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

Reprieve

I'm not a greatly experienced lucid dreamer. I've tried, but there have been so many distractions in my life for the last few decades that I just don't get the right focus going. I have achieved a few things. Even though I don't always know I'm dreaming - in fact, usually I don't know it's a dream - I have developed the ability to recognize the dream state as a place where I have "powers" even though I am not consciously aware of the fact that I'm asleep. As seen in some of my other dreams, I can fly, I can draw "energy" from my surroundings, and I can use it to fight. When I reach the border of awareness between knowing I can affect the dream, and knowing that it is a dream, I can alter my own physical form and control the actions of others. (And yes, in high school I used this to dream I had bigger boobs. Wouldn't you?) I believe that the evolution of these capabilities has occurred somewhat due to the nightmares themselves - I had to fight back, or lose my mind entirely. The result is that without knowing I'm not acting in everyday waking reality, I don't have any problem with doing and witnessing things that I would not expect to work the same way in the waking state.   

I have no idea why I'm walking in the downtown area in the middle of the night, or why it's so deserted. This place is never quiet. The few times I've had to drive through here, there have always been other cars, and people walking. Tonight, there's nobody. The entire street is empty. I can hear my footsteps echoing around me up and down the street.

My legs ache really badly, like I've been walking for a long time, or in some other way overexerted them. The worst pain is in my groin muscle on the right side. I have a vague memory of taking over-the-counter medicine for it, but there hasn't been much relief from that. Looking down, I realize that my boots may be part of the reason why I'm hurting so much. They're really cool looking hard-soled boots, high black leather, with buckles and studs up the outside, and big, square four inch heals. The tops are hidden by the dress I'm wearing, which goes below the knee. These boots are heavy. As I walk, they sound almost like horse's hooves on the pavement. I love these and wonder where I got them, but for walking like this, I wish I had my sneakers. I wonder why I am dressed like this? This dress looks like an adult version of a little girl's party or Easter dress, only it's black. I recognize the style - it's an attempt at a Lolita look, but the boots are totally wrong, and there's no parasol, no gloves. This is not how I would do that look. Did I even dress myself, or did someone else pick this out for me? I have to get out of here.

I know that I'm on my way to where my van is parked. There's a lot down the street. I must have paid to park there. Still, something about this seems really off. It feels manufactured, like a movie set. Why would I even be alone in the downtown area after dark? There's nothing here for me to do. Behind me is the courthouse. Down the street are bars I don't patronize, hotels where I don't stay, and stores where I don't shop. There's a bank where I don't have an account. There's absolutely nothing here that I would seek out. Feeling a sense of unfocused wrongness, I start pulling energy, and I realize it doesn't feel like "downtown" energy. It feels like I'm pulling from my own neighborhood. I quickly use the energy to make a shield around myself, and then begin reinforcing it. I have a bad feeling that I'm being watched. I need to take note of my surroundings.

Looking around, I realize I've walked beyond where I meant to go. I've crossed the street west of the courthouse, and gone down the block. I'm now in front of the parking garage instead of where I meant to be. I should have crossed the street to the south to get to the lot. I can see my van there, but I can't cross here. Even though it's deserted, with my luck, if I try to jaywalk, that would be the one time there would be a car, and I wouldn't see it in time. Is that the malevolence I'm facing, that I'm going to be hit by a car trying to get home?

I turn around to go back, trying to watch everywhere at once. Even this feels manufactured. Why don't I remember crossing the street?

As the thought hits me, a shadow runs out of the parking garage and approaches me rapidly. I put up a hand and shove a burst of what I've been pulling at it. The energy streaks forward like a lightning bolt, striking the figure in the chest and knocking it backward. I hear a loud, undefined "OOF" sound like I knocked the wind out of my assailant. I know I'm in trouble, though. I'm exhausted, still in pain from previous days' activities (which I can't remember) and having difficulty concentrating in these odd clothes and odd surroundings.

I back away from the shadow, focused on pulling more energy. The shadow bolts forward like a sprinter launching out of a set of starting blocks, heading right for me. Remembering a snippet from a recent conversation I can't place, I try putting the energy into my shield instead of an attack. I push the structure of it to form long spikes with the energy I'm adding. They pop out like the barbs on an inflating blowfish in a cartoon. As the shadow approaches, I push everything into that shield and those spikes, realizing suddenly that only I can see them.

He slams into the sharp ends with a gratifying crunch, and howls in pain. His voice, sounding very familiar, sends chills down my spine. Now that he's closer, I can see him, too. His appearance is totally deceptive. He's shorter than me, and abnormally thin, with wiry, sinewy arms and legs. His hair sticks out everywhere, hanging around his face and shoulders like it's never been in the same room with a comb. His face is kind of heart shaped, with a small, pointy chin, a small, thin-lipped mouth that is sneering at me right now, a pointy little nose, and big, heavy-lidded, sleepy-looking, black-rimmed, very bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them that almost look like bruises. His top eyelids seem half-closed. His bottom eyelids hang open a bit too far, revealing the red flesh below his corneas. The effect looks like he put on way too much eyeliner, then pulled his eyelids down and they got stuck that way. Looking at it makes my eyes hurt. He has long, sharp, stained claws instead of fingernails. His ears are pointed at the top, the points sticking out through that mop of hair in two different directions. His hair covers his forehead, coming down over his eyebrows. He's dressed in dark clothes and wearing a jacket. Big, heavy soled boots stick out from under his pants. If he kicks me with those, it's going to hurt bad.

I don't know from where, but I know this guy, and I know that I really am in trouble. I feel my face betray my sense of recognition, my confusion, and my fear. He sees, and he smiles. The tiny mouth doubles its width in an awful, sneering grin, showing sharp but dingy teeth all the way back.

He's bleeding where the points of my shield stuck into his body. There are spikes broken off, sticking out of his shirt. He grabs one, pulls it out, and looks at it, then looks at me and says, "Nice."

He starts walking around me instead of toward me, looking at my shield, which he can apparently now see. I can see his gaze moving up and down, assessing, searching for something. When he starts to move around to the side, I turn to face him. He looks amused and says, "Only in the front, is it?" then disappears from my view.

I hear a noise behind me, and spin around just in time to take a blow to the side. He hits the shield again, this time with the palms of his hands, and this time there's a crackling, electric discharge all around me. He's not attacking me. He's attacking my shield. His jaw is set, his lips bunched together, and his eyebrows low over his eyes. I've made him angry.

The effect of his attack throws me into the air, tossing me several yards down the street. I try to control the fall, but I land on my back and hit my head on the sidewalk. I can still feel the energy snapping around me. My shield is still there, but it feels thinner. I hear him yell, "Well, what are you waiting for? Are you going to just stand there and watch?"

From behind me, I hear a feminine laugh. I know her. I've seen her recently. If she is here, I'm toast. I struggle to get up, my head feeling heavy, and my feet feeling tangled up in my boots. I try to turn over so I can get up from an all-fours position, since I can't seem to get my balance this way. I'm a hair's breadth from panic, scrambling sideways on the pavement, accidentally moving closer to the street.

