Parting shot down

This is one of those that started off with me knowing a bunch of things that had "happened," but which I didn't actually experience in the dream. I knew them as memories, though in reality, they have not occurred. There are some of them which might, though, because I'm in the process right now of changing jobs, and that was the subject of the dream.

I had finished the hiring process with the place I'm interviewing with now. I had a start date, giving me just enough time to provide my current employer and my psychotic, abusive boss with two weeks' notice and then have two days off before starting my new job. I hope that happens, but in reality, employers often don't give new employees start dates that far off, and I'll probably be unable to do anything like that.

I wanted very badly to be ungracious, tell her off, or quit without notice to make her scramble to cover my shift, but instead, I typed up a nice letter about how I was moving on to an environment that I felt was more suited to my professional capabilities. The one thing I could not bring myself to leave out of the letter was that I the work environment had strongly contributed to my decision to seek other employment. Not only is that an important truth, I was sure that if I didn't say it, my employer would try to use the letter as evidence against my retaliation claim with OSHA, because they've been that sneaky and underhanded about everything else. 

I'm printing my "resignation" letter after having read it for what feels like the billionth time. I feel bad writing about the work environment in a notice like this, but I'd be more uncomfortable leaving the company with anything that gave the illusion that we were parting on good terms.

It takes three tries, because I'm so nervous about how this is going to go that I keep choosing the wrong printer, the one that isn't hooked up, instead of the one that is. Finally, I get it to print. I put it in a labeled envelope, for added formality. I throw a jacket on and head out the door to warm up the van.

It's freezing outside, and my old van doesn't want to start. Instead of fighting with it, I decide to walk there instead. Might as well. I've got two weeks before I'll be driving across town to work every day. The thought gives me a boost. I lock the van, go get my coat and gloves, and head up the street with my letter in hand.

The cold air beats on my face, but it's not bad. It's freezing, but not windy. By the time I get to work, though, my nose is red. I should have worn a scarf.

I'm early. From where I live, it actually takes me less time to walk to work than to drive. I take a moment and buy my usual - a quart of chocolate milk - to substitute for the fact that I won't get a lunch break during the first 6 or possibly 7 hours of the 9 hour shift for which I'm scheduled. In two weeks, I won't have to deal with that any more. The place where I'm going doesn't schedule past 8 hours, and has mandatory breaks. That's going to be different for me after 6 years of this place.

I take my purchase, with receipt, into the back room, and hand my boss the envelope. She's on the phone. She doesn't look at it, so she doesn't notice that it says my name, followed by "two weeks' notice" on the front. I wait until she is off the phone. She glances at the envelope, does a double-take, then gets up and walks out of the room.

Okay, fine. I'm not playing her game today. I'm in a good mood.

I wait to clock in. I can hear her "pissed off" laugh, a harsh, pounding laughter she pulls out for occasions when she wants to sound like she's not bothered or upset, but she's actually really steamed. That lets me know she definitely read the front of the envelope and is pretending not to have noticed.

Whatever. Time comes around, and I clock in, walk out, and ask which register I'm on. She tells me. I start the routine for opening that register. I'm about to ask to make sure she did read the front of that envelope, when she abruptly turns and walks into the back room again.

My co-worker asks me what set her off. I tell him. He laughs. I ask what's so funny, and he very quietly says, "She was talking about you on the phone this morning, planning how to break you down by making you work swing shifts for a month. Now, she can't. You just ruined her plans."

We are stocking cigarettes while we talk, grabbing packs out of cartons and stuffing them into the pack rack behind us. It's an unending task, so we're kept pretty busy even though there's not a customer in the store.

She hears our quiet voices, comes out to the front, and says, "You guys going to do any work today, or just stand around talking?" We both stop what we're doing, hands full of cigarettes, and look at her like she's grown a second head. She can see that we're performing job duties. She's just in a bad mood.

I say, "Look, just because you're annoyed about my notice doesn't mean you have to bark at us. You can see that we're working." Now that I don't have to fear unemployment, her behavior doesn't evoke the same impotent, head-down-closed-mouth resentful anger. I'm not caged any more.

My coworker chokes on thin air, coughs and sputters, and escapes the situation by heading over to brew a pot of coffee. He's not abandoning me. He's getting out of my way.

She says, "So, where will you be working?"

