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

Chased! (with GIF)

She has me trapped in the basement of an apartment building. She's been making me do all of the cooking and cleaning, and especially lots of heavy lifting, but she's been feeding me really well, too. I've become fairly strong, and kind of buff. Oddly, I rarely see her eat what I've been cooking, though she isn't losing any weight.

I don't remember how I got here, but I remember her acting really weird. She hugs me from behind a lot, and sometimes just feels my arms or pinches my butt. She also spends a lot of time just standing around and staring at nothing. She gets annoyed if she thinks I am not eating enough.

Her voice is raspy, and she speaks carefully but with a bit of a lisp and a slur, like a stroke survivor with speech difficulty. Her movements are kind of drunken-clumsy, too.

I don't know what exactly is on her mind, but I've got to get out of here. I have such a bad feeling. Aside from the obvious - I've been kidnapped and am being held against my will - there is something more about her that really, REALLY creeps me out.

I realize what it is when she decides I've reached peak muscle mass.

I'm in the middle of preparing a stew when she comes lurching into the room looking agitated. I know I haven't done anything to make her angry, but I instinctively back away from her anyway. She comes after me, arms outstretched, and grabs at me. She is drooling. Her eyes are red, like she hasn't slept for a week, and as her grasping hands latch onto my arms, she tries to bite me.

I pull away from her and run for the door. She has forgotten to close it. A half growl, half moan of anger comes from her as she shuffles after me. I slam the door in her face and lock it just as she used to lock me in. I hear her pounding on the other side of it, then she stops and I hear a key rattling in the lock . She can escape. I have to get out of here!

I am in a hallway. I run to the other end, where there is a door. Opening it, I find stairs. I run up those, and find myself in a dimly lit room. There are huge picture windows there. I can hear her shuffling down the hallway. I slam the stairway door, and try the windows, and they are locked. I grab a small wooden table, and smash it into the window. The table breaks, but the window remains in one piece.

She is on the stairs. I run from this room into another room, where there is another stairway. I run up those stairs. They go up much further than the ones from the basement. I go up several floors, turning between each flight of stairs and running up the next without thinking, until I come to another door. I can hear her on the stairs far below me.

I go out this latest door and find myself on the roof of a tall building. If she comes out that door, and I don't get off of this roof, I'm going to be trapped. I run to the edge. It's really high off of the ground.

I jump into the air. I think about moving up and forward. I have to move my arms and legs like I'm swimming to get it started, but it happens. I'm flying away from the building. I look back, and she is coming out the door. I hear a scream of rage and frustration coming from her as she runs to the edge of the roof. She jumps and falls to the sidewalk below with a loud splat. At first, I think I've escaped, but then I see her running along the ground beneath me, looking up.

I'm going to have to find something to fly over that she can't cross. I get an idea of where I am. I can see familiar landmarks. I turn and head east. Maybe I can lose her in the mountains.

My zombie nightmares aren't usually quite this one-on-one, but then again, the zombies in them aren't normally this tenacious, either. I can usually get away by getting on the other side of a closed door, or into a different location than the beginning of the dream. I'm usually not alone, and when I am, I'm usually coming from or heading back to a group. This dream really creeped me out, because I didn't have any kind of feeling related to who might still be left unscathed and ok. What if we were the only two people left in the world? What if I could never get away from her?

Him again

I'm walking along the side of a lake that is bordered by a lot of big rocks. There isn't exactly a path, just an area that is kind of more flat than the rest, made by smaller rocks and stones. There are also trees and bushes around me, and I can't see very far ahead, but I can hear the repeated sound of something patting against the water.

The foliage starts to thin out as I continue moving forward. I can see a guy up ahead skipping stones along the water. Something about him makes me mildly uneasy, like I'm hanging out with people who are going to get caught doing something unacceptable, and I'm going to be implicated by association. I seriously consider going back the way I came, just to avoid him.

Before I get the chance, he speaks up with my voice, sounding simultaneously petulant and reproachful: "Don't bother, stupid. You can't get away from me."
He flings another stone across the water. This one really goes, traveling quite far and getting several hits before sinking. It moves so fast leaving his hand that it makes a whistling noise.