I see her kneeling beside me, her face twisted in a look of mock sympathy, wrecked by the humor in her eyes. She says, "Awe, cut it out. He isn't that scary." With one finger, she pokes my shield, and it vanishes with a loud popping sound, and she says, "That's better." She grabs me with both hands, and wraps me up in a stranglehold that almost feels like it was meant to be a hug, except that I can't move, my chin is trapped against her chest, and she's squeezing me so hard she's hurting my neck. I can feel the zipper from her jacket pressing into my cheek. It feels like it's breaking the skin there. I think she's going to kill me.

All I can do is scream. I decide to try putting energy into that. I can't take a deep breath, but I take as much of a breath as I can, and let out the loudest war-whoop I can muster, pulling from the sidewalk beneath me and forcing the energy out through my voice. The effect seems to be as though she's been slugged in the jaw by a giant fist. She lets go and falls backward, her head smacking the sidewalk like mine did a moment ago. Forgetting my previous worry about traffic, I run into the street, continuing to draw energy and scream like mad. The tall woman rolls away from me and hides behind one of the concrete trash fixtures attached to the sidewalk.

The man who originally attacked is running toward her. She glares at him and yells, "Why did you dress her like that? Did you want her to blast me like that?"

He smacks her in the back of the head and shouts something that sounds entirely like gibberish. They both look mad. She points at me and yells back at him in gibberish. Her face is red. I think maybe while they're fighting, I can escape. I finish crossing the street, and begin sneaking off toward my van. I take 3 steps on the other side of the street, when he looks at me and yells, "No you don't!"

He doesn't move. Confused, I stop, just in time to feel something huge, hard, and heavy slam into me, knocking me into the air, flipping me sideways so that I can see I've been hit by a small sports car. I can see clearly through the windshield. There is no driver.

I am filled with total despair. I can't win this by myself. I wish I was back at the party where there was help.

As the thought crosses my mind, I hear a siren in the distance. It rapidly gets louder. Both of my attackers turn to look at it. I land in the street, and the car backs up off of the sidewalk and revs its engine. I try to focus on floating up in the air. I get about 4 feet off of the ground, but I can't go up any more. I feel heavy, and exhausted. I'm running out of options. I start to sink.

An ambulance pulls up behind me. I hear doors slamming, and footsteps. My male attacker's voice shouts "You! What do you think you're doing?"

I'm having trouble seeing what is around me. Everything is kind of blurred. I think maybe I have a head injury. I hear another familiar female voice say, "Careful. She's bleeding," and then there are a bunch of hands on my arms, hips, and legs, lifting me. I'm on a flat surface, moving. The female says, "Get her into the back." I hear shouting further away, and a bunch of different noises; crackling, buzzing, and booming sounds. The tall woman shrieks, and suddenly I feel freezing cold. I could swear that my blood has turned to ice. I hear the male from the ambulance yell, "You're fighting for the wrong team!" The tall woman shouts obscenities at him. Then, I'm inside, and the doors slam shut at my feet. Someone tells me to relax, that they can't get in here. I hear another door shut, and the siren starts again. The blur turns into dark. It feels like we're moving, and I'm nauseous for a moment.

I wake up laying on a hospital bed, in a small room with some living room furniture and a little refrigerator. There's no window, but there are pictures all over the walls, all of them very pretty, none of them containing people. Some of them are photos I've shot, but others I don't recognize. I'm dressed a lot more comfortably than before, in full-length, fuzzy, warm footie pajamas. I haven't had a pair of these since I was a little kid. Having them on brings back a host of positive memories and feelings. I'm cozy, cared for, and totally secure. I'm protected.

I sit up. My head still hurts, but not as badly. I can feel that there's a bandage wrapped around the injury. It's not wet, so that's good. I look at the floor. I'm afraid to just stand up without seeing where I'm putting my feet. Beside the bed, there's a pair of big, puppy fat slippers. Someone knows my feet get cold.

I slip my pajama-footed toes into the slippers, and stand up. I'm not dizzy, just tired.

I wonder if I'm locked in, or if I can leave this room. I try the door, and it opens to show what looks like a dormitory lounge. There are couches and chairs, coffee tables, and a snack machine. I step out, and look around. A familiar lady approaches me and states the obvious. "Oh, you're awake!"

I remember her in a different, more formal outfit from before, but she's dressed in scrubs now, with white pants and a shirt with different colored little flower prints on it. She asks how I'm feeling. I tell her my head hurts, but it's not bad, and I'm not dizzy any more, then ask where I am. She smiles at me and says the doctor will meet me in my room. She says she's glad I'm ok, but I should get some rest.

So, I'm in a medical facility. Ok. I see magazines and books on the coffee tables. I head for one of the couches, but when I do I can see out the window that my attackers from before are outside across the street. They look horribly pissed off, and are pacing back and forth, glaring at the building. As I watch, the male hurls some kind of energy ball at the window. I jump backward, almost slipping and falling, but the ball doesn't come inside. It hits the building with a loud bang, but doesn't seem to do any damage. I see the tall woman building up an energy ball in her hand, but the male shakes his head, and she lets it fade.

The "nurse" tells me I should go back to my room, where they can't see me. It'll be safer there. She walks me back there, wheeling a cart in front of her. In the room, I curl up on the couch. It doesn't seem to bother her that I've put my feet on the furniture. Instead, she puts a great big soup-bowl sized mug on the little coffee table in front of me and tells me to drink, and I'll feel better. When she goes, I notice a book on the table. I pick it up and open it. Inside are a bunch of cartoons and kitty-lolz I've seen and laughed at before, ones that really hit my funny bone. I pick up the mug and take a sip. It's beef broth with rosemary and onion, another favorite of mine.

I'm sitting on the cushy couch, feeling cozy and warm in these pajamas and slippers, sipping the very fortifying mix of beef infused with protective herbs, and perusing the book of my favorite jokes, when the "doctor," who I recognize as the man who helped me avoid the tall woman's traps the last time I saw him, comes into the room. He's dressed the part, wearing pressed gray slacks, shiny black shoes, a shirt and tie, and a white scrub jacket. He is even carrying a clipboard and a pen. I almost expect him to sit down and ask me, "...and how does that make you feel?"

Wait. I'm in a mental institution? Wait. It's not a real institution, is it? I'm not stuck here forever, right? Was I committed? Am I nuts? I look at him, but I'm afraid to ask that question.

He raises an eyebrow and says, "Don't ask me. You're the one who interpreted "asylum" this way. I didn't build it like this. I just did the pajamas and the food. I thought you'd like those better than a flimsy hospital gown and cafeteria food. Anyhow, you're safe here for now. They can't get in. You should get some sleep."

For a moment, I'm confused. Asylum?

He says, "You should get some rest while you can. Drink the broth, and get some sleep."

