped ropes that tighten around my wrists. I know if I don't get out of this, it's really going to happen. I'm going to feel that blade cutting into me over and over until I die.

I can hear the sharp, wet, squishy sound of the blade slicing into my lawyer, followed by his first of many screams. Another man grabs me, and I know it's too late. I'm done for.

*********************************

I'm at work, at my old job instead of my new one. It's about halfway through a full shift, and I'm getting hungry. I step into the back room and grab the quart of milk I bought to keep me going, and guzzle about half of it. When I come back out to the front counter, my coworker is crouched down on the floor, reaching for a dropped pack of cigarettes. She doesn't pick up the pack, but instead, stays in that position. I call her name. She doesn't answer. I get down to see if she's all right, and I see that her skin has kind of a gray tint to it. As I watch, her cheeks begin to crack and sag, and then her lips, and her lower eyelids. Her hair falls out, and her ears droop out to the sides. she falls over sideways. I back away, looking around for help, but there's no one.

I grab the phone and dial 9-1-1, listening to the phone ring on the other end. No one answers. I run to the cooler to get my boss. She's draped over the drinks, her flesh dripping down onto the floor. I flee the store, heading out to my car, which won't start. Cussing and slamming the door, I run the three blocks home to my apartment, passing wrecked cars and rotting neighbors along the way.

When I finally reach the complex, there's no one outside. I have no idea if people here are all right or not, because I've only seen people inside my store and outdoors. Bursting into the apartment, I see my husband and son sitting on the couches, watching anime online. Relieved, I start to tell them what is happening outside, but as soon as I start to talk, my son's jaw drops, and his tongue rolls out. My husband's lower eyelids begin to droop, and I notice that both of the guys are gray. There is hair all over the cushions around them, and bald spots are forming on their heads.

*********************************

I'm in a shopping mall. It's really crowded, like around the holidays. Everywhere I go, people are staring at me with angry looks on their faces. Whenever I'm not actively shopping, they're running into me on purpose. I'm trying to avoid being in the hallway outside the stores very much. At least when I'm shopping, the other patrons leave me alone.

I find something that I want to buy, take it to the counter, pay, and walk out of one store, headed for another. When I get into the hallway, all of the people there converge on me. Someone takes my bag and runs. I try to go after him, but there are dozens of hands on me, people hitting and kicking, biting, and spitting on me.

I'm screaming and struggling, but I end up on the floor. I realize I'm going to be trampled to death, but I have no idea why everyone is so mad at me. The only feeling I have is that I'm an outsider, and they're attacking because I'm not one of them.

*********************************

That was the last remotely coherent dream I had last night. After that, it descended into a night of faces and noises, and the feeling of things pinching and biting me. I kept almost waking up, then finding myself confronting yet another horror. The last thing I remember before waking was having a sleep paralysis dream where I was in my bed, but I couldn't move. I could see part of the room, but not the whole thing because I couldn't turn my head. Off to the side, I knew there was something waiting for me to stop paying attention so it could attack and eat me. 

All day today, I've been haunted by last night's experiences, mostly the decaying dream and the car accident, with the feelings from the night of the accident cropping up at bad times, like when I was working with customers. 

Recurring nightmare: Indefensible

I haven't been sleeping much lately. My schedule is way weird right now - working night shift for two weeks at the job I'm leaving, so that I can work days at my new, lower stress job. There isn't much room for sleep. I've had broken dreams, odd things that seem to disappear as soon as I wake, and one really upsetting one I can't really express. So, here's one that I've had many times before, and will probably have again.

I'm at an event. I'm not sure exactly what is occurring, but the area in which it is happening includes a big portion of the small town where I grew up. There seem to be multiple things going on, including a cross-country race that winds around the entire grounds.

On the ground in front of me is a great big guy. He's battered, severely injured, and unconscious. I know that I'm the one who did it, but I don't know why. I feel like I was pushed or trapped into it doing this, but I know I'll still be held accountable for it regardless, because from the appearance of his injuries, I didn't stop beating on him right away after he was down.

There are people nearby who heard the fight and are coming to see what is wrong. I back away rapidly from the man, trying to hide in the bushes before they see me. I realize I'm covered in his blood. If I don't get out of here, I'm going to be in huge trouble. I run away from the scene, barreling through a maze of snack trailers and equipment until I reach an area that seems to be outside of the event. If I can get a little further away, I might be able to make it home without being detected.

I hide between trashcans to avoid a police car driving by, then run down a series of alleyways toward my parents' house. The whole time, I'm sure someone is following me, but I can't see anyone. Finally, I get there, only to find that my whole family has gathered in the kitchen and is waiting for me. When I enter the house, they lecture me and say they are ashamed of what I've done. I beg them not to say that, telling them that what happened wasn't something I planned ahead, or even did on purpose, just a response to a situation that was inflicted upon me by the victim.