For a moment, I feel scared because of what he said, but I don't get the feeling that this guy is going to physically harm me. I can tell that he is angry, but he's not acting aggressive. He's sulking. He's also right, I realize. I can't avoid him. If I walk back the way I came, he'll just be somewhere along that path, too.

As I approach more closely, I can see who he is. I've met him before. He's me, but he's not me. I used to try to keep him on a leash, but now I can't do that without destroying part of myself. I was right about my uneasy feeling. This guy gets me into trouble all the time.

I am just a few feet away from him. Now that I know who I'm dealing with, I know I need to get him to talk about what is bothering him. I start to ask, and he cuts me off with "Why are you asking questions without wanting answers?"

He turns and walks away from me. I chase after him, and he runs. The chase takes us into a little brick building. From the outside, it looks unimposing, like maybe a little storage building. Inside, it's quite large and ornate. I can't help but stop to look around. When I do, I realize I'm in the lobby of a courthouse.

He enters a room at the other end of the lobby. I follow. Inside, there is a hearing going on. The judge is me, in a powdered wig, with half-sized bifocals , a robe, and a sledgehammer as a gavel. The prosecutor is also me, in a pantsuit, with a briefcase, rectangular glasses, and a really severe looking bun in my hair. The defense attorney is me with wispy curls, a whimsical tie-dyed hippie dress, and huge, bookworm glasses. There is a "me" baliff, too, a six-foot amazonian thug with short hair, bulging muscles, and no glasses, dressed in a uniform and standing with crossed arms glaring down at the defendant, my boss. There are several versions of me sitting where a jury should be. Most of them don't stand out, but one is dressed in my work uniform, and another is completely naked, though no one seems to notice.

The judge looks up and says, "Is this the witness?" The male me says "Yes, I brought her."

Suddenly I'm on the witness stand. I can see the seats behind the participants, where my family and some of my friends are sitting. The prosecutor gets up and asks me questions about things my boss has done to me and how they have affected my family. As I talk about my experiences with her all in one sitting, I begin to understand why the male me is so upset. The jury is glaring hatefully at the defendant by the time the prosecutor says there are no more questions.

I'm sitting in the audience with my family. The judge is talking, but the boss is turned around and glaring at me. She keeps throwing little things at me, and missing. When one lands close, I realize what she is throwing is little round turds. She is laughing, even though she looks angry. When the turds don't hit me, she pulls a bunch of little knives out of her purse and starts throwing those. They are hitting my family.

I yell for the bailiff, but before she can get there, the male me jumps between my family and my boss. He has a huge club, and begins pounding her while I move my family away out of her reach. He is shouting obscenities as he strikes again and again with the club. She stabs him in the ribs with one of the little knives, but it's tiny and barely does any damage. His club, on the other hand, is leaving huge bruises and even broken bones.

I send my family into another room where they will be safe, and shout for the bailiff to stop the beating. The bailiff rushes over and grabs the male me, pulling him back just as he swings the club at my boss's head. The club grazes the top of her head, and there is blood, but she will survive. Behind her on the desk is one of the cash registers from work. I realize that in the process of beating her, he has smashed it, too.

He looks at me and says, "Really? You're defending her after all she's done?" and then we are back at the lake, and he's skipping stones across the water again. I see several of my co-workers swimming near the edge of the water, and they don't look happy. One of them tells me that they have to just keep swimming here because there is no place else to go.

A shark fin appears behind them, and I tell them to climb out of the water. They look at me sadly, and I realize they can't get out. The shark swims closer, and my male self starts skipping stones at it. It shies away from those, but it is still circling the swimmers. I can see parts of bodies floating in the water, and I realize these are her previous victims.

On the ground beside my male self, I see what looks like a cannon with a harpoon sticking out of it. I tell him to use that on the shark. He gives me a sharp look, and very quickly says, "I have your permission?"

Employees are friends, not food!

Somehow, I feel like I'm giving him permission to do something much bigger and more complex than this, but if I don't give it, that shark is going to eat the swimmers. I realize that there are versions of me in there, and worse, members of my family as well. Frightened, I tell him, "Yes, do whatever you have to do! Just stop that shark!"