I am really tired. I want to ask questions, but I can feel sleep taking over. He stands, smiles at me, and leaves. I'm left with the broth and the book. I find myself gulping down the drink, emptying the cup rapidly. The couch is so comfortable, I don't want to get up, even though there's a bed to sleep in, and even though I have about 500 questions for that guy. I'm just so sleepy. I think I'll shut my eyes for a moment while I decide what to do.


I didn't even feel myself transition from dreaming to awake. One second, I was closing my eyes on the big, cushy couch in the mental institution from my dream, and the next, I was on the couch in my living room at home. I vaguely remember kissing my husband goodbye sometime after talking to the "doctor" from my dream, but that is kind of a blur. 

For the first time in days, I feel pretty good. I'm not exhausted. I'm still sore, but I have fibromyalgia, and this feels pretty normal for me. It feels like for once, I got a full night's sleep. I don't feel like I could take on the whole world, but at least I'm ready to take on the day. This isn't so bad.

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.

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.

Have a nice plate of WTF for dinner

I am out with my husband and our friends. We don't go out much just as adults, because we all have kids, but tonight each of us is able because our kids are all with family or friends on overnight visits.

We're someplace that serves food and alcohol, and has music. I am not drinking alcohol, but I've had something to eat. There is a very laid back atmosphere here. Some groups are quieter, just talking and laughing, but others are louder and more noticeable.

We are in a spot that has a restaurant style table and chairs, but also has an easy chair, a love seat, and a coffee table. The restaurant table is low, and so are the chairs that go with it. That makes all of the seating the same height.

We've moved the tables together and are all sitting around them in one big group. We're talking about plans for things our families are going to do during the next few months, trying to coordinate a few dates so we can get together with the kids for something like a cook-out.

The girls all get up to visit the restroom. I am asked to go too. My friends and I don't usually do that. We consider ourselves "big girls" who can go to the restroom by ourselves. I figure there is something they want to talk about.

We go in, and there's no one else in there. One of my friends starts talking about a problem that is kind of embarrassing, that she feels the rest of us who are a little older and more experienced might be able to help with. Each of us relates an experience with that issue, and offers some advice. Our advice all sort of matches up. Even though it's not all the same, each of us says something that would work with what the others are offering.

After the discussion, three of us actually use the stalls. The one who doesn't heads back to the group. The other two finish before me and also head back. I hear more people come in. I come out of the stall, to see my boss from work and a few of her friends looking at me. I had not seen them in the building prior to the trip to the restroom, but they tell me they have been here the whole time, and have been watching for the opportunity to get me alone.

I try to leave the restroom, and the friend who is a police officer grabs me by the arm. I try to pull out of her grip and she moves with my motion, slamming me up against the door. She leans back then, and throws me halfway across the room. Immediately, someone else grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and turns me over onto my belly. I can smell pee and chemicals on the floor. I try not to let my face touch it, but someone shoves the back of my head so that my cheek is right on the drain.

I feel a foot slam into my ribs. I can hear my boss yelling obscenities, and then something hits me in the back. I start randomly kicking my feet in as many directions as I can, and find something solid but soft. The hands on my arms let go, and someone falls on my legs, then slides off between them. I turn at the waist to try to get up, but my ribs hurt really bad. At the same time, a fist slams into my face. I pull the leg up on the side where the ribs aren't hurt, and kick the woman on the floor behind me right in the face. It turns out to be the cop.

My boss stomps a foot at my hand, which is on the floor next to her. She misses and hits my wrist. She loses her balance, and I try to scramble away from her. Instead, she regains her balance and kicks me in the ribs again. At the same time, someone else kicks me in the back.

I back up against the divider between two stalls. Someone has a grip on my hair, and pulls me up. I swing wildly at the person, who is off to my left, but instead of hitting her, I end up hitting the door of a stall. My boss drives both of her fists into my gut like a boxer, and I double over and fall to my knees. She begins pounding on my back. Her friends are kicking and punching me too. There are at least four people beating on me. The pain is terrible.

I grab someone's ankle and pull, and hear someone go down with a thud. I scramble out that direction and head for the exit. The group tries to grab me and I kick at them. I open the exit door and crawl out where people can see me. No one is looking at the restroom.

My boss grabs my ankle and tries to drag me back in. I kick her in the jaw, and she falls backward, ripping the seam of my pants and taking my shoe. I see one of her teeth hit the floor. I crawl away from the door, yelling for help, but the music is too loud.

A few patrons finally do see me, but they don't do anything. They just keep eating. They have sympathetic looks on their faces, but I know that they are worried that if they get up, they'll lose their table to another group. I try to get the attention of my friends, but I'm too far away, and they're all talking to each other.

My boss and her friends come out of the restroom. They give me angry looks, but don't do anything because people can see. The patrons who noticed me get knowing looks on their faces, and one of them whispers to the patrons at the next table over. They look, and nod. Someone asks if I am ok. I say I probably need an ambulance. They all agree that yes, I should call an ambulance. No one gets up to help me, but I don't feel bad about it because I know that this is just the way things are handled at this place.

I can see the bartender watching. He is basically just making sure nothing happens out here where the patrons have to see it. He wants no drama in his place. He is also not calling anyone.

I crawl past the first two tables, to where my friends can see me. My boss is following me with a menacing look, but hanging back so that it's not obvious. I try to yell for my friends, but my chest is so sore that I can't get a deep breath. Finally, one of the guys sees me. He nudges my husband, and they get up and run to where I am. The two of them pick me up and carry me over to the love seat, where the group asks me what happened.

I tell the whole thing, explaining that the only people in the restroom were my boss and her friends, but I couldn't see which of them was hitting me at any given time except for a few of the blows dealt by my boss. My friends decide that we need to call the police.

When the police arrive, they take a statement from me, and tell me they're going to help, but then they head over to the bar and start drinking instead. Seeing their uninvolvement, my boss casually walks over to the group and starts spitting on me. When my friends try to block her, she spits over and around them. A couple of friends throw things at her, both of which hit her in the face and make a mess on her shirt. She takes a moment to grab napkins and try to clean herself, and my friends try to get me out of the building.

The door to the building is locked, and we can't get out. My ribs and back are hurting really badly, and standing makes them worse, so my husband picks me up to carry me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold on, but using those muscles is really painful. He tells me he's got me. At the same time, my boss comes around the side, grabs my arm, and gives it a good yank. I feel myself almost fall. Another of my friends turns around and punches her in the face, and she backs off for a moment.

Her friends aren't helping, but they're watching. I can see them over by the restroom. She yells for them, and they start to come over. My friends yell to the police, "Why aren't you doing anything?" The police, who have turned toward us and have been watching, write a few things down in a notebook, and then just sit there. I realize they're documenting everything that is happening, and tell my friends to not hit back. Instead, when my boss reaches for me again, I yell at her to stop and smack her hand away. She looks offended and indignant, and reaches again, as if to slap me in the face. I again slap her hand out of the way. The bartender yells my name and says no fighting. I see the cops write that down. 

I hear an ambulance arrive outside, and realize that one of my friends has called for medical help. I tell everyone, "when the EMS opens the door to come in, we need to go out and shut it. That way, she'll be locked in here, and we can escape."