My father tells me that the man died from his injuries, that I punched him so hard in the chest that I stopped his heart. There are tears in Dad's eyes, and he asks me, "Do you have any idea how much force that takes?"

I don't know, but I figure it's a lot. I am filled with dread, realizing I've taken a life. The horror of it doesn't all dawn on me at once... at first, I just feel sorry that the man is dead, and guilty over being the cause. Then, I realize that there will be others affected by his death, people who loved him. And having killed him is a terrible crime. I'll be convicted and sentenced. I could even be sentenced to die as punishment, even with extenuating circumstances. As the reality of the situation begins to weigh on me, my family advances upon me and I understand that they mean to turn me in to the authorities. I turn to run, head out the door, and flee across the yard, pursued by everyone.

This is when I usually wake, feeling despondent, thinking about what to do next and how to survive, knowing that I would either have to hide forever, or turn myself in and face the criminal justice system. Upon waking, this dream stays with me, usually for at least a day, sometimes two or three, causing a sense of impending doom, and strong feelings of guilt, anxiety, and depression.

Just a dream

I can't even describe this one. I have the words, just not the fortitude, or the heart.  I came out of it with this. This is all I can do.

EDGE

Baleful Craving
Echoing, pilfering
Wanton entreaty
Softened screaming
Heavy whisper
Nudging, edging
Trudging, hedging
Pushing, pulling
Rending, Seething
Exposed, unguarded
Dropping, falling
Down and away
Rattling on
Settling in
Infinitely bound
Unheeded, unheard
Unnoticed, unwanted
Unseen, unclaimed
Unclean, undone

Socialite

I'm laying in a big, wide bed with a thick comforter and fat pillows. It definitely isn't my bed at home.


I'm by myself, but with all of the pillows and the thick comforter, this is really cozy. I curl up and start to doze. I hear the door of the room I'm in open, then click shut. I'm so sleepy, it's hard to open my eyes. I try to turn toward the sound of the footsteps coming toward me, but it takes too much effort. The blanket feels heavy on top of me, and my limbs feel heavy with fatigue. I am anxious about the situation, but I can't move any better than this. I feel someone large climb onto the bed, sliding in behind me. One arm snakes under my neck, so that my head rests against a shoulder. The other arm slides around my waist, and I'm locked in someone's embrace. I feel the pillow dip above my head as someone shares it with me, and a pair of knees curl up behind mine, and a pair of feet tuck in beneath mine. Now, I'm spooning with a completely unknown, very tall person. I am simultaneously drawn to and repelled by this woman. Being snuggled up to by her feels warm and cozy, creepy, and somehow terribly threatening. I'm completely spooked by this.

She starts speaking quietly to me. "Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat, if you'd like." There is an unmistakeable lilt of intent in her voice that makes the statement more innuendo than an offer to warm the room. She punctuates the statement with a soft kiss on my temple. Goosebumps erupt all along my arms, on the back of my neck, and down my legs. My nerves jangle, and my stomach lurches. I'm really an affectionate person. I really am. But this makes me want to bolt and jump out the nearest window.

She says, "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you this time. I won't, if you don't struggle." 

Somehow this does not make me feel better at all. The only impression I get from her statement is that if I do struggle, she will hurt me. How is that supposed to be comforting? I find myself stiffening up, holding myself in position, waiting for whatever comes next. She tightens her embrace, pressing me against her like I'm going to disappear. I realize that I can disappear. I'm asleep. All I have to do is wake myself up.

I hear her speaking again as I focus really hard on not being there. She says, "You should just relax. You're not going anywhere until you tell me..."

I sink my own teeth into the side of my wrist, hard.

At this point, the dream didn't end, but the scene kind of changed abruptly. At the time, it didn't feel weird for that to happen. It went just like a scene change in a movie, except that the viewer (me) forgot the previous scene while experiencing the next one.

I'm in a big dining room with a long, dark wooden table and lots of chairs. No one else is in here but me.

The table is set with an amazing spread of food. Pretty much everything I've ever tried and liked is there, with generous servings of my favorite things.It's as if this has all been set out for me.

In the distance, I can hear music playing quietly. It's loud enough that I can catch bits of it, and it sounds pleasant enough, but it's too quiet for me to identify what's playing. Finding out doesn't feel important, though. I have noticed that although there is a great banquet on this table, there are no place settings at all, not even one.

A woman about my age comes into the room. She's dressed in a long, dark skirt and a high-necked white shirt with long sleeves. Her dark hair is put up in a little bun in the back of her head. On her head is a little cap that is kind of like a tiara made of eyelet lace. She's shorter than me, and very fine-boned, with small wrists and hands, and a pointy little chin. Her eyes seem a bit large for her face. The effect reminds me of something between an anime character and a precious moments doll.