He drops the hand full of little flat stones and grabs the cannon, turning it to aim at the shark. He fires it, and makes a direct hit. The water around the fin darkens with blood. Grabbing the attached rope, he hauls the shark over to where he is standing, then pulls it up out of the water onto the ground. I move closer so I can see it, even though I am terrified of sharks. I see the tail, the back, and the big fin on the top, but above the fin is a manager's uniform shirt from my workplace. Above that, a warped version of my boss's face stares at me. It has human eyes, but a shark's mouth, complete with teeth. The mouth is opening and closing as if she's still trying to bite, but she can't move from the spot where she is, so I am safe. There is a huge gash along the side of the shark body, and the rocks are covered with blood. Down the way from us, the rock border around the lake turns into a beach. One by one, the people in the water pull themselves out onto the shore, including the versions of me, who work together to pull my family out of the water.

The male me looks at her, then at me. I realize that if I don't let it happen this way, she's going to just keep eating people. I have to let him do what he thinks will be most effective, even if I am going to feel bad about how it turns out for her.

Brain Eater

Its dark outside. Very little light comes in through the window, even though there is a full moon, and there is a street light right outside. I've heard a shuffling noise, and I'm going down a hallway toward a room where I think the sound originated.

It's even darker there. I don't want to go in there in the dark.... too scary! I search for a light switch. It takes a couple of minutes, and during that time I hear the sound again, like someone standing in one place, but moving his or her feat around restlessly.

I find the light switch, but as I reach for it, it occurs to me that if I turn on the light, I'll lose the element of surprise. If someone has broken in and is looting that room, he'll know I'm out here as soon as light comes pouring in through the door. I make a mental note of where the switch is, then I tiptoe down the hall to the door.

I peek through the crack between the hinges. I can see the feet and legs (up to the knees) of a man laying on his side on the floor. The feet are twitching, and every so often, his whole body moves as if something is pulling or pushing on a part outside my vision. That's when the shuffling sound happens, as if the sole of a shoe is moving on a wood floor, but the man's shoes aren't making that sound.

At the same time, I can hear a sloppy wet sound, like someone with a really runny nose sniffling while trying to find a tissue. I move a little, trying to change the angle of my view. I can see further up the man's legs to his waist.  There seems to be some kind of thin, lightweight gray fabric laying across his upper body.

Leaning closer to the door and moving further to my right, I can see that the fabric is some kind of covering worn by a bald, really pale figure bent over the body. I can't see much of it, just the back of the head. The fabric starts halfway up the back of the head, and continues on down, flowing like a cloak, or a graduate's robe.

I lean forward to try to get a better look, bringing my cheek into contact with the door frame. The snuffling sound is louder now, and sounds more like someone slurping soup. I can see the man's head. Something I can't get good focus on is holding onto the top of it. It seems to be covered by more of that fabric. His hair is soaking wet, and there is blood on his neck. A white, bony looking appendage is sticking out of the back of his head. I gasp with horror and take a step back. When I do, the thing hunched over the man looks up, then turns to face the door.

I'm immediately nauseated by its appearance, even though it doesn't look incredibly horrifying. Something about it makes me feel just wrong, like having motion sickness or being dizzy from a drug. My limbs feel heavy, and the air around me feels dirty and somehow drippy, like there's some kind of poison in it. I don't want to breathe this. My stomach lurches, and I gag.

The bony appendage I was seeing is the thing's elongated face, which looks like someone grabbed the end of it and pulled, stretching it to a point. It looks solid and hard, but the end is definitely flexible, because it's moving back and forth. I hear sniffing sounds again. It turns its vacant, hollow, beady eyes in my direction, and I see that blood has dripped from its... beak? ... and stained the front of its robe. I hear a hissing sound coming from it, and the door swings open to reveal the rest of the room.

At its feet, the man's body falls forward, showing a hole in the back of his head, where the skull meets the spine. I can see bone, not just the edge of the skull, but the inside of it. The brain is gone, the fluid is gone, even the top of the spine is gone.

A thin, whiny moan comes from the creature standing over the body. It moves smoothly toward me.

Finally, my fear breaks and I run, as I realize that it intends to do to me whatever it has done to this man. I head for the light switch, hoping that the light will scare it away, but the switch is gone. During the second that I pause looking for it, I feel something soft graze the back of my other arm. I scream and bolt down the hallway. There is a door at the end. I'm working my muscles as hard as I can, but I feel like I'm moving under water, fighting the resistance of the dense substance around me and odd currents that pull me off balance. I can hear a heavy, low sound, like one long toot on a low brass instrument, with the pitch getting lower, and lower, and lower, as if the sound were intended to imitate a liquid running down a slope.