The door opens, and I see people in scrubs. They burst into the building with a gurney, pushing past us. My husband puts me on the gurney. One friend tells one of the EMTs that she thinks my ribs are broken on the left side. Another is describing the assault to another EMT. While the door is still open and everyone is distracted, another friend of mine shoves my boss outside and slams it in her face. I can hear her pounding to get back in, but the friend is leaning on it. At that moment, the cops get up and arrest the bartender. They ignore my boss's friends.

One of the EMTs begins taking my vital signs. A cuff is wrapped around my arm to get my blood pressure, and a thermometer is placed in my mouth. I see the door start to open, despite my friend's efforts, and my boss tries to come back inside. When that happens, one of the cops breaks away from the arrest of the bartender, runs over to the door, and slaps handcuffs on my boss. He steps outside with her, and I can hear him reading her rights. She is yelling back at him that it's my fault for being there, not knowing my place, and expecting to not get kicked around.

I hear one of the EMTs tell my husband, "Your wife's blood pressure is really high." I think, that can't be right. I have abnormally low blood pressure. It's always been that way. I turn to say so to the EMT, when I feel something jab me in the ribs.

This is when I woke. The jab hurt so bad that it jolted me out of the dream.
Oddly, I am in a severe amount of pain this morning. My ribs really do hurt like they're broken on the left side, where I was kicked in the dream. My back is killing me. It feels like if I could just pop it, it would feel better, but twisting and stretching (or even taking a deep breath in, or breathing out too far) hurt my ribs, right under my left breast. I've been a little sore for a few days after having slept wrong, but not like this. I really do feel like someone beat the crap out of me.

I know the dream was stress related, but I suspect that the pain existed prior to it and the stress manifested itself by creating that story in response.

I recognized the people in the dream. My friends were my real friends. My husband was himself, too. So was my boss. Her friends, though, were actually people who are with our company, most of whom have been in our store. One is a former manager. Two others are former district managers, only in the dream they were women, but in waking life they are men. The voice of the friend who is a cop was the voice of the human resources manager. I've never seen her, but I'm really familiar with that voice. My boss really does have a friend who is a cop, but she was not involved in the dream. The bartender was the current district manager. 

The police in the dream weren't the local police, either. I know those guys. They come into the store all the time and get coffee and snacks (not donuts quite so often as you might think, but a LOT of coffee.) In the dream, the officer who initiated the arrest of the district manager, then broke off to arrest my boss, is the case worker handling my unsafe working conditions complaint to OSHA, and the retaliation complaint I had to file after my employer kept me off of the schedule for a couple of months following the inspection. 

The company has been notified of the complaint, and my boss has been further retaliating by creating a hostile work environment. She has threatened me and is trying to push me out of my job. It's not a fabulous job, and if the job market were better, I'd just quit and go work somewhere else. However, I'm in an area with crazy high unemployment. I've been looking for a job for nearly three years, with no success. I have to have the paycheck, so I can't afford to leave or be fired, and my boss knows that.

Two days ago, the district manager let me know that the harassment would be condoned by the company, and I was "not permitted" to document and report it. I've let my case worker know what he said, and am waiting to find out what to do next. I may end up having to file yet another complaint. In the meantime, the harassment continues. I'm continuing to document and report, but trying to keep my boss from seeing me do it. This situation is really getting to me.

I dozed off again after that, but couldn't stay asleep. I kept having the feeling that something was in the room with me, as happens with Sleep Paralysis. When I started to dream again, it was a repeat of the one with something trying to drag me off of the bed and into the closet. I ended up dragging myself out of bed and downstairs for coffee. 

I am so tired!

Faces in the night

Sometimes my sleep is just restless for no apparent reason, and I have a kind of nightmare that doesn't go anywhere. Instead, I briefly see huge, still images in the dark, experience short, scary scenes, and am awakened by loud phantom noises. 

The noises are often loud banging noises, as if someone is rapidly knocking on the side of my dresser really hard. Other times, I hear a panicked voice screaming something over and over, usually a protest of some kind but sometimes my name. Sometimes, instead, it's some kind of hysterical rambling in which the speech is too fast for me to understand most of the words. Once in a while, I hear a loud boom, like a bomb has gone off, or it'll be the sound of metal crashing into metal and glass breaking. That one I can identify as a remnant of a past trauma - as a child, I was in a car accident with my Mom. She was severely injured, and almost died in the car while we were waiting for the EMS to arrive.


The still images can be anything from a scary face or monster to strange landscapes. They are only there for a few seconds before I am on to the next thing, or awake, depending on how startling the image is. One recurring image is a huge reddish monster face with horrible, pointy teeth. It often appears closer to my feet, and if I wake from seeing it, I usually also jerk my knees up to my chest as I wake.
Another is the face of a long-dead relative (who I never met - this is a face from a photo) seen just by itself, as tall as a person, right next to my bed, and looking horribly angry. From the stories I've heard, she was psychotic and extremely abusive of others.


The short scenes are worse. Those usually involve something coming after me, something trying to bite and/or eat me, or something doing something terrible to someone I know. These are always over from start to finish before I get a chance to respond. 

Usually, they wake me up, and most of the time, they're accompanied by one of those loud noises. There are a few that are recurring scenes or themes. One, I've come to think of as looming faces. 

These are usually scary human or monster faces that come at me out of the dark. Sometimes that wakes me. If not, I usually get bitten. Often, the faces are making noises, ranging from an odd whine or growl to nonsense syllables. 

One that happens a lot is a rapid, repeating "Na-na-na" that gets louder as the face gets closer to me. It's spoken in a sharp tone, as an adult would do with "no-no-no" to a little kid about to hurt herself on something she's not supposed to touch.


Another is faces that change after they appear, seeming to melt, or go through rapid color changes. Sometimes they turn into other faces, from human to monster, or from monster to nastier monster. 

The weirdest short scene dream, a rare one that really messes up the rest of my night, is the blasting dream. It starts with this huge booming sound like thunder, close by but not right next to me. Immediately following the boom, everything in my sight is ripped apart and starts flying toward me. That includes people if the scene includes any. As everything gets close to me, I see smoke and sometimes flames behind the flying debris. 

I wake when the blast hits me. It always feel like when you accidentally belly-flop into a pool, and all of your skin smacks at once, except this is a hundred times worse. When I wake up, my skin where the nerves went off in response to the dream always feels tight and sore, like after a sunburn, for several minutes, as if I really did smack into a pool of water.


I think these dreams are a product of high levels of stress, and sometimes of other normal causes of sleep disturbances (like noises outside, illness, or pain from fibromyalgia) because the pattern of them happening seems to follow times when those factors are in play.

Surgery (2 gifs)

I run a cash register at work. There is one customer who comes in daily, buys the same thing every day, and insists on paying only at my register, at least when I am there. Seriously, he'll wait in line to pay at my register when the other cashier is open and waiting, and even if she calls him over to her register, he won't move out of my line. He pretends to not hear her. If I go into the back room to hide from him, he'll wait over by the coffee until I come back out, just so he can pay at my register. 