In her hand is a string. There's a knot where the ends were tied together, but another part of it has broken, so instead of a circle, it's just hanging limply from her fingers. She looks very worried and upset.

I ask if she's ok, and she tells me she's in big trouble. She's supposed to set the table for supper, but she can't get into the china cabinet, because she's lost the key. She holds up the string. She's got this wide-eyed look of sadness and fear that tugs at my sympathy strings and makes me want to help. I ask if it's shiny, or if the metal is oxidized. She says I'd know it if I saw it. I ask if she's retraced her steps looking for it, and she nods. Thinking about how I am when I've lost something, and how I miss important details when I'm searching frantically for something, I ask her to show me. Maybe I will spot something that her nerves made her overlook. She nods again, and motions for me to follow her out of the room.

I walk behind her, glancing around the dark hardwood floor to see if I spot anything shiny, but there's nothing. Out in the hallway, the lighting is not so good, because there are no windows. I'm watching along the floor to see if there's anything, but the hallway is spotless. Whoever cleans this place is meticulous and diligent. There isn't even dust in the corners. We walk nearly to the end of the hallway, where there is a stairway. It goes up to a landing, then turns back and goes the rest of the way up over our heads. Under the first half of the stairs is a door to what I assume is a closet.

As I wait for her to open the door, I recognize this place. I have been here recently, at a party. I can't quite remember it. When I try, I run into kind of a fog, instead. But it's not important right now. Right now we need to find that key. She turns the handle and pulls, and I find myself looking into a very short hallway. Off to the right is a small storage alcove under the stairs, but three feet from the door is another doorway leading into what looks like a pantry.

The maid I'm helping steps inside, motioning me to follow. When I enter, she shuts the door, then reaches across and slides another door shut across the other doorway, and suddenly it's pitch black in here. I feel myself shoved into the little alcove. I trip backward and fall to a sitting position on top of a large box. I smell cinnamon and sugar, but it's more like a put-on scent than like real food, and then I realize I can hear her breathing in my ear. Her face is right next to mine.

She whispers frantically. "There isn't any time. Just believe that I know you. Don't eat, and don't let her find that key."

I feel something brush against my hand. Before I can pull away, she has put the string around my wrist.

"Don't forget."

I ask, "What should I do? Who are you? How do you know me?" but the door opens. In the dim light, I can see that I'm alone in here. I step out into the hall and close the door, then make my way back to the dining room. The table is set with plastic plates and picnic utensils instead of china and silver. There are red plastic cups instead of glasses, and paper napkins. There's an incredibly tall woman with really long, silvery gray hair, standing on the other side of the room, looking out of the window. She tells me to sit anywhere, and apologizes for the poor service, which I take to mean the table setting. I feel bad for not helping the maid find her key. The gray lady sounds almost really pissed, but not quite - it sounds more put-on than genuine. It's like she wants me to think she's pissed, but really, she's not.

Several other people come into the room, and sit around the table. There are a few empty spots left. One is next to a guy I kind of recognize from the last time I was here, so that is the spot I choose. The maid I was helping before comes in, along with four other ladies dressed just like her. She is the shortest and smallest of the bunch. She looks around the table, her eyes passing over me with no hint of recognition. The tall woman turns and sits at the head of the table. Her face really does not match her hair at all. She looks like she can't be more than 40 years old, maybe even as young as 30. I wonder what made her go gray so young. She smiles at all of us, and then tells the maids to serve the guests

In the back of my mind is a nagging sense of wrongness. I should not be here at this table with these people. None of this is what it is made to appear to be. This isn't a dinner party. These people aren't guests. I don't think any of them can leave.

The maids begin offering servings of all of the various items on the table. The petite maid fills my plate with several items, then surreptitiously moves some of it so that it looks like I've been eating. One of the bigger maids, a tall, younger girl who outweighs me, is blocking my view of the hostess at that moment, so I can't tell if she notices, but I suspect that she can't see me either. The man in the seat next to me sees, though. He gives me a nod and a wink, and hands me my empty spoon. He puts his empty spoon in his mouth, then remarks how delicious the soup is. I follow suit, and agree with him. The taller maid stands up straight, and I can see a triumphant look on the face of the hostess.

The dinner is painfully awkward, with stilted conversation, and frequent questions about how much I like this or that item on the table. I profess to have tasted and enjoyed everything on my plate, and after an appropriate amount of time, I state that I've been served too enthusiastically, and I just can't eat any more. I'm stuffed. The hostess mentions dessert, and I decline, faking a hiccup and managing to even make myself burp a little.

She looks impatient, and the charade seems to be over. Everyone pushes their seats back. My partner in crime gives me a sympathetic, but conspiratorial and approving look, but follows suit. I also push my seat back. As the guests all stand up, the maids begin clearing the plastic ware. The hostess glares at them, then looks right at me and says, "It's too bad you couldn't find the key."