Behind me, I can hear the thing shuffling rapidly along the hallway, as if its feet don't work right, or as if it's moving on something other than feet. I am afraid to find out how close to me it is. I just have to get to that door. Twice, I feel something warm on the back of my neck and swing my arm wildly behind me to bat it away. The second time, I come into contact with something cold, hard, wet, and rubbery. I hear a high, thin wail, and I realize that the thing was right behind me. I slam into the door at the end of the hall. It feels heavier than it should as I shove it open and stumble through. Turning, I slam it behind me, right in the monster's face. I hear a thud as it runs into the door. I turn the lock, then push a chair in front of it. Even that feels heavy, and it's just a simple little wooden dining chair. I can still hear the brass sound, but now it is so far into the bass area that it is like a low growl. I can feel it vibrating in my chest.


I turn to run out the kitchen door and almost run into the monster. Somehow, it has gotten behind me even though I heard it run into the door. It knocks me down into the chair. I feel something like hands, but without the solidity of having bones, grab me through the thin fabric that hangs down over its body. I am thrown to the floor. I kick my feet to turn myself over. It takes monumental effort just to move my leg, but I make it happen. To do that, I have to actually look at my leg, even though I'm horrified of not keeping visual track of what the monster is doing. In what seems like slow motion, I kick upward and feel my boot impact against something solid. I hear a crunch and a horrible sound, like a really loud train whistle, but higher pitched. I look and see that I've hit it in the bottom of that beak, and there is a crack along the... jaw? ... where my boot heel landed. The sound makes my head vibrate, like the time I had the really bad sinus infection and sat in with the choir, only it's not just my sinuses. It's my whole head, and the vibration hurts terribly. It feels like my skull is going to split.

I'm crawling toward the door, still intent on getting away, even though I know that the only way to escape this thing is to fight it and break that beak. The nauseous sensation is creeping into my chest. My hands and feet are freezing, but my belly and chest feel hot. It's hard to breathe. The air has taken on a thick, clinging sweetness that tastes almost like bubble gum. There is still pain from the effects of the monster's scream. My vision is messed up, too. It's like I can't get my eyes to open all the way. I feel lightheaded and kind of sleepy, and my whole body feels heavy. It's so hard to move that doing so is taking nearly all of my concentration. I get glimpses of the thing sitting back and watching me, but most of the time I can't see anything but a blur. I can feel that I am almost to the door. If I can just open it, I can escape and fly away. I just have to reach it.

Then, suddenly, I can see the monster's weirdly shaped, deep set and bulging black eyes an inch or two in front of my face, and I feel something grabbing at my shoulders. Adrenaline shoots up through my chest like a lightning bolt.

I have suspected for a long time that this dream is influenced by the time during my childhood when I got sick from a mosquito bite. I contracted a virus that caused swelling in the brain and nearly killed me. The virus made me very sick, causing vertigo, lethargy, nausea, widespread inflammation and pain, extremely high (up to 107º) fever, vision and hearing difficulties, and vivid full-sensory hallucinations, but the symptom that to this day (over two decades later) sticks out the most in my memory is the terrible, crushing headache that it caused. Had someone asked me during that ordeal if I wanted a hole drilled in my head to relieve the pain, I would have agreed to it. Since then, I've had rather a vindictive fearful loathing of mosquitoes.

The earliest I can remember having this nightmare is during the experience of that illness, and I remember it more as a waking nightmare (hallucination) than an actual dream. The house I'm in during the dream is an odd conglomeration of parts of houses I've been in during life, not a real place. The kitchen is the living room to a relative's house, but with appliances and a dining area instead of living room furniture. The hallway is the hallway outside my old room at my parents house, but with a door to the kitchen instead of the closet door at the one end, and who knows what at the other. The room the man was killed in is a friend's father's den, but the man was no one I know. It's like my head just put a bunch of elements together to make up a setting to house the nightmare.


