Having a blast. Wish you were here.

I sit up, moving so suddenly and quickly that I startle my caregivers. I'm yelling at them, "What the hell! Let me go!"
I try to stand, but there's something wrapped around me, holding me down.

The nurse runs across the room, rapidly telling me to calm down, that it's all right, and she'll undo the strap. She explains that they had to do something. I was walking in my sleep.

Walking in my sleep? I haven't done that in years. I'm stunned into momentary inaction, sitting up in the hospital bed, looking at the nurse like she's grown a second head. As I sit there, everything starts coming back to me; my relationship with the gray haired woman, the terrible things we've been through, and what the creepy guy has done to her. I can feel a bruise on my arm from the shot I was given. The nurse sees the expressions crossing my face as the memory plays through my head, and pauses in her approach, and gives me a wary look.

She says, "Are you in control, or are you going to be a problem?"

Her hand is on her pocket. The shape is too big for a syringe. I think she may be holding a taser.

I struggle for a moment, as the weight of my outrage at what I've learned tries to overpower my hold on logic and reason. I can't fight him this way. This is what he feeds on. He'd just use it to turn me against myself. He'd destroy everything we've fought for. I may not understand much of what is going on, but I understand that.

I can't be not angry. It's too much. I can't know what he is and what he's done without having an emotional response to that knowledge. It would be stupid to try to deny that. I just have to not be controlled by how angry I am. I can be angry and reasonable at the same time. I have to, or we're lost.

I can feel energy building up around me. I've been unconsciously pulling. I'm inside of something that looks kind of like a flame. I gather it into myself, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, sending the energy back where it came from. I tell the nurse I'm all right. I find the buckle on the belt, and I get up.

I'm still wearing the footie pajamas and puppy slippers. Grateful as I am for the comfort and rest, this isn't going to do. I need to be taken seriously. I take them off and stand in the middle of the room, and close my eyes. I try to clear my mind, but it's not going to happen. Meditation just isn't my thing. I can't be not angry. I just can't.

When I open my eyes, there is clothing on the couch. I meant to make it materialize all ready on me, but this is good enough. At first, it looks like there's two of everything, but then I realize, there's a set of clothes, and a set of armor. The clothes are soft, dark, and thin. They won't constrict or weigh me down. The armor looks like leather, and it's as light as paper, but it feels cold, like metal. The top looks like an oversized long sleeve tee shirt, and it's flexible. It seems to be crocheted. The rest looks like it was designed for rollerblading or skateboarding. There are pieces shaped like pads for the thighs, knees, and lower legs. They're arranged the way they're supposed to be worn. It's not designed for full coverage. Instead, I can feel that the pieces are connected by some kind of energy running over the whole thing. When I pick up top "pads" for the legs, the lower ones come with them.

I put on the clothes, and the armor. I head out into the lobby. There, the doc is waiting for me. The others are all gone. Doc asks if I'm sure I'm ready to do this. I'm not, but I'm going to do it anyway, and I think he knows that. What else can I do? I can't just hide in here forever. Eventually, it would be more like being imprisoned than having been given asylum, and if they were to find a way to come in after me, it would cease to be a neutral place.

The doc asks me what I'm going to do about the connection, and my shield. The reminder feels like being punched in the chest, and the expression on my face earns me a stern look. He says, "How are you going to survive if you're not ready to deal with that?"

I realize that I have no idea how to proceed. I got the feeling that the ceremony was more than just symbolic. Otherwise, she might be able to break through my emotional defenses, but she shouldn't be able to banish my shield like she does. I ask the doc why she can affect my control of energy, but I can't just work through the same connection to prevent him from changing her. He explains that I can affect her control of energy, too, but not her thoughts and feelings, and not his influence. That's why she hasn't really attacked me, because I would just be able to absorb, deflect, or diffuse the energy, just as she is. The one time I was able to affect her, it was because she wasn't expecting me to lash out. She let her guard down then, but it won't be down again. He also tells me that she's not the same spirit that she was, any more than I am the same. Just as the object I absorbed corrupted me, his energy has corrupted her. I'm going to continue to attract more things like him, and unless I release her, every single one of them is going to try to use her to manipulate me.