This guy really, really creeps me out. It isn't just the insistence on contact. Different customers at our place do prefer specific cashiers, often because one of us may have their orders memorized, sometimes because they like our sense of humor, etc. 

This guy is different. He doesn't talk, doesn't smile, and moves with a measured, meticulous care in everything he does, right down to folding his receipt and putting it into the pocket of his green scrubs. And he doesn't wear his facility ID when he comes into the store. He's the only one in scrubs without a facility ID. Everyone else who comes in wearing scrubs has a photo ID card on a lanyard or a name tag pinned to their chests for some kind of medical or dental facility. Then again, everyone else has scrubs with brighter colors on them, too. It makes me wonder what the guy does. Is he a surgeon (who might not wear a tag because it could fall into his patient?) 

Worst of all, though his movements are insanely slow and careful, he does not watch what he is doing. He stares at my face the whole time he's at my register. This is not like other men, who make eye contact, smile, and sometimes harmlessly flirt. His face is nearly expressionless. I almost feel analyzed by that stare. If this guy isn't a shrink, he's kind of scary. If he is, he's being really rude. Either way, I guess he bugs me even more than I thought. He showed up in my nightmares.


I've come out from behind the register to keep the coffee stocked up while my co-worker runs to the restroom and my boss goes to the shed for supplies. We just had a big rush of customers come through, but now there is no one in the store except for us, and I'm the only one on the sales floor. Half of our pots were empty when I started. I've got two down, four to go. I load them up and set them brewing.

I'm about to turn around to return to the register when something hits the back of my head, really, really hard. Holy crap, it hurts! I think my co-worker has hit me, and turn to see why, but it isn't her. The last thing I see before passing out is that creepy customer in the dingy looking green scrubs. For once, his face has an expression. He looks surprised.

I'm on my back. My hands are tied above my head, and my feet are tied beyond my line of sight. I try to lift my head to see, but I can't because there is a strap holding it in place.

I'm laying on something moderately soft. It almost feels like a massage table or a thick gym mat. It's wide and stable enough that when I wiggle, it stays put. A quick glance around the me shows little. The room is small, maybe only 8 feet wide by twelve feet long. There is no window, just a door, a light overhead, and a lamp down by my feet. Hanging on the wall nearby is a lacy white dress.

Finally, I notice the creepy scrub guy. He is standing next to the dress. To the scrubs, he's added a cap, a mouth cover, and gloves. He sees me awake, and approaches. When he comes up next to me, I see that there is also some kind of tray table. I can't get a good look at it because the strap keeps me from turning my head.

He lifts something up. At first, it looks like he's holding a bag of water. He moves his hand, and the bag jiggles like unflavored gelatin. I am confused. Why is he showing me gelatin?

He points at me, then at the bag of gelatin. I still don't know what the heck he means. I must look as scared and confused as I am, because he jabs his finger at me again, directly at my chest, and then points again to the bag. He picks something up off of the tray table. It makes a clinking noise. Then, he shows it to me.

He's holding a scalpel. He lays it in the other hand with the bag. He points at himself, then at the scalpel, the bag, and my chest. Probable understanding dawns on me. I think he is telling me that is a breast implant, and he's going to cut me open and put it into my breast. He notices the change in expression on my face. He picks up another implant, and holds the two together up next to his chest, and nods. Then, he puts them back on the table.

He doesn't put down the scalpel. He doesn't pick anything else up, either. He just takes the scalpel in his right hand, and puts his left hand on my left breast, the side facing him.

This is when I realize that I am naked, and that he is really going to cut into my body with that scalpel. It doesn't look like he's going to knock me out first, either. I'm not sure which thought is more horrifying... knowing he plans to cut me without anesthetic, or the thought of being unconscious again with him in the room. I start begging him not to do this.

I tell him I don't want bigger breasts. I don't want surgery. I don't want to be cut open. He just looks at me.

I ask why he is doing this. He points at me, then at the dress. Again, I am confused. He wants to give me breast implants so I'll fit into the dress? I don't get it. Then I realize... it's a lacy white dress. The back hangs down a bit further than the front. It's a lacy white dress with a train. Hanging off of the shoulder is a flowery headpiece, with a short veil. That's a wedding dress.

I start to tell him that I can't marry him, because I'm all ready married, but something inside stops me. What if he's messed up enough to hunt down and kill my husband so I'll be single? What will he do if I just tell him I don't want him? I'm tied down, and he has sharp cutting tools. I had better not piss him off.

I tell him that I have back and neck problems, that breast implants will make those worse. I ask him to please not alter my body. His eyes look amused, then he utters a thin, whispery laugh. He moves over to the dress, and with his elbow, moves it aside. Behind it is a small window. Looking through the window is one bizarre looking big red eye. The eye is almost as big as his head. He points to me, then the dress, then the eye.

I have no chance of persuading him. He's not doing this for himself. He's doing it for whatever huge, terrifying thing is on the other side of that wall. Nothing I say could change his mind. He's going to perform surgery on me while I'm awake, and then he's going to give me to that thing, whatever it is, that is so huge its eye is as big as his head. I start to realize this can't be real. I'm trying to turn my head fast, so I can wake up, but the strap prevents me. I can feel tears on my cheeks.

He returns to me and again starts maneuvering my breast. The scalpel descends, and I feel it cut into the flesh just below my nipple.

The pain is intense, sharp, pinching, and burning. I scream and pull against the bonds on my hands and feet, but they hold tight. The surgeon looks at me sternly and shakes his head.



Yeah. Sooo... I swear... next time he comes in, I'm hiding in the restroom until he leaves. O.o

Bitten! Another zombie nightmare

Zombie mom is always prepared

My husband and I are home alone, as my son is visiting my parents out of town.

I wake in the morning to find that he is all ready out of bed. I get up and go down the stairs into the living room. The whole apartment is dark. I look to see if he has fallen asleep on the couch, but he is not there. Maybe he is in the kitchen.

As I turn toward the kitchen, I can see him just standing in the little hallway that T-intersects between the living room, bathroom, and kitchen. I think that maybe he's sleepwalking, though I've never known him to do that before.

I approach and gently say his name. If he is sleepwalking, I don't want to startle him. If he reacts badly, he's in the one spot in the downstairs where he is most likely to impact a corner.

He turns toward me when I say his name. He holds his hands out to me, and I think maybe he is upset about something. I put my arms around him.

That's when he bites me. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder, not like a cute little love-nibble, but hard. He draws blood. The act startles me into jumping back away from him. I switch on the light and he shies away from it, looking at me and growling. His skin is pasty and pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He is drooling like a baby, and there is blood running down his chin. There is a huge, festering bite mark on his arm.

As I am backing away, I see a mangled body on the kitchen floor, and boxes stacked high in front of the sliding door. He sort of zones out a minute. I run for the door. As I reach it, I hear his feet pounding behind me. I open the door, turn the button lock, and practically throw myself outside, pulling it shut behind me. It's locked now. I don't know if he can get out, but no one will get in.