I always wake up at this same point, in a cold sweat and with my heart pounding madly, usually still nauseated, and often with a splitting headache. After having this dream, I do not feel rested, I usually have kind of a foggy/clumsy day with more than the usual muscle and joint aches, and I feel oddly "off" all day as if there is something really important I'm supposed to take care of, but can't remember it. Normally, that does not end up being the case, and there's no disastrous "oh, crap I forgot (insert vital factor here)" moment, but it still feels that way all day.

From a recent nightmare (GIF)

This thing paralyzes me with fear. I dream about it regularly. It never actually does anything but scare the everloving shit out of me as it gets closer and closer. 
I'm not a talented artist. I didn't try to draw the body. It has long, slim limbs and long, bony digits, doesn't seem to be wearing anything, but has no sign of genitalia, either.
The original image and the subsequent images for the gif below was created in a free Linux imitation of Photoshop called G.I.M.P. and then they were combined into the gif at how-to-make-gif.com.

Bowled Over, and an old dream that led to a life-changing epiphany

I am at my 20 year class reunion. One of the students who was with us up to junior high, then moved, comes into the reunion with a gun and begins shooting everyone. He doesn't kill anyone, but he does injure people and he does some damage.

One classmate who is a lifelong friend of mine and my brother's is also a former marine and a war veteran. He tackles the shooter and takes him down. I help to restrain him so that he doesn't get injured too badly. I do this out of concern that somehow if he gets injured while being stopped, he might get away with what he was just doing.

The shooter begins talking, saying things he would never say. It is apparent that he is possessed or something. He is speaking about our classmates, telling us personal secrets which, in the context of how we knew them in high school, are shocking to us and embarrassing to them. People are becoming very upset.

My buddy is afraid the shooter/demon is going to tell everyone about his combat experience, and they'll all think differently about him because he'd had to kill while he was there. I point out that I don't think differently of him, and neither would anyone else. Several of our classmates are the kids of Vietnam Veterans. They know better than to forget his personality just because he was in combat... but I (and everyone) would totally understand that he wouldn't want to spend time thinking about those experiences, and that he probably didn't want us thinking about them, either.

The demon inside the shooter turns to me and calls me crazy, then says I am misdiagnosed, that I don't have the mild mood disorder for which I've been treated during the last 20 years. I think he is going to tell everyone I have a more severe mental illness with symptoms that may be scary to other people, and I brace myself for the response I hate so much - people giving me wary looks and moving away from me. It's something I've experienced before after verbally defending myself, and that response is always hurtful. It makes me feel like a monster. Even knowing that I haven't done anything wrong, those looks always make me feel horribly guilty as though I've been unjustly mean.

I didn't want the demon to tell my secret, whatever it was. I put my hand over its mouth, and it bit me.

The pain from that woke me, but it made me think of a dream I had a few years ago. I had it two nights in a row, though it was incomplete the first night. The second night, there were more details, and I woke compelled to write an account of it. I still have the old dream journal entry about it, which I'm going to post here. Sorry that it's kind of long, but this was an oddly detailed, complex, and very symbolic dream.

The horse is black . There is no saddle, no reigns. It is a stallion with an unusually long mane.

The path is a dirt road with ditches on either side. There is grass on both sides, a meadow to my right. To my left, 20 yards into the meadow is a woods - mixed (pine and deciduous), no debris/ruts in the path.

I am headed for a perfect - picture-perfect - stone masonry cottage further along this clear path. I desperately want to be there. The place looks like a Thomas Kinkade painting - flowers, tall grass, gables on the house, and a river - the house is nestled into the side of a hill.

The horse changes pace from a walk to (a trot?) a more bouncy, faster step, and holding on takes a lot of effort. He moves off of the path, to the left - into the woods. I don't want to go in there. It isn't the path of my choice. In fact, there is no path here. As the horse carries me unwillingly into the brush, I am slapped and grabbed at by low-hanging branches. My clothes protect my legs, but the branches sting my face, neck, hands, and arms. There is a white buck ahead, and the horse follows him. In the first dream, I tried to make the horse go back - I pulled his mane and nudged him with my knees - because I didn't want to go this way. I didn't want to see the buck .

This time, I follow him to the clearing. He says the same as last time - that I am running from what I need not fear, adding this time that I cannot escape, either. I tell him again that the horse brought me - ( am not running - and he says, "what horse?" By now, he is a man with leather hunting clothes (or just winter clothes), a rifle (old) and a horn (older). I look, and the horse is gone.