For a moment I don't understand what he's telling me, and then I do. There is no "the" key, but as long as I'm attached to her, she's a key, and she'll never be safe or free.

I tell him I understand, and then I start focusing on finding the place within myself where the connection is. I've unconsciously put my hands over my heart. The doc watches for a second, then stops me and explains that magic was involved in creating the bond, and energy work is required to break it. He tells me I have what I need, and I realize that in my hands, I'm holding the unity candle from our ceremony. I can see now that it's a ceramic oil lamp made to look like a candle, so that it can't diminish from burning. I understand what I have to do.

The room wavers. I'm standing in front of the door. I can feel that the "asylum" illusion is fading because I've decided to leave. If I hesitate, I'll disrupt the others' illusions, and their healing processes. The door opens, and I step out into the sunlight.

When I do, the building behind me kind of vanishes, and there's just a big parking lot. Off to my left and right are an empty street, bordered by empty sidewalks. I see the parking garage on the other side. Quickly, I surround myself with another shield, covering it with spikes, and back against a wall. Across the street, the two of them see me, and rush forward. They stop when the shield goes up. He gives her a look, and she advances on me, asking, "Why do you keep wasting your energy?"

When she's about six feet away, I hold up the candle-lamp. She stops and looks at me, and asks, "Where did you get that?" She looks confused and nervous, and suddenly I don't want to do this. I want to grab her and run back into the asylum, but I know that even though it's "there," it's not there, and it's not an option. I hold the lamp out in front of me and pour the oil on the sidewalk. I tell her "I reject you, body, mind, and spirit. I am not your partner. I am not one with you. We are unique, and separate from each other. You are not permitted to touch me." I force myself to feel separated from her, then throw the lamp down. It shatters on the pavement at her feet, and I feel like someone just ripped out my heart. I fight to not take it all back. My stomach is sick. Her face twists in shock and disbelief, then I can see tears, and she quietly says two syllables in gibberish. I don't know what the word means, but hearing it is like a kick in the gut, and I can't look at her face any more.

The creepy guy yells at her. "What is wrong with you? Take down that shield before she gets away again!"

Her hand reaches for the shield. I don't want to hurt her. I tell her, "Don't." 

She hesitates. I step between them. Now, she's to my right, and he's to my left.

She steps forward, but she doesn't touch the spikes. I stop fighting the pain, and instead push that into my shield, and I feel her step back away from me again.

She says, "I can't. I can't even touch it."

He says, "then I don't need you for that any more." I only have a split second to realize what he means. He rushes forward, his body melting into a black cloud as he moves. I throw yet another shield up, this one over both of us, and the cloud flows over it like thick ash from a volcano. I feel pressure, almost like a heavy pounding on the outside. This isn't going to hold up to that attack for very long.

She's still looking at me. It doesn't seem to have dawned on her that we're both being attacked. She's not even going to fight back against him.

Not knowing what else to do, I fuse my spiky shield with the outer shield, keeping a wall between myself and her, and begin funneling energy attacks into the outer arc of it. Lightning-like streaks zip through it, making it look like an angry thunderhead, and the pressure is reduced. The smoke rises away from the shield momentarily. I can hear laughter, but it doesn't seem to be centered anywhere. A second later, lightning from the smoke hits the shield. A single bolt impacts the side, hitting so hard that it cracks all the way to the ground.

I melt it back together, realizing that he's attacking her side of the shield to wear me down, but unable to figure out what else to do. Then, inside her half of the bubble, I see another shield go up. She's finally defending herself. I put my hands into the wall of my shield and focus as hard as I can, creating a doorway in the side, and she runs several yards away, keeping herself protected.