Startled, I look down at my hands, still folded in my lap. I didn't realize she knew I was looking.

That's when I see it. On the inside of the my wrist, the one the maid tied the string around, is a small tattoo of a fancy looking old-fashioned key. My heart jumps into my throat. I know that I can't open the china cabinet with my wrist, but somehow I'm sure that the tattoo is a real key. I have the key this woman is looking for. She knows I have it. She knows I've forgotten what it is, and she's trying to make me remember so she can take it from me.

I compose my face with a look of disappointment, allowing enough nervousness to show to let her think I'm feeling like I screwed up by not getting it for her. I tell her that maybe it's missing because of how clean the house is. Maybe after it fell, it was swept up, and ended up in the trash. This is rewarded with a look of annoyance that's downright scary. She stands up, and everyone scatters. The maids all run out of the room. She leans down and puts her hands on the table, looking right at me, and says, "Do you think I'm STUPID?"

I look back at her, not knowing what I'm going to do until I hear myself speak. "Well, do you think I am?"

Inside, I'm thinking, Oh, God, I've just pissed her off... she's going to kill me right now! Why did I say that to her? On the outside, though, I seem to be completely calm and composed. My hands are folded in my lap, with the key tattoo down. My gaze is steady, and I'm not shaking. I'm the only one in the room who hasn't gotten up. Most of the other guests are leaving. The man from beside me is standing in the doorway. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn't look relaxed. The maids are hovering in another doorway, all looking terrified, except the petite lady who gave me the string. She's got a very serious, measured look on her face.

It feels like something is about to happen, and the two of them are ready for it, but I really am not. I want out of this.

My hostess stops what she's doing, turns away from me, and goes back to the window. She seems to be composing herself.

"It's a shame," she says. "I really like using the items in that cabinet."
Then, "You should get some rest, after such a big meal. You must be getting sleepy."

I turn and look at the maid. She nods, and I agree that it's time for me "to retire." I say, "It's been a long day."

My hostess glances backward at me and gives me a cocky smile. She says, "Better get used to it, if you're going to be so stubborn. You can get out of this any time you want, you know."

When I leave the room with the maid, we go up those stairs, back into the bedroom from the beginning of the dream. As soon as I lay down in the bed, I found myself awake in my home. 


This is the second dream I've had where the setting was that house, and I'm repeatedly dreaming about this tall woman with the gray hair. I'm curious to see what is behind this, but at the same time, it's scary. I feel like there's something really not up-front about her, and I'm not going to like her when I find out what it is.


About the key, I'm intensely curious and confused. I don't have any tattoos at all. None. I also don't have any kind of physical key like the one in the tattoo. I have my car keys, my apartment keys, and that's it. I woke with the feeling that the key on my wrist was an indication of something that I all ready know, and should be able to remember, but for some reason, I don't. Whatever it is, I feel protective of it, like it's important that the gray haired lady doesn't get it.


I dozed again after that, and I don't remember dreaming about anything, but when my husband woke me to say goodbye in the morning, I did something totally uncharacteristic of our relationship before I was totally awake. I took a swing at him like he was there to hurt me. I've never, ever done that. Not to him. 


When I was younger, only a very limited few people could get near me when I was sleeping. There wasn't a reason - there's nothing in my childhood I could point to and say, "This probably caused me to hit people in my sleep." It just happened, that's all, and it was bad. If anyone but immediate family or my best friend tried put a hand on me, even just to nudge me awake, I'd jump up and attack, knocking the person down, pinning him or her to the floor, and start beating on him or her until I actually did wake up. The only safe way for friends to wake me was to stand near where I was sleeping and stare for a few seconds. I'd wake with a start, but at least I didn't hit anyone.

It was my husband who got me over that. Unlike other people, he could approach and wake me, even before we were dating, with no problem. I guess I just always felt a connection to him. Since we've been married, I've gotten to the point where I don't have that reaction any more.


Except this morning. I had it this morning. That, over and above everything else in the dream, totally freaks me out.

I'm getting a bad feeling about this

I'm at a party where everyone is dressed nice. It's not formal, just not an everyday hang-out, either. I've kind of blown off the dressing nice thing, but not really. I fit in (mostly) but I'm not in anything that isn't comfortable.

I don't want to be here. This isn't a party at a friend's house. I don't know everyone, or even most of the people here. I hate social situations like this, but I'm handling it. On the outside, I look pretty normal, just another guest at the party, chatting about inconsequential things with a group of people I never met before. On the inside, it's pure torture. I'm sure I'm going to say the wrong thing at some point and look completely stupid, give these people something to make fun of for the rest of their lives, and embarrass the crap out of the party's host.