He tells me again that after all this running, that from which I've fled is right behind me. (Last time when I looked, there was nothing but the woods.) This time I can feel it, and when I turn to look, there is a crowd of people, all with my face. They are all different - different ages, hairstyles, clothes, stances (attitudes?), but I recognize all of them in me. I am nervous, but not scared enough to run.

I turn and he is still there. "What is this about?" I ask, "This doesn't scare me. What am I running from? Surely not them."

He says, "look again." and I feel ice growing up my spine - this time I am afraid to turn.

"Do you want me to turn you?" he asks. The thought of his touch is more intimidating than whatever is behind me, and I take a step away. He speaks again. "You refused to see last time. I will not allow that."
I feel really guilty at this point, as if I have taken something for myself - something wanted but not needed - and hurt him in the process.

I can hear movement behind me and my mind floods with ungly images - what is behind me? A zombie? a psycho killer? are the multitude of myselves going to eat me? are they dying? am I?

I am afraid to look, and I am afraid to not look .

I feel a disturbance behind me - something dark and heavy. My mind adds sinister to that, but a breeze blows the thought away.

"Look... now."

My body turns without my consent. My heart is pounding and daggers of electric sensation are shooting through my stomach and chest, and down my arms into my hands. My mouth is dry and I can't close my eyes - can't even blink .

The crowd of myselves is sort of milling around - it is a pretty large crowd - and one of them from the back is coming forward. This one is a little taller - I can see a "crown" of brown hair, almost black, moving among the others toward the front. This one scares me - I want to run, no specific direction - just somewhere that is NOT HERE. If not for the fact that my feet seem firmly rooted ( I can't move my legs) to the ground, I would flee wildly into the forest - anything to get away from the aproaching figure. I don't want to see this - I don't want to know. I am crying, but there are no tears. That makes me feel weak - like a wuss. I make myself stop before the figure emerges.

HE is defiant in his attitude, daring me to deny that he is there. He wears my face, but it does not look feminine. He is wearing a black shirt, black pants, a long, black coat, black shoes - his fair skin (my skin) stands out against all that as if it doesn't belong in it. He just stares at me.

My insides turn to a mass of worms and water - I think I am going to puke... or lose control of my bowels. I am terrified of him - he can't be part of this group. I don't want him to be real - or I just don't want him to BE. I am angry at him for doing this to me. I want to kill him.

I can't run away, but I can move toward him, so I attack - I rush him and begin pounding on him, but he just keeps looking at me without defending himself at all. His eyes are dark and full of something undefined (to me) that I'm afraid to understand. I draw back and punch him in the eye (right handed - left eye) as hard as I can. I am so scared and angry - I just want him to go away.

The punch knocks him down, and a bruise forms instantly around the eye, and my hand hurts. A little girl-me; small, skinny, with round eyes, bangs, and short pigtails, rushes over to him, puts herself between us and yells "STOP!" She looks afraid. "Can't you see you're hurting us?"

My attention is drawn to the damage I've done to him - bloody nose, fat lip, black eye, scratches on his neck... the other ones all have the same injuries... and their hands are all bruised where mine are.
I touch my lip, where the nosebleed is flowing, and I feel wet, sticky warmth. I can see blood on my fingertips.

Behind me the Hunter says, "You see."

I look, but he is gone, and in his place are more "versions" of me.

There are so many...

 - a naked woman with green hair... another with butterfly wings. Two more men, one with dark blond hair, one with red. The blond is dressed like a logger, and the redhead like a hunter, but with some kind of canvas pants.

There is a little boy carrying a slingshot and a book of matches. In his shirt pocket is a small book entitled "1000 really offensive dirty jokes." He is lighting the matches and letting them burn until the flame gets too close to his fingers. He grins at me and I see he has no upper front teeth.

The wounds are healing as I look through the crowd and see a clown, a catlike hybrid, a female me dressed in my dad's sunday best, carrying a briefcase and a dry-erase marker; there is a circle of myselves dancing - some are naked, some in different clothes, ranging from stuff I wore in the 80s to hippie/rennie stuff to pornworthy lingerie.