The ash re-forms into the creepy guy. He looks back and forth between us. I'm drawing energy for another attack, and she appears to be drawing for one, too. I worry for a moment that it's going to be directed at me, but instead, the two of them go at each other. From behind her, a huge mass of pavement rises into the air and breaks up into little pieces, which rain down on the creepy guy. He belches fire at her, melting the asphalt around her shield into a bubbling mass of goo. She's protected by her shield, but she can't go anywhere.

I fire another blast at him, but my energy is unfocused. He hasn't shielded, so the blast knocks him down the street, but I don't think it did a lot of damage. He doesn't even get up or dust off. He starts crawling toward her on his hands and feet, like a bug. His body becomes longer and thinner. When he gets to the edge of the melted down tar, he lifts up and stretches over it, striking at her shield with a punch that seems to carry more than just physical force. I see it losing its shape, a shockwave rolling through it to the other side.

I have to try again, before he breaks that shield down. I start throwing everything I can at him. If they can move stuff, then I can, too. I focus on one of the huge cement trashcans anchored to the pavement. It comes up, bringing part of the sidewalk with it. I direct it through the air, hitting him from the side. He doesn't even notice that it's coming. It knocks him back into the street and lands on top of him. He crawls out from under, and I can see that now he has many arms and legs, long fangs, and a stinger, but still the same face as before, wearing an obsessed, hungry expression. Ignoring the damage I've done to him, he turns and begins crawling back toward her. He's like some kind of predatory insect, intent only on one thing.

I run forward, hurling a stream of unfocused energy at him as I go. The anger from before breaks through, and all I can think about is him feeding on her all of this time, changing who she is, poisoning her. That acidic feeling fills my chest, and my skin feels hot again. I throw ball after ball of energy, knocking him back, bowling him over, but he keeps getting up. The wave of outrage builds up in my chest, and I let it go, directing it at him like a huge psychic blast.

The wave hits him, tearing huge chunks from the asphalt and throwing them - and him - further down the street. I'm distantly aware of the sound of someone screaming, but my focus is on the monster in front of me. Now, I'm taking whatever I can draw from everything around me, the ground, the buildings, parking meters, everything. I'm using both hands, I'm throwing a barrage of bolts, fiery blasts, and debris at him. His body is taking a pounding, and I can see that this time, damage is being done.

We're dozens of yards from where he started, far enough away that we can no longer see her. He rolls onto his feet, digs his claws into the ground, opens his mouth against the tide of my attacks, and spews out a huge cloud of flying, stinging insects, which spiral up into the air high above my head. I see his body melting into the mass of bugs, and realize he's trying to escape. I turn my attack upward, but the cloud of bugs breaks up and moves away, dodging the blast, and very soon, I can't see any of them. Fearing that they're trying to sneak back to get her, I turn and run at top speed, back the way I came.

No bugs are there, but the doc and the nurse are standing outside my lady's shield, talking to her. Something inside tells me not to go any closer. Instead, I look around. I'm expecting a surprise attack at any moment, but there isn't one. Seconds later, she drops her shield. Each of them puts a hand under one of her arms. They turn as if to walk away, and vanish. I'm pretty sure I know where she's going. He won't be able to get to her there.

I won't see her again, either.

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.

Pliable Stalker

This one is another regular character of my nightmares, but fortunately, I haven't seen it much lately. 

It's really hard to fight or get away from. Its long arms are very flexible, can get longer and skinnier, bigger or smaller, and can re-shape themselves to fit into any little crevice or hole. If I lock a door, it just reaches into the keyhole and unlocks it. If I run, it stretches and runs faster than me. It will catch up with me, run beside me, and grin like mad.

"Hello. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

If I try to fight back by physical means, I find myself wrapped up in those arms, with the fingertips becoming more solid and digging into my ribs like knives while I'm bitten around the hands, face, neck, and shoulders. 

Sometimes, the glow that shows from inside of him made those bites burn like fire.Other times, there was no heat, but that glow lit up everything around him, so I couldn't use darkness to hide. Sometimes it was as though there was blood all over him.