I remind her that, as it says in my letter, I'm not disclosing that information. What I didn't say in the letter is my reason, which is that I fully expect her to try to sabotage my new position by showing up and bad-mouthing me to my new boss before she even gets a chance to get to know me.

My boss glares at me and tells me that by refusing to answer her question, I'm being insubordinate, and she can fire me on the spot. I know that's not true. It takes the company two weeks just to write an employee up, and they can't fire me without doing that first. By the time they get anything done, I'll be at my new workplace anyway. She's just blowing smoke, and we're both aware of that.

I smile and wait. Forced to back down from what she said, she starts handing out crap duty, literally. I'm ordered to first clean the restrooms, then take lot duty. No one ever gets both of those chores in one shift, and I know it's meant as a punishment, but it doesn't bother me, because I know that's all she can do.

Then she says, "...and when you get done with that, you can meet me in the cooler."

So, I'm assigned all of the heavy lifting for the day. Okay. I can handle that.

I start the tasks, grabbing the necessary tools. While I'm in the men's room cleaning, I hear someone go into the ladies' and move around. When I go in there, it's a mess, toilet paper everywhere, wetness on the floor, walls, and bowl. I leave the cleaning equipment there, put up the wet floor sign, and go for a bucket. I can't believe she thought this would phase me. All I have to do is sweep up the paper, then pour water on everything before washing and sanitizing. There's a drain in the floor, for crying out loud.

She has this smug look on her face. I smile and wander off with the bucket and broom, as the smug look changes to confusion. When it doesn't take me any longer to do the ladies' room than to do the men's, and I don't complain about it, she has to look and make sure I actually did the chore, taking my coworker with her to witness, because she's assuming I didn't get it done. While she's doing that, I gather the stuff for lot duty. I hear the coworker say, "...looks like she washed the walls, too." as I'm on my way out the door. My boss glares at me, but what can she say? It's clean and dry.

I go through the whole series of tasks for lot without incident, taking about half an hour to get everything done, because for once, it isn't that bad. Usually, she waits until later in the day to send me out, so I'm used to the chore being messier and heavier.

I come back inside and head for the cooler, but she's not there. I find her in the back room, let her know lot is done, and I'm ready for the next thing. She tells me it can't be done that fast, and she's going to go inspect my work for short cuts. I shrug, and ask if she wants me to wait here or start in the cooler. That I'm not concerned pisses her off, and she tells me I'd better check my attitude, as if I said something different. When that also fails to bother me, she sends me on into the cooler and goes outside.

By the time she joins me in the cooler ten minutes later, I've got two "doors" filled with product and am working on the third. I work much faster when I'm in there by myself. She immediately begins working on whatever she can find that involves reaching for things that are over my head. Everywhere I go, she has to put the step ladder right over me, then climb up and reach for stuff, knocking it down so that I have to catch it to keep it from falling on me. I stop working on what I'm doing, go to the other end of the cooler where there are no shelves, and start putting away bottles of pop. She glares at me, starts telling me how worthless she thinks I am, and how it won't matter if I go someplace new because I'm never going to amount to anything. She says I'll end up in as much trouble at my new job as I am with her, calls me lazy and stupid, and accuses me of having issues with people in authority.

That finally gets to me. I've never had trouble at work like this. In my past, to which she is not privy, I've been far above the position I'm in now, and my success in the past was due to my work ethic and professionalism. She doesn't know anything about me, and has no right to make such criticisms. I grit my teeth and continue stocking, reminding myself that I've only got two more weeks to deal with her. She continues berating me, pushing and pushing, talking about the person she's made up in her head for me to be, instead of the person I know that I am. Then she starts talking about what kind of parents must have raised me.

I can handle all of it, until she starts talking about my mother. I know what she's trying to do. She thinks if she pisses me off enough, I'll hit her, and she'll be able to press charges, once again showing me the false image of me she's built up in her mind. I struggle to not lose my temper, but I've been subjected to a half-hour barrage, and I'm worn down. I finally tell her what I'm thinking. I've been a foreign ambassador for my hometown. I've been a business owner, a teacher, a professional artist, and a model. I've been not only above the position I'm in now, but above the position she's in. With the way she treats her subordinates, and the attitude she has toward other people, she'll never be anything more than the fat fish in a little pond that she is now. And it doesn't matter what she says, because I'm out from under her thumb, and there's nothing she can do about that. There's nothing more she can do to me but stupid, petty little things like this.