I hear the rattle of the handle as he tries to open the door. It rattles two or three more times, then stops. There is nothing after that. The lock appears to have flummoxed him long enough to forget what he was doing.

It's starting to get light outside. I look around quickly, but I don't see any other people. What has happened begins to dawn on me. My husband must have come downstairs after hearing a noise, fought an intruder who turned out to be a zombie, and been bitten in the process. Now, I've been bitten. I have to warn my friends, before they are taken by surprise.

I realize my phone is in the apartment, but I'm sure he is probably just inside the door. There is no way for me to get in there and get it. I look around. There is a lady with a bunch of kids coming out of the building next to mine. A little bus comes and they all get on it. The side of the bus says something about evacuation. The driver motions for me to get on and I shake my head. He looks at me like I'm nuts, until I show him the bite on my shoulder. His eyes widen, and he nods, quickly shuts the door, and drives away.

I know I don't have time to walk or drive to my friends' houses. Instead, I jump up into the air and think about remaining up. It works, and I am able to rise above the trees. I know that as long as I have the cognitive ability to do this, I'm not dangerous yet. I fly straight over the nearest friends' back yard, over their house, and land on the sidewalk. The front seems more like a store front than a house, with a big display window.

I run up the front steps and knock on the door. The youngest lets me in. I tell her I have to talk to her parents right now and to go get them immediately. She brings her mom, who has been my friend since college.

I tell the kids to go play. I don't want them to hear what I have to say. My friend notices my serious look, and sends them both out of the room.

I show her the bite. I tell her what happened, and that there is an evacuation in progress. She asks how long I have, and I tell her, "Until you shoot me."

We have an agreement about this. It's something we talked about one night years ago, when we were staying up late and just gabbing. It was just a dumb conversation between kids with ridiculous what-if questions about impossible scenarios, but it was also kind of serious, and I had made my thoughts pretty clear.

If I ever became irreversibly dangerous, and especially deadly, to others, and I would be unable to control my behavior, I would rather be killed than contained. In my right mind, the most horrifying thing that could happen to me would be if I were to lose control and hurt someone. I would never want there to be any risk of that. I'm scared, and I don't want to die. There is a feeling of dread weighing heavily in my gut. But I want even less to hurt anyone, and to me the choice is clear. I can't let myself become a monster.

She asks me if I'm hungry yet, and I say no. I'm not even feeling it yet. The bite is a little red, but it doesn't look bad. I tell her it would be best to do it now, and get it over with, before I have the chance to hurt anyone. I ask her to call my mom when she makes her calls, to give my family a chance to make themselves safe. She says she will. Everything about her is calm except her eyes. She's not crying, but if I say the wrong thing, like anything emotional or mention of my son, I can see that she will.
I don't. I need her to do this for me, and I mustn't do anything to make it harder than it has to be.

This is the part of the conversation that her husband walks in on. We've been buddies since they got together. He has kind of adopted me as a kid sister, which is funny, because I am older than he is. He is a good guy, but he's a bit more sentimental than she is. She's the disciplinarian in the house. He looks tough, and would kill to protect his kids, but when it comes to his loved ones, he's a big softie. He is appalled that his wife is going to shoot me just because I asked her to. He brings up the possibility of a cure, and says I should come with them so they can get me medical attention.

She and I exchange a look. I know they have an escape setup in the basement. They will be safe. I didn't come here to be rescued. I came to warn them. If they aren't going to stop me from becoming a mindless, ravenous, cannibalistic beast, I'll go back out the front door and try to find some other way to prevent it. If I can still focus enough to fly, it should be easy. I dread the thought of dropping myself, though. That might hurt a lot. Shooting would be quicker and less painful.

She tries to explain to him what is going to happen to me. I chip in with how horribly I fear hurting anyone, especially my loved ones. I tell him that denying me a quick end would force me to live out one of my worst nightmares. He argues, "not if we can get you to a doctor so you can be cured."

There is no arguing with him. He has put his foot down. I prepare to leave, but when I look out the window, I realize that there is a huge crowd outside now. They are all walking in the same direction, moving as if still asleep. These are not evacuees... they are zombies. I can't open the door, or some of them might try to come in here. They could get my friends.

I tell my friends, "You have to go now. They're everywhere." I know that their escape setup will take them out of the neighborhood, and anyone entering the house will not be able to find how they got out.

My buddy insists on taking me with them. I am not going, but I have to let him believe that I will, or he won't go until it's too late. My friend grabs her bug-out bag, her purse, with her cell in it, and a gun. My buddy grabs his phone and another bag that sounds like it has medicines in it. I follow them all down the stairs to the basement, where there is a huge boiler with pipes going all over the place. It takes up most of the area near the stairs. We have to go around it to get to the rest of the basement, where there is odd living room furniture made of layers of big square cushions.

The escape route is behind the bottom of the couch. There is a tunnel that leads out. I don't know were it goes, but I know that once they get out, they'll be ok. We raise the front cushion, remove the cushions from under the "seat" cushion, and send their dogs crawling in, and the kids behind them. My buddy goes next, followed by my friend. I quietly tell her I'll find a way to deal with this, and that I'm not coming. She nods, and we exchange a sad look. I tell her to go. She gets moving, and I put all of the cushions back into place, making sure no one can tell the difference. Had I been going with them, there would have been a way to do that from the inside, but since I didn't, it's not necessary.

I go back upstairs and get the key to the house. Then, I make a 911 call from their phone. A recording tells me about the evacuation. From the message, it sounds like the infection is mostly in the Virginias, southern Ohio and northern Kentucky. That is followed by a list of phone numbers to call under various circumstances. I write all of them down. I call my husband's ex. She does not believe me. I give her numbers to call, then call my older stepdaughter and tell her the same thing. She agrees to call the numbers. Even if the ex doesn't take care of things, my daughter will. She is smart.
I hang up and call my parents. I tell my mother what is going on, and give her the list of numbers. I call my husband's parents, and tell them the same. I tell both sets of parents, if you think I'm nuts, call the numbers. Everything will be explained. I tell them that then, they need to call the rest of the family.
I call a couple of other friends, give them the list, and charge them with calling as many of our other friends as they can.

In my family calls, I get teary disbelief from the other end of the line, but I don't have time to be human about it. I'm not hungry yet, but I'm really scared, and just a tiny little bit hopeful. The last number is to call if you are infected. There is mention that the military is working on a cure and is close. They need volunteers.

When I hang up with the third friend, I decide that is enough. I call the military number. I am asked a series of questions, including how long it has been since I've been bitten, how the bite looks, whether or not I am hungry, am I having to swallow more frequently than normal, and am I starting to feel any confusion or "brain fog."

Looking at the clock, I realize it's been nearly half an hour since I was bitten. The bite is an angry red, but it's not swollen up like my husband's bite was, and it hasn't produced any pus, like his had. I'm still not hungry, and I'm not drooling. My thoughts are flowing just fine. The person I am speaking to seems surprised that after the amount of time it has been, I'm not showing any symptoms. He tells me that the virus has been acting faster than that on most people. He asks for a description of how my husband looked, and I give it.