If I'm having a borderline lucid dream, I can escape by flying away, though the arms stretch after me. There is a limit to the length it can achieve. 

Sometimes, I get to the point of lucid where I know I can defy the laws of physics, but still don't realize I'm dreaming (weird, I know but happens to me a lot) and I can use "magic" to kill it, but even with that lucidity, anything related to fire doesn't hurt it. Instead, I fly up in the air and shout "light," and a ball of light will shoot from my hands, grow as it goes, and engulf the thing in brightness until I can't see it. There is always this ragged Godzilla kind of scream from inside the light, and then it disappears, leaving behind scorch marks and blood.

I used to dream about this thing all the time, though less frequently now, with the setting often being some unfamiliar building. Not knowing the territory made it harder to run away, and if the dream is not at least somewhat lucid, I am generally awakened by the pain of being bitten, often to find that the pain is actually real life sore muscles or joints. I suspect that this is one of the things my subconscious made up in the dream state to explain the arthritis and fibromyalgia pain I generally just ignore under waking circumstances... in which case, a demonic tormentor seems perfectly logical to me.

Burglar

When I was really little, my Aunt and Uncle took in a foster kid. He was much older than me. He was severely abused - so badly his growth was stunted - and he was very disturbed. Despite the abuse at home, when he turned 18, he made the choice to go back to his biological family.
One night, I had a bad dream that he broke into our house and was trying to kill my family. I was the only one awake, and had to chase him out of the house. It's been almost thirty years, but I still remember a couple of parts of the dream. There's a big hole in the middle, though.


I find him coming up the stairs to our bedrooms, and I know he means to kill us all in our sleep. He is surprised to see me awake.
I see him running up the stairs, and I grab my brother's baseball bat.

* * * * *

We are in the kitchen. My brother and my Mom are there, too. They are off to the side, watching. The foster kid has a gun. He shoots at me, but instead of a bullet hitting me, I am hit in the cheek by a bunch of little rubber pellets. I turn and scream at him to get out, and he looks scared. I scream it again, and he looks really spooked. I start stomping toward him, and he backs out the open door. He changes his mind when he gets outside, though, and grabs it. I slam it shut on his thumb, and lean on it to force it shut, even though he still outweighs me a little. I hear the bone in his thumb break, and he goes from trying to get in to trying to pull his thumb out of the door.

That is when I woke, but not the end of the story.
That morning, I heard my brother tell Mom he had "bad dreams" the night before. He thought that someone had tried to break into the house. I said I'd dreamed the same thing, and told them who. Mom shivered and looked at me wide-eyed when I said it, and asked if us both if we'd been up in the night. We nagged her until she admitted that she had been up, because after a nightmare about a burglar breaking in, she had gone downstairs and found the door open.

Even that is not the end, though.
On the floor in the kitchen, I found rubber pellets like the ones that hit me in the dream. On the door frame, just above the latch, I found what looked like dried blood. My Dad insisted that it was rust, but it was right where his thumb had been. Then, we discovered the soda bottles we'd been saving to recycle were gone. Someone had taken them. After checking, we found a few more small items taken from the garage.

A couple of weeks later, Dad caught the foster kid stealing more items from our garage. Apparently, he had to prove his loyalty to his "real" family by showing them that he'd stolen stuff from his foster family, and since my Uncle and Aunt lived across town, he hit our house instead. I was sent out of the room for the rest of that discussion.

After that, we never saw the foster kid again.

How aware are we of our loved ones' thoughts and feelings? Did my family share a common dream because we picked up on the presence of a familiar person in the house, or was it just one of us, and then the others picked up on that person? It could be that. Before he left, I was close to the foster kid. Though he was chronologically much older than me, mentally we were the same age.
Was my dream really a dream? Maybe he really saw me in the kitchen. Maybe I scared him away.
Or... maybe it was all just coincidence. Did three of the four people in the house all have similar dreams on a night when the thing we dreamed about really happened... all just by chance?