I don't even know whose party this is, or why I'm here. I must have come with someone. I excuse myself from the group and begin looking around.

As I wander through different rooms, I realize I don't know anyone here. I recognize some faces as people I've seen before, but not as people I've hung out with. Why the heck am I even at this party?

A guy approaches me and puts a hand on my shoulder. He leans in like we're old pals, greets me warmly, and gives me a hug. He knows my name, but I don't know his. When he pulls me into the hug, he puts his face right next to my ear, and speaks quickly and quietly. "Don't look now, but there's a lady following you. She's been staring at you all night. She seems to be trying to pretend her movements are random, but she's definitely focused on you."

The guy steps back from the embrace, gives my arm a squeeze, and tells me it was good to see me again, and to give his regards to the family. I thank him and say I will, and admonish him to do the same. We walk away from each other. I duck between some people, and through a doorway into another room, where I step to the side and put my back against the wall. I figure I'll wait and see who comes through the doorway, but no one does. I peek around the corner.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and from behind me, a voice says, right into my ear, "You don't remember me, do you?"

I spin around to see who is behind me, but there's just groups of people talking to each other. I back into the wall again and look around, trying to see everywhere at once. I notice there's someone moving rapidly away from me across the room. I try to get through the crowd to see who it is, but suddenly people seem to be bent on getting in my way. All I can see is the top of a head with dark hair moving through the doorway on the other side of the room. As I watch, it appears that the dark was a shadow, and the hair is actually white.

I get about to the middle of the room when my "friend" from before grabs my arm. He gives me a serious look, and says, "You don't want to go there. You'll only end up in trouble again. Don't let your guard down, kid." This guy is noticeably younger than me. Why is he calling me kid?

Before I can do anything, it's all just gone. I find myself in an empty, deserted, old, decrepit house with no lights, no music, no party. The room has the same layout, even some of the same furniture, but it's all falling apart. I look around the room, but there's nothing else remarkable about it.

I'm suddenly very anxious, butterflies in my stomach, an electric feeling in my chest. I want out of here. Which way was the front room? I go back through the door that led me into this room, trying to retrace my steps, but after a few more rooms, I can't remember which way to go. There are no windows in the room I'm in. I think, if I just keep going the same direction, maybe I'll get to a room with an outside wall.

I start running. I can hear other footsteps, but I can't tell where they're coming from. Sometimes, it sounds like they're over my head. Other times, it sounds like they're behind me, but there's no one there when I look. I keep going straight, through several doorways. I come to a long hallway full of  doors, with a door at the end, and a stairway. At the top of the flight, there's a landing, and the stairs turn and continue up over my head. I can just see someone's shoes, and the long legs of a pair of wide-legged pants. A hand rests on the rail. It's impossible to tell whether the person is male or female. The fingernails aren't long or nicely manicured, but the fingers are kind of long.

The voice that was behind me at the party calls down, "You might as well come up now. You know there's no way out of here."

For some reason, I find that terribly offensive. It should be up to me, shouldn't it? I decide where I want to go and what I want to do, who I want to associate with, and so on. I look at the door, then back up the stairs. I don't want to go up there, but for some reason, I do feel kind of drawn in that direction. I'm pretty sure that when I get up there, I won't find the owner of the voice, though, and that annoys me.

I turn and walk toward the door. From behind me, I hear, "I see. You're going to make this difficult again, aren't you?"

When I woke from this, it was still dark. I felt like I'd been chastised, like a little kid who just ignored a lesson recently learned or well learned. I was still really annoyed, like someone had been pushing my buttons, even though it was just a dream. I was still really tired, too. When I went back to sleep, I dreamed again.

I'm outside in the dark, surrounded by trees and smaller plants. There's something pulling on my hair. I grab for whatever it is, and find my fingers wrapped around a wrist. I find the fingers and pry them loose, only to have something grab the front of my shirt, make a fist, and slam me against a tree. The back of my head hits hard, pain shooting forward into my sinuses.

I throw my arms up in front of my face, but whoever I'm fighting with is more interested in my ribs. The hand I pried off of my hair digs in, fingers pressing into my flesh as if to tickle, but I'm not ticklish there, just really over-sensitive. It hurts. I involuntarily collapse at the knees, pushing at my opponent's arms with my hands. A jolt of energy goes through my belly from those fingertips, making my insides feel watery. I shove the hand away and try to dodge to the side, only to feel the other hand gripping my hair again.

I kick at my assailant's knees, but I'm not hitting anything. I'm yelling and panting now, and I can feel bits of bark and leaves getting under my clothes. Ignoring the pull on my scalp, I try to wrench myself out of the person's grasp. I put both feet on the ground, lean away from the tree, and thrust. Instead of escape, I find myself in a wrestling match, with my left hand pinned to the ground by the wrist, my head turned to the side, and the hand that was in my hair pushing my cheek into the dirt. I try to roll to the left, but the weight on top of me is really heavy.

