the nightmare that wasn’t
I hadn't thought about writing horror stories for a long time. There hasn't been time to conjure up any stories for that matter.In most dreams for the last few months, I'm working. No matter how ridiculous the scene is - maybe with circus characters, I'm doing research and analysis in the background. That is pretty dull.
The most interesting dream was one that I didn't have at all. It was about a house. I'd been watching a documentary on a murder on TV, and they had showed the home and discussed the evidence. I thought, after watching, that if a person really took a good look at the evidence, it would be solved.
When I went to sleep, the first thing I saw was the house, and I was to enter. This has happened before in other dreams and I am not flippin' going in. I forced myself to wake, but when drifting off again, there was that house, so I awoke again and again.
Then I listened to the night. The windows were open, and sound is exceptionally clear in our area. My personal opinion is that it is probably due to the canyon at the corner of the block. I assume it amplifies sounds somehow, because even sounds you wouldn't expect to hear (like bird's feet scratching on the overhead lines) are occasionally audible. People walk their dogs and you get used to the pattern of sound approaching, retreating, and the number of steps before they fade out.
There were footsteps and no dog steps and they didn't travel far enough. My mind continued to consider the murderous home, and I thought "What if?.. the footsteps ended, because there's a guy out there who's stepped onto the lawn. What if?..that person is planning to climb up on the railing and break into the house?" All the time one part of my mind is creating the scenario, the other part is telling me how silly I am. The ridiculous part of me wins, so I throw open the blinds to look out with the trepidation and resignation of a child who looks under the bed.
And there was this guy standing there.
My first reaction was to convince myself that I was actually asleep, and this was part of the dream I was avoiding. The other part of my mind said "Uh, hey wait, you're awake." I'm sure I startled him and he was just out for a midnight smoke. I shut the blinds. He was very unwell, like death walking. I thought, "What if..he was death walking?" "What if? that's what death does..it just sneaks up on you in your house in the middle of the night?" My mind goes on to perceive death appearing as I would die myself, to warn me but then to say it is too late, and then I realize that I am now dreaming.
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So, I was thinking about writing horror again, somehow using the nightmare that wasn't for a story, but my daughter calls the next day and asks if I would do some artwork for a children's book.
I said "sure." She hasn't sent me the story line yet, though.
I didn't tell her about horror stories or that grandma is writing a book about her experiences in war and painting vivid scenes of death and destruction.
One Response to “the nightmare that wasn’t”
Lindsy - October 28th, 2011
Practice makes perfect.
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