She turns beet red and rushes me. I try to put the cooler door between us, but she runs around it, slams into me, and knocks me into the beer cave, landing on top of me. She sits up and starts swinging at my face, calling me obscene names the whole time. I'm trying to dodge and block, but she's getting through anyway. A regular customer sees the fight, and rushes in to pull my boss off of me. I scramble away from her, backing up against a rack of 12-pack bottles. The customer is looking at us like we're from another planet, but at the same time, he's kind of grinning, and I know he's thinking, "Cool! Chick fight!"

She immediately cools off, tells the guy that this isn't what it looks like, and I attacked her. He looks at the shiner that's all ready forming under my eye, blood on my lip, bruised arms, and messed up hair, then at her undamaged face, and unruffled demeanor, and says, "Riiiiiight."

She still pulls out her phone, calls the police, and says she wants to press charges. The customer immediately tells me he'll hang around and act as a witness, and I know that the bulk of the assault is on the store's video of the beer cave, but there's no proof of what happened in the cooler, and I'll probably be arrested on her word before the whole thing gets straightened out. I hear her also tell the dispatcher that I stole a quart of chocolate milk, which is sitting in the back room without a receipt. I paid with my check card, so again, I'll be able to prove she's lying, but it's going to take time to get that proof.

She's going to try to make sure I'm unavailable to start my new job. My heart sinks, and I feel totally defeated, wondering if I'm ever going to win one instead of getting trampled all the time.

I woke today feeling pretty depressed, probably because tomorrow is my first day back after being on vacation for a week. My boss hasn't had me at work to harass every day, and I know what happens when she doesn't get her fix. After her week's vacation in December, she was intolerable for days. That's why I ended up taking these days off. I just needed to get the hell away from her. I've really been dreading going back. 

A few minutes ago, I got a phone call that has changed all of that. I just got hired in to the photo center of a bigger chain store. It's going to start out part time, but I've all ready been told I'll be getting more hours soon.

I've actually got a new job. I am out from under her thumb. It's real. And unlike in my nightmares, there's going to be nothing she can do about it. I'll never have to deal with her again.

In the meantime, I'm really glad I'm not dreaming about the scary monster that has been haunting my nightmares for almost a month. Between getting through that, and the good news today, I'm feeling pretty darned good, like a thousand pound weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

Gotta go - time to start composing my letter.    ˆ֊ˆ  

Feed me, Seymour.

I didn't want to be here. I worked really hard to not come here. Why am I on the beach again?

I look up, and see that endless blue sky. No sun.

This is bad. I can't have used it up. It must be hidden.

I think about trying to change things, make a shelter or a shield, anything I can, but I get the feeling that doing so would draw attention to me. I have a vague memory of something with salt water and herbs, candles, and determination.

I was hoping that would help, but I feel almost like I've got food poisoning, and maybe a fever. I feel hot and cold at the same time, and there's this watery feeling in my gut.

I need to get out of here, but the beach is kind of endless. Maybe the water...


I hear that low, caustic voice behind me. "Are you sure?"


I'm not. I know what I usually find in deep water. This is why I hate coming here. And as if to punctuate the thought, I can see a dorsal fin sticking out of the water a few yards off shore. An icy chill runs through my chest, and my first impulse is to back away from the water, as if the shark can come out of there and get me on the beach, but I don't move. If I let him see me reacting, I'm sure he'll use that.

I decide that since I'm found, there's no point in hiding my energy. I pull from the sea and the sand, and make a shield around myself, keeping it close. In the split second it takes me to pull and form that, I hear movement in the sand. I charge my shield.

I hear a short, rough chuckle right behind me. His voice is repulsive. It makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to not respond. I close my eyes and picture a huge, no trespassing sign. KEEP OUT.

Something is touching my shield. I can feel it, just behind my right shoulder, something small, sliding along the bubble, moving across the surface. The feeling is bizarre, like having a hair inside my shirt. I want to fidget, scratch, grab at it and pull it off of me, but I also feel like that would be a form of surrender, like giving him a point - he'd be acknowledged. I take a deep breath, let it out slow, and push against the pressure of the touch with that same sense of KEEP OUT.

The touch moves around the side of the shield, past my arm, across the front of the shoulder. That stray hair feeling moves up the side of my neck, and an involuntary shiver threatens to break through. I feel myself gritting my teeth, tensing up every muscle in my body. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Another deep breath, and I push again. That touch is still there, moving up past my jaw, across my cheek, my temple, my forehead, coming to rest right between my eyes, and then a slow tapping starts.

. . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

Now, I'm ready to crawl out of my skin. I have to see what he's doing. I open my eyes to see a clawed finger tapping on the outside of the "glass."


He's repeatedly touching the outside of my charged, spiked shield, and nothing is happening to him.

He stares at me from behind his hand, and says, "Greetings."

My heart thumps hard, and there is a crushing pain in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I shouldn't have opened my eyes. It's immediately apparent that he can see right through my bravado. I'm not fooling anyone.

I stare back at him. He stops tapping on my shield, and lets his finger hang in the air in front of my face. The urge to get as far away from him as possible is now competing with the urge to reach out and break his finger. He sees me looking, pulls his hand back a bit. His head tilts slightly to the side, his expression thoughtful, then he reaches right through the shield, and pokes that claw at the area between my eyes. The shield melts away like butter, falling to the ground around my feet and soaking into the sand. It feels like a set of clothing falling off, and now I feel totally exposed.

I smack his arm away from my face with one hand, and shove the heel of the other against his chest to push him away. He shakes his head at me and says, "Whatever," sounding petulant.

I wait a moment to see what he's going to do. He seems to be waiting to see what I'm going to do.

I remind him, "When I asked you where "through" would take you, you just dodged my question. Are you going to answer it?"

He dodges again. "Are all of your people laced throughout with that lovely shade of rage and resentment, or is it just you?"

I start to open my mouth to answer that no, I'm not normal, but I have a bad feeling about sharing any information with him about "my" people. Instead, I close my mouth, and cross my arms, and look as stubborn as I can.

He doesn't seem intimidated by it. Instead, he moves right up to me, so quickly my eyes can't keep track, and says, "It's an affliction, isn't it? It touches everything about you. I could taste it, you know? Is it rare, or are there many of you?"

I don't answer him. I'm thinking about what he's asking me. Everything about this feels wrong. I don't like his sudden interest in my psychological make-up. I tell him to back off.

He doesn't.

He says, "You don't hide things very well. You don't have to answer me. I can see it on your face. I'm right about you. It is an affliction. You hate it, don't you? Don't you fear being consumed by it? Wouldn't you like to get rid of it?"

What is he asking me? Everyone gets angry. I have things to be angry about. I have lots of them, and I'm only actually mad about half of those. Of course there are things I resent. People have been abusive to me, lied to me, taken advantage of me, and stolen from me. Wouldn't it be abnormal and unnatural to have to work through some resentment?

I remind myself what I've been told about this guy. He's made of lies, and deception. He feeds on the things we poison ourselves with. If I let him, he'll eat me alive, and he'll probably hurt everyone I love and protect in the process. I remind myself what he tried to do to my Lady. I harden my resolve. It's the only shield I have left. I turn my face away from him.

"No. You can't have it. It's mine."

I feel his chilled breath on my neck, and he very quietly chides, "You're a bad liar." Then, he says my Name. Not the one my parents gave me, not any of the pet names my friends call me, not even the one I use in the circle; my Name name, the one from before, that is mine regardless of what others call me.

I turn my face back to look at him. His eyes are inches away from mine. Seeing him that close makes my stomach lurch. A chill washes down my back, and into my core. I can't keep myself from shaking.

He asks, "Why hold on to such a burden? Let it go. I want it, and you don't. It isn't going to do you any harm to give it up. You'd be better off without it."

My gut hurts. This thing standing before me wants to feed on me like a leech. The sad thing is, this is so tempting... to be able to get rid of something I have to fight tooth and nail to control, to not feel pissed off all of the time - I could happily get rid of my temper. He's right. I don't want it. I do hate it. It is a burden. But I don't trust him. He's a thief, stealing emotions and twisting souls. I'm angry over what he's done. This actually makes me furious. I ask, "Is this how you do it? Is this how you hunt your victims, talking them into making some kind of deal with you? Did you trick my Lady into some kind of bargain?"

He utters a short, barking laugh. "I don't have to bargain with prey. She didn't even know I was there until it was too late. Most never do."

I ask, "Why are you trying to bargain with me?"