A feeling of desperation takes over. I can't move freely, but I can turn my head just enough. I sink my teeth into the edge of the hand that is holding me down. From the darkness above me, the voice from the previous dream shouts in pain. I taste the salty flavor of human skin, then blood. My attacker jerks back away from me momentarily, letting go of my wrist, and pulling out of the grip of my teeth. I draw my knees up to my chin and thrust both feet out in front of me. I hit something - it feels like someone's chest - and then I hear a body hit another tree. There is a loud grunt in that same voice. I scramble to run away, but I hear footsteps coming after me.

I know I can't outrun whoever this is. My body aches from hitting the tree and the ground. My ribs are sore from being poked. I can barely stand up. I know I can pull energy. I'm in the woods. I gather what I can, with the lack of focus I'm experiencing right now. When I do, the footsteps stop, just short of the distance I can see. From the darkness, I hear that voice again. It sounds surprised and amused. "Are you serious? Who do you think you are?"

There is a blinding light in front of me. I know it's coming. I panic, and release everything at once, pushing an unfocused blast outward before me. I feel disconnected from everything, like I'm floating. In the distance, I hear that voice bust into a tirade of cussing.

I woke with sunlight in my face. I slept until well after sunrise. I don't do that very much - I'm still used to when I had to get up at 3:30 A.M. for work every day. It feels weird for it to be so late. I don't know what to think about this dream. I'll have to figure it out later, though. I have to go to work today.
This is going to really suck. I'm in so much pain right now.

She

I don't know how I got here. This place is huge. The halls seem endless. Every room holds something different... some just odd, some unfathomable. I can't remember which way to go if I turn back the way I came. I remember being in different rooms, but all I can bring up in my mind is a series of cloudy, strange images. I know there was something outside. It had one huge eye in the middle of its face... I remember running away from it. I don't know if I was looking out of a window, or if I ran in here to escape the thing. I remember being so scared...

I don't want to go back. I don't want to go forward, either, but I don't want to be stuck here forever.

There is another door in front of me. I think about continuing on down the hallway to my right, but my hand reaches forward and grasps the handle. It's almost an independent act. It's like sitting in a theater, watching a horror movie. I'm thinking, "NO! Don't go in there! That's where the thing is that's going to get you!"

The door edges open. I feel my feet moving forward. I can hear something moving on the other side. My heart is pounding hard. There is that electric, terrified feeling in my chest. I don't want to see it. Horrible images of dead things and toothy, sharp-clawed monsters are playing in my head. It's going to eat me, and I'm going to feel every... single... bite.

I can't stop. I can't control my feet, as they propel me forward, stepping through the doorway, walking slowly into the room against my will. Tears leak from my eyes. I can hear a soft moan... it's coming from me. I'm unable to control that, either. I feel like a coward for reacting to the fear.

Shame joins the terror, and all of the tears flow...

but... it's not a monster.

She's an inch or two shorter than I am... very curvy, pale, with deep red hair, and wide, dark eyes, wearing some kind of flowing, low-cut, top that makes her look kind of gothic, or maybe witchy. The look she gives me could only be described as soft... maybe kind. A low, quiet voice rolls out of her full, dark lips. "Don't cry... now, it's not like that. You went into the bad rooms, didn't you?"

I am rooted to the floor. I feel hope, but I'm still afraid. She's shockingly beautiful. She seems so sweet, but when she realizes what a coward I am, she's going to be disgusted with me. I bet she sees the things I'm afraid of all the time.

She steps forward, holding her arms out to me. Unable to move, I watch her approach, feel her fingers on my arms. I watch her face for signs of a change in attitude toward me. I can't even wipe the tears from my cheeks.

Sympathy creases her brow, and my heart pounds again. She's seen my weakness. She's not going to help me. I'm not good enough.

Instead, one hand eases up and wipes the wetness from my face, brushes my hair back, and rests on the back of my head.

"Come here," she says, but she comes to me. I'm drawn into an embrace. Her arms are strong but gentle. A warmth spreads through my chest as I finally begin to feel confident. I'm not going to be rejected, and I don't have to go back out to the scary part of the house. I don't have to confront another monster. The paralysis begins to fade, and I am able to return the embrace. Relief floods through me as I raise my arms, wrap them around her and let her pull my head down to rest on her shoulder, and she lays her rounded cheek on mine.

I begin to relax, pulling tighter into the hug, just before her teeth sink deeply into my throat with a wet, crunching sound like someone biting into a juicy apple... and a moan of total satisfaction.

I don't even know how to begin interpreting this, except that I've been terribly stressed over so many things lately, and I'm currently very worried about someone I love. I guess my mind decided it was time for a total, nonsensical kick in the ass.