I am asked about our health history, and I give that, too. I am asked the address where I am, and I give that. I tell him that I came in here to warn my friends, but they were all ready gone. I used my key to get in and double check, but the house is empty. They must have left with the evacuation. The agent I'm talking to seems to buy that.

He tells me to wait there, and an ambulance will come to pick me up. He says my condition is unique, and I may be able to speed the process of creating a drug that eliminates the condition. I am momentarily happy about that, but then I wonder what will happen if it doesn't work.

I ask, "They won't just let me exist as a zombie if they can't cure me, right? I don't want to be like the people outside." The agent assures me that the cure is at hand, but in the "unlikely" even that it does not work, the back up plan is "termination." I won't be forced to live as a flesh-eating zombie. Relief floods over me. Whatever testing they are going to do might hurt, but at least I will be helping to solve the problem. In the process I will likely be cured, and find the cure that can save everyone else. I just have tough out whatever comes next.

I give the agent a rundown on the neighborhood situation. The street is populated by moving zombies, but they all seem to be headed toward the downtown area. There are not as many now as there were before, but there are still some. Behind the house is an alley, and there doesn't seem to be anything out there. There is a six foot chain link fence around the back yard, with a big gate. The gate is broken, so it only looks locked. They can come in that way, close the gate, pick me up, and get out quickly without confronting a horde.

By the time I hang up with him, there is a big truck outside. It has ambulance lights and markings, but it looks more like a moving truck. Some men in military gear get out. They have a straight jacket and a mask like the one worn by Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. I step outside, lay on the ground, and put my hands behind my head. I tell them to hurry, and to keep quiet so the zombies won't come around the back, but they've been attracted by the sound of the truck and are rushing the fence. I say that I'm not hungry yet and will comply with any instructions I'm given.

The guys grab me and quickly drag me into the truck, where I put my arms into the sleeves and let them wrap me up. I tell them to go ahead and put on the mask just in case it happens on the ride "there." I don't know where there is. They are treating me with caution, but they don't seem scared. One says, "you're really not hungry yet?" I'm still not, but I can feel that I have a fever, and I tell him that. I see hope in their eyes. The truck starts moving, and I feel myself falling. A pair of hands catches me from behind. I hear someone say, "This might be the one. She's infected, but she's fighting it."

As I wake, the thought occurs to me that maybe I am fighting the virus better than others because my immune system was changed by my experience with a predecessor of West Nile from a mosquito bite in 1985. Then, I wonder if maybe I got a weakened version of it because my husband's white cell count has been elevated by a gout attack . I want to ask the men, but I'm surfacing from the dream, and I can see my room. I realize that I have been dreaming. I'm not infected with anything.

I laid in bed for a moment, thinking about the dream. The buildings and topography didn't match reality, but that is pretty common for my dreams. The apartment doesn't border directly on a street. We face the parking lot. It has a street name, but it isn't really a street. It's private property. 
There is no alley behind my friends' house, and there is no escape tunnel in the basement, and their backyard fence is nowhere near as tall as the one in the dream. It's just a fence. There isn't even a couch like that. Then again, the layout of their house was also different. The building was almost like a downtown store instead of a house. The window was huge. Were the situation real, the zombies outside most certainly would have seen us and attacked. Also, it's Monday, a school day. My son is at home, not at my parents' house.

The people kind of matched, but not totally. My husband would have defended against an intruder, and when he discovered there were zombies, he would have blocked off the sliding door, but he would not have stayed in the apartment after being bitten. He would have left to avoid infecting me. The kids never would have just willingly let themselves be left out of the conversation, either. The would have hidden in the hallway and eavesdropped.

The memory of the conversation where my friend and I promised to not let each other live as unthinking, cannibalistic or otherwise deadly monsters was a real memory. It is also true that her husband, my buddy, wouldn't have the heart to follow my wishes before I started showing symptoms. However, my friend is protective enough of her family and caring enough of my wishes that she wouldn't have argued with him. She just would have shot me as I asked her to, and faced the consequences later. We have a pact. I would do the same for her under the same circumstances.

He doesn't have all of his meds in a bag he can just grab and go, either. On waking, I thought, what if there is some kind of natural disaster we all have to get away from? I'm going to point that out to him and suggest he put them in a bag to take into the basement with him if there is a tornado, or to to take away with him if there's ever any other kind of area threat that causes an evacuation.

Flying is something that happens in a lot of my dreams. It's so frequent that it no longer even clues me in to the fact that I'm dreaming. Most of the time it happens in good dreams, but like this time, it also happens during nightmares. It usually involves an escape, though.

The dream was disturbing, but it didn't leave me with quite the bad feeling that some of my zombie nightmares have caused. I woke feeling hope that not only I, but all of the infected could be saved from the disease. I felt that the process could be reversed. I was expecting painful tests (biopsies, blood tests, and tests with drugs or serum to see if it kills the virus) but I felt that it would be worth it. As I woke, I was in the process of calling on my willpower and inner strength to psyche myself up and steel myself against the coming experience, not dreading it. As a result, I feel really ready to face whatever comes along today, despite being exhausted and in pain from an extra long and challenging work shift yesterday. 


On a side note, this is the second time I have had this dream.

Fragments of the journey

Sleep was really broken up last night, so the same happened with my dreams, but they were all weird nonetheless. The first one was yet another instance of me being a guy in my dreams. Kinda weird... it happens a lot. When I was younger, it used to upset me, but it doesn't bother me any more.

I'm on my way to a wedding, driving a big long van. In it are the tux I'm supposed to wear, and a pair of shoes that are hell on my feet. I'm not putting any of it on until I get there, not because I'm afraid it'll get spoiled, but because I just hate wearing crap like that. It's uncomfortable no more because the clothes are binding and inflexible than because they're just not me. It can't be helped. I'm in the wedding.

I'm having a rough time with the van. It drives fine on flat road, but it really struggles on hills. I think back to a joke I once heard in a movie, about driving a Rolls Canardly... rolls down one hill, can 'ardly get up the next. Har har har.

To add to the stress of the day, I get lost. I make a wrong turn, and end up driving toward some small town I've never seen before, and I've driven all over the state. Now, I'm not in the van any more. I'm on a three-wheeled vehicle that is kind of like a tricycle version of a motorcycle. I'm driving slow because I'm looking for a landmark, glad there's not traffic for me to hold up. As I move along, I spot a cop car hidden behind the big sign welcoming drivers to the town. As I spot the car, I realize where I turned wrong, and decide to turn around. I'm in the right lane of a two lane road, so I signal and get over to the left.

Where the officer is behind the sign, there's a place to make a legal U-turn, but the officer is parked perpendicular to it, blocking the whole thing. Behind him is a little island of sidewalk and grass in the middle of the road. It seems to serve no purpose but to split the highway.