Instead of answering, he looks at me like I'm trying to pull one over on him. Inside, I feel like I'm prying at something, or trying to get through a maze. There's something I'm not taking into account. Even that look seems familiar, like I've seen him do it before. I feel horribly confused, and at the same time, I've got that tip-of-the-tongue, memory not found kind of frustration building up. 

He says, "You all ready know the answer to that question. You just don't want to confront it."

I don't want to believe him, but that feels true. That doesn't make me trust him any more than before, or rather mistrust him any less. It just gives me yet another thing to try to figure out.

He continues, "...so close to the surface I can smell it on you." I feel a light pressure on my throat, moving down toward my heart. He's looking down. I look, and see his finger tracing along the center of my armor. I'm overwhelmed with revulsion, disgust, and outrage. Pushed over the edge, and without even thinking about it, I haul off and slug him right in the nose, feeling the bone crack against my knuckles, knocking him back into the water, yelling at him.

"DON'T.  YOU.  TOUCH.  ME."

He sits in the water, nose bleeding, wide-eyed with surprise. He reaches up and touches the blood, licks his fingers, and says, "See, you're even angry when you're frightened."

Still shaking, heart pounding, I turn my back on him and trudge back up the beach. Part of me is terrified to do this - never wanting to turn my back on an enemy - but I need to get away from him, and from this spot. I need this discussion to be over, before he starts to make sense to me. I don't want to be an angry person, but what he's offering usually comes with a terrible price, or at least I expect there to be one.

It felt like I walked for a long time after that. Nothing else happened, but I also never got further from the water, or closer to the fence. I feel kind of stuck, though I think if I tried hard enough, I could change the scene. I'd still be in the dream state, just with a different image. And I guess I'm too old to stay up all night, because that obviously didn't work, either.

A Walk in the Dark

I'm just clocking out at the end of a work shift. It's after dark. I've stayed later than I was supposed to, because someone didn't do things that are supposed to be done on first shift, and I had to catch up so that it all didn't fall on the 3rd shifter. Instead of 8 hours, I've been there for 9. It's almost midnight.

I worked on "fast forward" all night, and I'm feeling it. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My ribs hurt, and I don't even know why. I just want to go home, take more than the recommended dosage of ibuprofen, and crawl into bed with three or four blankets over me.

The last heavy thing I did tonight was change one of the big BIBs. (BIB = Bag In Box. It's the syrup for one of the colas in the soda fountain.) Those things weigh 50 pounds, and I'm the only girl at work who can really handle them. The co-worker on shift with me can't even lift the darned things. She pointed out that it was empty, watched me lift it, flip it, and shove it into place, then finished attaching it while I went out to run the nozzle to get the air out of the hose so it wouldn't spit on our customers.

Now, I'm thinking that maybe I shouldn't have flipped it to turn it over. That was a bit much. The way my shoulders feel, I may have been overdoing it there... but it was fun to watch my co-worker's eyes widen when I did it. I made it look like less effort than it was. I guess it's my one weakness of ego - If I can't be cuter, I at least like being bigger and stronger than the other girls.

Once the time clock lets me out (and it takes about 5 times for it to read my print) I leave the back office, say goodbye to the night shifter, admonish him to greet everyone at the door with a smile (a robber is less likely to hit your store if he knows you're alert and you got a good look at his face as he walked in) and then head out to my van.

That's when I remember - I had to walk tonight. My van wouldn't start. It wouldn't even turn over. My husband was all ready at work, so there was nothing I could do. I walked here, and now I'm going to have to walk home.

It's only three blocks, but the way I feel, it might as well be three miles. Better start walking now, or it's only going to get worse.

I step out into the chilly air, zip up and put up my hood, and set out down the street back to my place. Every step is a battle. My body just doesn't want to move. Except when I have to cross the street, I am almost entirely focused on just putting one foot in front of the other without falling on my face. It seems like an eternity.

One block down, two more to go. I step up onto the curb, and continue trudging forward. The windows in the houses beside me are all darkened. Everyone else is all ready in bed. Even the yards are unlit. No one's porch lights are on. Shadows are starting to look creepy. I'm starting to think about all of the robberies we've had at neighborhood businesses this season. There haven't been muggings, but still... shadows are starting to look creepy.

I force my legs to work a little harder. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can rest. My thighs protest, and my hips sound off in agreement. I sound just like the crispy rice cereal I had for breakfast.

I still have 2 1/2 blocks to go. This sucks.