Managing to scare the crap out of me

I arrive at work at 9:50 A.M., ten minutes before my schedule says I am supposed to be there. It had originally said 11:00 A.M., but I received a call from the second shifter (on his cell phone, after work) telling me my boss had changed it late in the evening so that she could write me up the next day for being late. At home, I have written down what time she did it, because she was dumb enough to do it on camera. In the meantime, she doesn't expect me to be there yet.

I walk in, take a moment to purchase something to drink (which I always do because at the register, I'm talking almost nonstop with greetings, how-can-I-help-you, and the like) and then head into the backroom to clock in. My boss, having forgotten that she changed the schedule, yells at me for being early. I tell her that the schedule says 10:00 A.M., or rather 1D:00 A.M. after she changed it last night. She insists that I changed it, and I'm not supposed to be in yet. Two other employees are in the room, so she can't really go back on what she's saying. I point out that the spot where the schedule hangs is on camera, so corporate will be able to see who touched it and who did not. She glares at me.

I ask if she wants me to go home (just down the street) for an hour and return at 11:00. She says no, and actually says it's so I can't write to my rep at the labor board about the discussion. I point out that since it happened right when I walked in the door, I'm going to remember what time it was. I can just write to him when I get home.

She has me clock in at 9:59, and tells me that since I'm here for an extra hour, I can get some of the grunt work done. She sends me to clean the restrooms, with the admonition to knock first.

I grab the cleaning equipment and head that way. I walk directly from the office, out around the cash registers, and back to the restrooms. Our store is small, so the office and the restrooms share a wall and some plumbing. There is a big sink against that wall in the office. In the restrooms, the toilets are against that wall.

I decide to do the ladies' first because someone is in the men's. I prop the door open and work in the tiny room. I never let the door shut while I'm working in there because the chemical smell gets to me. The ladies' room is never too bad. The worst we usually see is someone not wrapping a sanitary napkin, but I've gotten good at using the end of the broom to scoop that into the trash without touching it. There is nothing like that in here this time.

As I'm finishing the ladies', I hear the occupant of the men's getting paper towels to dry his hands. The dispenser is really loud when you're on the other side of the wall from it - sounds like someone's trying to bang their way through. I bring the equipment out of the ladies' and wait in the hallway. The guy comes out, shuts the door, and walks out past me. Out of habit, I knock anyway. Of course, there is no answer.

I open the door to the men's room, but instead of the sink, toilet, and paper dispensers that should be there, there is a stone stairway going down into a dark hole. Smells of waste and musty dampness waft up from below. I feel a sense of trepidation. I don't want to go down there. I'm looking for a light switch in the doorway, but it's gone. I ask my co-worker for a flashlight, but she ignores me and makes light conversation with a customer instead. Everyone is giving me sideways glances, like some kind of a prank has been pulled and they're waiting for my reaction.


I decide to start down the stairs. As soon as I set foot on the first step, there is a loud roar.

 

I can't tell what it is. It goes right through me and down the hall to my left, then disappears in the sunlight from the windows. I jump back to get away from it. Everyone is looking at me now. Another co-worker tells me, "You shoulda knocked!" 

I reply, "I DID knock. That wasn't some guy in the restroom. Come and look at this!" I point into the cavernous stairwell, only to realize it's gone. There is no stone. There are no steps, no dark cavern below. There's just an ordinary restroom, with all of the expected facilities. It's a horrible mess. The last user has left waste on the floor, the seat, the back of the toilet, and the wall beside it. There is wet toilet paper everywhere, and something gooey-looking all over the sink and mirror. My coworker ignores me. 

I prop the door and grab a bucket of hot water and some paper. I put up a sign that says the men's is temporarily out of order. Thank goodness there's a drain in the middle of the floor!

I start using the bucket to rinse down the wall and the toilet, using the mop to keep the water flowing down that drain. I continue in this manner until the debris is gone, then glove up and scrub the offending areas, including the sink and mirror. I try to do this without looking at the reflection, because I still have a weird feeling about this room. I mean, I really have the heebie-jeebies. I know if I look, I'll see something bad, or something bad will happen.

Once I'm satisfied that the place is clean, I spray the whole room down with sanitizer, then pour some sanitizer-water down that drain to follow the waste and keep it from smelling. Finished, I turn to leave the room, only to see a hand move my doorstop. The door closes. I hear the light switch click, and suddenly there is no light.

I am not claustrophobic, but in the darkness in this room that has changed, I am terrified. Certain that there is something in here with me, I stumble toward the door. Instead of finding it, I hit something low with my foot, trip, and fall onto a set of stone steps going up. 