A hand grasps my shoulder and sends ice up and fire down my spine. I turn - more jerking away than turning - so that I face the dark-clothed male me. He is standing close. He asks why I am afraid of him. He says others in the group are much more worthy of my fear. Behind him, I see a brown-skinned me guarding a pale albino-like me who is wearing a straight jacket and a muzzle. She is struggling and kicking. Her eyes are red and she looks angry and hateful. I don't want her to see me.

The brown me says, "It's ok - I've got her under control." I realize he actually does. He has her on a leash.
Then I realize I'm also holding a leash. The me I'm facing - the guy in all black - has a choker collar on, and the leash is attached.

He looks really sad now, and is not so intimidating.

I feel bad about how mean I am to him, and he sees the change in my face. He begs me "please turn me loose."

I am afraid to take off the collar - I feel a need to keep him under my control. He keeps looking at me. He says the collar is suffocating him, and that he's going to die. He grabs my jacket and I get scared and yank the leash when I step back . That pulls him down. He repeats his statement and looks desperately at me, and I feel as though the collar is on my own neck. I reach up to my neck and my fingers find the collar. I have the leash, but the collar is getting tighter. I look at him and see that his lips are turning blue.

I try to tear the collar off my throat, but I can't. It pulls me down, and I feel my knees hit the ground. He grabs my hands and pulls them from my throat to his. I realize I have to take off his collar to get rid of mine, so I unclasp the buckle and remove it, and give it to the boy with the matches. In my hand are 2 collars - mine and his(mine) - and the boy, who now has a lighter instead of matches, burns them.

I feel really relieved about the collar. I look at the dark-clothed male me and say, "I still don't trust you."
He smiles and tells me, "That's ok... you shouldn't."

I wake.

I can still smell the forest.

My heart is pounding, and my legs hurt.



There is a lot of symbolism in this dream. The horse is that aspect of life that represents things you cannot control; time keeps moving, other people do what they're going to do no matter how it affects your life, and reality is what it is regardless of what you want. In a way, it's beautiful because it takes you to positive experiences you would have been too scared to seek out, but sometimes getting there is a rough trip.


The cottage is my "ideal" life; everything perfect, pretty, and cozy with needs met and nothing scary. It's pretty, peaceful, and quiet. In other words, the impossible. The horse is never going down that path.


The deer and the horned God showing up are my relationship with deity. I more often find myself identifying with pagan traditions, and though I do have Christian principles, I've learned along the way that those same principles exist in pagan practices as well. I've found that for me, self-examination through spiritual practice is more effective when following pagan traditions, and the deity form which "visits" me most during spiritual meditation is the Hunter.

Though it took time, I've figured out some of the "selves" from the dream.
The albino is my temper and my "wild" side. It's that bad, and I make a point to keep a tight restraint on myself because when I don't, I do damage to people's lives.


The brown me with the leash was a connection to my Kanienkehaka (Mohawk) ancestors. I did not learn until I began attending Pow-wows during the last year that some of my techniques for moderating my baser instincts, and in particular my volatile temper, are characteristic of the spiritual traditions of my ancestors. Because of my "civilized" life experience, I saw that moderation as a straight jacket, a muzzle, and a leash, but I've seen those two "selves" since in other dreams, and that's not how it is. The temper "me" is managed more through verbal and nonverbal cues, touch, and eye contact, and is kept very subdued without ever having to be bound like an animal.


The guy I didn't want to see is kind of my animus, but he also represented the aspects of myself trapped by inhibitions I've subconsciously assigned myself in order to make myself fit the profile I though I should fit. I was so intent on being who and what everyone wanted of me that I had forgotten not just to be myself, but how myself was defined. I'm really a very independent person, and I have kind of an attitude. I push back rather than giving in. I don't give a rat's ass about other people's taste in aesthetics and am prone to choosing odd things that I like over what is in style or even considered acceptable. (Because of that, I was kind of a goth in high school.) I guess you could call him my inner rebel, but I wouldn't use that strong of a term; I'm just independent, not rebellious.
Anyway, I had also been deliberately but subconsciously interpreting a same-sex attraction as a serious interest in fashion that I do not really have, and I think that was the one of the biggest reasons why he was there. 

When I had this dream, I had been trying to be a conventional person, when I'm really, really NOT.
The reason I was so scared of and angry about him is that I didn't want to confront what I had been hiding from myself; that the carefully constructed fake self I was presenting to the world was unsustainable, and trying to maintain it was killing me. I was exhausting myself trying to be that person. My beating on him was my last ditch effort to avoid admitting the dishonesty of that construct.