Beyond that, I can turn left into a gas station parking lot. There is a traffic light, but I have green, so I turn and use the gas station to turn around. As I turn around in the station, the light changes and I get green again, right when I'm ready to go. I turn right into the left lane of the two lanes going back out of town. I pull up next to the officer, and there's another light at which I have to stop. When I do, the officer turns on his lights, gets out of his car, and approaches my window.

I roll down the window and he asks me what the hell I'm doing. I tell him that I took a wrong turn and got lost, where I'm going, and how I screwed up. He looks annoyed that I had an answer, then fiddles with something on his radar gun while asking me if I know how fast I was going coming into town. I know that I was only doing 50 in a 65, because out of habit, I had checked my speedometer when I saw his car. I tell him how fast I was going, and he looks triumphant, and says, "WRONG!"

He shows me that it says 177 MPH. I know this is impossible, because this bike won't go that fast, and even if it would, I couldn't have made the turn if I had been going that fast. He then proceeds to tell me that I made an illegal U-turn at the light, even though we both know I pulled into the parking lot of the gas station to turn around. Then he says that I ran a red light to make the turn, even though we both know the light was green. I tell him that I know none of what he is saying is true, and I hear a gasp from my right. I look, and realize that now there are several cars around us, both lanes stretching almost back to the previous light. The lady in the big van next to me looks shocked.


I tell the officer that he and I both know he is lying, that I saw him fiddle with his radar before showing it to me, and that I think I am being targeted because I'm from out of town. He says, "No, you're being targeted because of who you are." Then, he hands me a ticket for an amount that is more than I make in a month. I know the name of the town now, and I can find my way back here. I know one other thing the officer doesn't: I've got a video camera in my helmet which I've been using to record the trip, and it has recorded everything we've done and said, along with my speedometer. I have all the proof I need to demonstrate that he's lying. I tell him I'll be back to fight the ticket in court, and he laughs. I drive away angry, but slowly and carefully. I don't want to give him an excuse to pull me over for real.



* * * * * * * * * *


I'm in a big Victorian house with a huge number of rooms. I guess that makes it a mansion, but it's just one big house, not a long narrow place with "wings."

I am in a dining room with a small table. It looks like it was meant for only a few people, like maybe four, max. My dad is sitting at the table, working on a laptop. I am chatting with him. I hear my husband call me. It sounds like he's off to the side that doesn't have a door. I have to go the long way around to get to him. I go up a short set of stairs out of the room, then turn right into another room, go through that, and into a hallway. There are several rooms off of the hallway, the end of which opens into a big, spacey room with chairs and couches.

Several of my friends are in one room practicing belly dancing. I want to tell them I'll join in later, but I'm afraid I'll either look inept or hurt myself because they've all taken classes in it and I've never had the opportunity. I learned a few moves from a professional, but I've never even practiced them. Anyway, I'm looking for my husband. I hear him calling me again, but this time his voice is further away.

I go on into the big, open room. At the other end of that room is a short stairway going up to kind of a little deck that has doorways at both ends. I go up those steps and head for the doorway on the right. That should get me to where he is. As I enter the hallway, I hear him calling again and tell him I'm coming.

* * * * * * * * *

I'm on a stairway moving up. It's poorly lit. I know I have to go up, turn right, go down a hall, and come back down. I'm still looking for my husband. I've been walking for a long time, and can't seem to find a way to the part of the house where it sounds like he is.

* * * * * * * * *

Somehow I've ended up in a basement. It's really dark here, with just patches of light. I know I'm not in the right place. I can barely hear my husband calling me. The sound is coming from above. There are scraping sounds coming from the darker areas around me. I can't see what's making the noises, but I have the idea that I want to get out of the basement before I find out. The stairs look like they're yards away from me. There are dark spots on the floor between me and them. I think that I should jump over those. I am running.


I woke up from this one with kind of an "unfinished" feeling. My husband was sleeping in the bed, right next to me. As soon as I saw him, I felt better, but I wonder if he had been saying my name in his sleep, and that caused the dream. I've heard him talk in his sleep a few times before. It's rare, but it happens.

* * * * * * * * *

I'm in my room, working on something when I hear a noise. I'm home alone, so I know there shouldn't be anyone in the house. I stop what I'm doing and listen. It sounds like something solid hitting the wall in my son's room, not really hard, but kind of quiet, like a knock.

I go down the hall and stand outside his door. Standing there, I hear the knock again, almost right next to my head. I don't hear any other noise there. I open the door and look, thinking he might be in there, but there's no one in the room. Then, I hear that same sound, but it's coming from downstairs.

I go down the stairs. There's no one in the living room, but I hear the sound again, coming from the kitchen. I go look in there, and that room is also empty. I look in the utility closet, but everything in there is fine. I hear the knock again, and this time it's definitely coming from the direction of the living room. I check the bathroom, just in case, but no one is in there, either.

Again, the living room is empty. The sound is coming from an outside wall this time, so I look out the peep hole in the door, then look out the window. There is no one outside in that direction. I hear the knock again, this time from the same wall, but above me. I hurry up the stairs and down the hall to my room. I hear the knock again, this time really loud, when I am just outside the door.

I fling the door open, looking for the intruder, but there's still no one. Now, I just feel silly. I must be reacting to the sounds of the apartment building "settling" as the weather changes. Mad at myself, I turn to start working on my project.

It's not there.

The knock starts up again, on all of the walls in the room. I hear it all around me. Fear tightens my skin and shoots ice up my spine.

I have the strong feeling that whatever is causing this is centered in the closet, and I have to go past that closet to get out of this room.


The change of emotion woke me. I woke feeling like there was something in the room with me, and rolled over expecting to see my husband. By that time, though, he was out of bed and getting ready for work. I don't work as early as he does, so it wasn't time for me to get up, and I was still really sleepy. I thought I should get up, because it's usually under these circumstances that a bad nightmare occurs, but I was so tired I dozed again instead.

* * * * * * * * *

I can feel my covers sliding off. I reach to straighten them up, and can't find the edge. The covers slip entirely off of my feet, and I feel nervous. I sit up and grab the middle of the blanket, and pull, managing to get everything back onto the bed. I find the top and wiggle around until I'm covered again. I settle back into the pillow, but as soon as I do, the covers start sliding off again. I pull them all the way onto the bed, so that nothing is hanging off the edge.

I feel something grab the covers over my feet, and the whole set is thrown off of me, flying up into the air. Something grabs my ankles, and with a good hard yank, pulls me off of the bed. My head hits the floor with a thunk, and I feel myself dragged toward the closet. I can hear heavy breathing with a bit of a rattle in it. I try to scream but I can't. Kicking as hard as I can, I feel my foot impact on something like flesh and bone. There is a crunching sound, and a loud growl, and I feel teeth sink into my foot.

The pain woke me, but it didn't end there. I don't know if the foot cramp caused the dream, or the dream caused the foot cramp, but for several moments after I woke, it felt like those teeth were still sunk into the bottom of my foot. I had to sit up and massage it out before getting out of bed. The whole time, because of the last two dreams I had, I felt totally, irrationally creeped out by my closet! At least this time, I didn't wake up on the floor.