Oh, my God... I'm at the bottom of the stairs! I shriek and start climbing. I can hear something breathing behind me. Warm, dank air blows across the back of my head, and there is a horrible, low growling noise. Far away somewhere, I can hear someone yelling that the power is out, and the registers aren't working. Somehow, I know that it's happening because of the evil thing that is chasing me.

I scramble toward the top of the stairs, hoping that the exit is there. I can hear something moving behind me, and then there is that roar again. I feel something sharp hit my shoulder and slice down my back. At the same time, I see the door. It looks like always, a bland colored, enamel covered door with a metal handle. I grab the handle, turn it, and shove my way through. As soon as I am out, the lights come on and the restroom goes back to normal. Someone shouts that the registers are working again.

I walk through the store toward the back room. No one seems to have heard me scream, or at least no one is paying any attention to me now. They're all trying to rush through checkout and get on their way. In the back room, I start to put the equipment away, but am interrupted by my boss yelling at me. She's accusing me of having deliberately walked in on her, and says she's going to complain to corporate. 

I point out that since she was in the backroom when I headed for the restrooms, there was no way for her to go past me without my knowing, and, since she had just sent me in there, it was dishonest of her to say I walked in on her. She wasn't in there, and if she'd gone in there, she'd done so knowing she'd just told me to go in there. Not only that, but I'd knocked, and no one had answered. I remind her that the back room is on camera, the part of the store she'd have had to walk through is on camera, and the hallway is on camera. She tells me that the camera to the hallway has been taken out. 

She shows me a door in the wall between the restrooms, and tells me it goes to the men's. Momentarily ignoring the senselessness of that, I repeat that even if she went through that door, it still amounts to deliberately setting things up so I would walk in on her, and it would still be on camera. Also, jumping out at me like that was rude and unnecessary. I tell her that I should be the one complaining to corporate, because putting me in that position is a form of sexual harassment. As I turn to walk away from her, I hear the same growl I heard in the transformed restroom. I turn back, and she says, "You might want to check the back of your shirt. It's a bit torn."

I go to the ladies and turn my back to the mirror. I turn my head as far as I can to see four huge slices in my shirt. Beneath them, I can see that my back is bleeding. As I am looking, I can see that monster coming up beside me in the mirror. I turn to face it, but there's nothing. I hear banging in the men's room again, and the door to the ladies' starts to swing shut. I jump toward it.

I wake without finding out if I get out of the restroom.

After waking up, I laid in bed for several minutes wondering what the heck that dream was for. My boss hasn't been too grouchy the last few days since the district manager talked to her and then ordered me to stop documenting the harassment. I suspect that he ordered her to tone down the abuse. She did give me all of the heavy work yesterday, something she's been doing a lot since I reported the store to OSHA, but she hasn't changed my schedule without notice since that day.

Also, I'm really not that bothered by cleaning up messes in the men's room, and sadly, the mess in the dream wasn't some bizarre nightmare image. It's actually quite common for there to be a mess that bad after one of our male customers has been in there. Only the dungeon-like setting was abnormal. I have no idea where that came from. With the way I feel about work, I'd think I would be more likely to associate it with the back room, where the boss spends most of her time.

The claws are easier to explain. My back is still sore this morning from the heavy work my boss had me do yesterday. There really is no ergonomic way to lift full, heavy bags of trash out of 39 gallon cans. The few other female employees who sometimes (rarely) do the trash get help with this, but I do not. According to my boss, it's because I'm stronger than the other girls. When I point out the danger of injury, she "reminds" me that to apply for the job I had to say I could lift 70 pounds. I then have to remind her that when I applied, the app only said 50 pounds, and that the suction in the trash cans acts like more weight than the trash actually has. 

Since I'm not allowed to lay the can on its side (she calls that beating up the can) so that the bag will settle and air can get in around it, it feels like I'm pulling 100 pounds of dead weight out of that can. She has all ready told me that if I get injured "doing the trash" she's going to put in the paperwork that I've refused assistance with it, even though in reality I've been asking for assistance and she's refusing my requests. I feel like she's deliberately trying to injure my back so I'll have to file another Worker's comp claim, and she can say it's a habit or something. Either that, or she is using "crap duty" to retaliate against me for defending myself against the discrimination I've been facing on the job. I know she is not trying to get rid of me, because she is aware that I cannot just quit. In this economy, there is no place else to go.
I've concluded that the harassment is more of an attempt to dominate and control than to repel.

Yesterday, she did set me up like in the dream, but not with the restroom. She told me to work in the cooler, knowing that doing so required a jacket, then she yelled at me for taking the time to put one on before going in there because she wanted privacy in the back room for a phone call to corporate. I pointed out that I was in there because of her order, and that everyone wears a jacket in the cooler. She got mad and stormed out of the room.

I guess the stress is really just getting to me. This has to be one of the strangest work nightmares I've had yet. I guess now I'm dreaming that my boss is the boogie man.