I'm so focused on my own movement, I barely notice and at first don't even register the movement beside a tall tree off to my right. I've passed it when I realize what I've ignored. I hear footsteps on the sidewalk behind me.

Crap. If I look back, I'm going to look paranoid. If I don't, I won't know who is behind me. I could change course, but there's no other route to my place. I'd end up walking a lot more, then having to loop around, and I don't think my legs can take that. Besides, this is the best lit part of the area. It's on a main street, not a side street.

The other walker seems to be matching my pace, right down to my uneven step. Until I started paying attention to the sound of those footsteps, I didn't even realize I was limping. Damn, I must look so vulnerable! Why didn't I call someone? I have friends who would have given me a ride.

Well, because it's rude to call people late at night, isn't it? I wasn't expecting this, so I didn't bother anyone.

I'm such a dumbass.

I feel like I'm being mocked. My stalker knows that I can hear those footsteps. When I pick up the pace, so does he. It's on. I might as well stop pretending to not know.

I turn and look, and am surprised to see that he's much further behind me than expected. I'm almost at the end of the second block, and he's still clear back by that tree. Maybe he's not following me after all. Maybe the weather is just affecting the acoustics, or something like that.

As the though goes through my head, my stalker lengthens his stride and begins to catch up. In the darkness, I can't see his face, or any other details, except that he's a big, tall guy with a coat that goes below the hips and has a hood, which he's wearing, casting a shadow over his face. On his feet are some kind of heavy soled boots. He's now advancing on me with a purpose. What is he going to do when he finds out I don't have any money?

Adrenalin shoots through my chest like fire. I turn and force my aching muscles to move. Each step is torture. I feel like I'm literally tearing my hips to shreds, but I'm running anyway. I try to scream, but I can't breathe. Behind me, I hear him catching up, but my body won't move any faster. I feel a sense of impending doom. I know this is going to hurt, but not how badly. My mind is racing, trying to figure a way out of it. I realize I'm going to have to fight.

As the thought hits me, so does he. One huge hand slams into my back, and I fall on my face, my hands, chin, my nose slamming into the pavement with a loud smacking sound. I roll over and try to kick him, but he's not there. Looking around wildly, I see him standing beyond my head. I still can't see his face. I scramble to get up, but he grabs the back of my coat and shoves me back down, face first into the sidewalk again. I'm no shortie - I'm 5' 9", but this guy makes me feel small. He's at least 7' tall, and has a good 40 pounds on me. I'm reduced to kicking and flailing uselessly, like a little kid. I feel my feet gain purchase on the sidewalk, and try to push away, but instead I feel the weight of my attacker on my back. He pushes me down, grabs my arms, and pins my hands to the ground beside my face.

I can feel his breath moving my hair. In my ear, a deep, but decidedly feminine voice says, "Do we have to do this every time?" And I realize that the chest pressed against my back is awfully soft for being a man's chest.

Oh, God. I'm being mugged by a 7 foot tall woman. I try to turn to get a look at her, but I can't move. I try to ask what she wants, but I can't breathe. My hands are pinned, and so are my legs, but the position she's in doesn't lend itself to any kind of action, unless she intends to start biting me, which she'd have done by now if that was the intention. My heart is pounding, and my whole body hurts. I figure she's waiting for me to signal surrender by not struggling any more.

I'm about to force myself to relax when I hear another voice from behind us. "You idiot. You're not going to get anything out of her that way. Cut it out." That one is male. I recognize it, but I can't remember from where. The sound of it scares the crap out of me, sending shivers through my entire body.

The shock of hearing that second voice, when I didn't even know he was there, woke me. It was dark, and my husband was in the room. He'd gotten up and gotten ready for work, and was about to leave. I was awake long enough for him to kiss me goodbye. I thought I'd get up, but it was only about four hours after I'd gotten to sleep. My head was heavy, and my body just didn't want to move. Even though the dream really freaked me out, I was so tired that I slipped back to sleep anyway. I drifted in and out for another two hours, until the light made sleep impossible. If it were dark, I could go back to sleep again right now.

I have really been feeling helpless lately, dealing with the crap I'm going through at work. This dream could be my mind's way of picking at that scab, but that doesn't explain the male voice and why it scared me so bad. I'm not sure what to think about that.

On a side note, this would never happen. My husband wouldn't let me walk home. If he came home from work and the van was still there, he'd come pick me up when my shift was over, not leave me to walk home in the dark. 

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.

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.

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