The little girl who protected him is my sense of right and wrong. No matter how much I learn, that part of me still remains childlike and naive. If I were to look at it now, I'd probably see a young adolescent instead of a child, but that's about as far as I've progressed. That makes it hard to deal with situations of injustice; No matter what logic dictates, somewhere inside I always expect fairness, and am always indignant and offended when events don't go the way I think they should.


The naked woman with green hair and the dancers are my inner attitude about how people view me. I try to be sociable, but in reality, I just don't care. I am who I am, and it doesn't really bother me if people don't want to associate with me because of the definition of "me." The only distress I've ever suffered over being socially awkward came from my sense that others view it as inappropriate to not desire acceptance by people in general. In the past, I have sought others' acceptance because I've been led to feel that not doing so is an inappropriate choice. I don't do that any more.

The woman with butterfly wings is an aspect of my artistic side. I don't care if others recognize or even like what I create. I just enjoy the process of creating, and desire the freedom to continue. I'm kind of sporadic and chaotic in my art. In the way that a butterfly's life is fleeting and unpredictable, so are my creative energy, my inspiration, and my level of production.


The lumberjack and the hunter are my work ethic. I'm a git 'er done kind of girl. These are guys with tough, dangerous jobs, who can't just ask someone else to cover their shift if they get sick or injured. They're competent and hard working, common sense oriented, and rough enough around the edges to not be above stepping outside their given roles to address an issue or achieve a task. That is how I approach work. I have a reputation for not calling in sick, even when I should, and for solving problems no one else can. The "me" in my father's clothes with the dry erase marker is my father's influence on my work ethic. I do often feel like I'm trying to "fill his shoes," and I feel under-qualified to do so.

The boy with the matches represents the obnoxious little brat I can sometimes be, and my fascination with fire. 
My sense of humor is definitely more gutter than society. I'm terribly lewd when I'm with my friends. Contrary to my expectations, when I'm ornery like that, the people close to me treat me in a similar manner to the affectionate way that I treat those I view as adorable rather than similar to the impatient way I treat those I view as irritating, so I don't feel too bad about the behavior. I guess it is appropriate for my inner "problem child" to cut loose my sexuality and my stubborn defiance.  That little brat has no clue what it's like to have to navigate the maze of rules and expectations that makes up the rest of the civilization with which I have to interact every day!

The clown represents my dismayed sense of not being taken seriously when I am being serious, an experience I loath and kind of fear, which happens way too frequently. I'm not going to focus on that one, though, because I find clowns creepy. I'll just point out that I'm pretty sure this happens to everyone, not just me.

There were changes in how I experienced the world after I had that dream. I went from being upset by dreams in which I was male. I began to stand up for myself more in situations that had previously intimidated me. I felt differently about people, and become more comfortable admitting that female friends of mine are attractive, and that if my husband were female, I'd be just as much in love as I am. 

Most of all, I realized that with the exception of my temper I keep myself, particularly my emotions, under too tight of a restraint, and that is why I was over thirty years old before I was able to admit to myself that I am bisexual. Under the surface, I was making that a much bigger deal than it actually is. 
Since then, I've made a point to not take my restraint beyond what is required to keep from hurting others. I've started standing up for myself more, and being myself more, and things have been a lot better.

Oddly, though none of my classmates know of my epiphany and I don't plan on telling them, in the Bowled Over dream, I had no fear that the demon was going to "out" me to them. It was revealing things that people would be uncomfortable having others know, and I don't feel uncomfortable with that. I was afraid it was going to say I have an anger disorder that makes me dangerous, or something similarly awkward which would cause my classmates to mistrust or fear me. Whereas it would not bother me that some of them would surely disapprove if they knew my sexuality, it would cause me a great deal of distress, embarrassment, and guilt if they were afraid of me. I guess there is an aspect of others' opinions that I value; while I don't need or desire approval, I do care about how I affect the experiences of others.

There is more to write about this, as after I had the dream about the class reunion (which I didn't attend in real life, though I did hang out with a few classmates the night before at a local bar) I had a dream about that male self in all black. That, however, is going to have to be my next entry, as this one is becoming entirely too long.