Oneiroi's Grip

Get a Move On!

2012-09-03T10:20:00.002-04:00

I am with a group of people which includes friends and family, and a few strangers. We're running from a horde of undead zombies. These are about halfway between the totally mindless old movie zombies and the horrifying smart zombies I've faced before. They don't talk, and they really do look undead, but they have some ability to reason and figure out things like opening unlocked doors. We have learned that they can also figure out which direction we probably went based on evidence presented (like footprints, one door leading out and the other to a closet, etc.)

We're in an office or lab-type building, with long hallways and lots of rooms on either side. We're trying to get out of the building, with what seems like every zombie from miles around chasing us from behind. I'm in the back of the group, fighting to keep the zombies from getting my loved ones. I cannot seem to get the group to move any faster. No one has the same sense of urgency I do about being bitten. They're all focused on the idea that if they get infected, there will be some kind of cure. It has not occurred to them that if this horde gets their hands on us, there won't be anything left to cure.

I'm walking on the high ceiling to keep from getting grabbed and bitten. I'm using a makeshift weapon that fires an exploding shell to take out the front zombies and slow down the rest of them. I can see over my shoulder that the group is slowly walking toward the exit we've chosen, through which we can see a safe pathway outside. I keep yelling at them to run, and they keep looking back at me like I'm being unreasonable and pushy. Someone shouts back that they're moving, and they can see that it's under control, so why get frantic?

The pile of dead zombies on the floor begins to get tall, and one female with patches of long blond hair sticking out of the side of her head (making her look a lot like the Cynthia doll from Rugrats) is struck with the realization that if she climbs, she can reach me. The other zombies don't yet seem to get that, but I realize that if they do, I'll be toast. At the same time, I run out of shells. I hit her with the weapon, but it's poorly made, and has taken as much force as it can. It breaks apart in my hands and falls to the floor. The zombie reaches up, grabs my hair, and pulls. Desperate, I reach down and shove her head so her chin hits her chest. I see that the flesh on her neck is rotten. I dig my fingers into the soft spots where the skin is kind of melty. It feels almost like sticking my fingers into warm spaghetti that's been in water too long... wet, squishy, a little ropey, and very slimy.

I rip handfuls of muscle and sinew off of the zombie's neck and shoulders until her spinal column is completely exposed. I realize this will not stop her from rending and biting. She's ignoring the attack - these zombies have no working pain sensors - and continuing to pull me down from the ceiling even as I push on her collarbone. I grab the spinal column with one hand, and the collarbone with the other. I pull on the spine until I hear a wet, crackling, crunching sound.

There is a pop, and a sudden release, and the bones in my hand come up, with a couple of feet of torn nerve tissue hanging down. There is no spray, because the zombies' blood does not circulate, but there is splatter from the force of the action. Drops of blood and spinal fluid hit the walls, the body, the pile, the zombies, and me. The body slumps and falls into the crowd of zombies, who begin mindlessly ripping it to shreds with their hands, but not eating. There is something about the virus that makes them violent toward anything unable to defend itself, but only hungry for living flesh.

I throw the head and spine to the floor, turn to shout again at my charges, and see them stopped, standing still, and staring at me in horror. When I look at them, their eyes turn to the shredding frenzy on the other side of the dead pile. They break and run for the door, not shoving each other, but finally rushing to get out. Behind them, I back away from the pile while the zombies are distracted by the body of the blond.

*****

The whole time we've been travelling, one of my friends has been berating her husband over mundane, innocent things. "Don't put your foot there. Why did you step in that spot? There was no indentation there, and now there is. You ruined it." All of us in the group had pointed out that she was being unreasonable, but it didn't stop her. Even her daughter was getting in on it, "telling" on her father to get him into "trouble" with her mother.

Finally, my mother in law yelled at her to just shut up. She told my friend off in no uncertain terms, pointing out that she had no right of approval over everything her husband did, and that she wasn't treating him as a man or an equal, but as her personal verbal punching bag. She told her to quit being so nitpicky over everything and just enjoy the fact that she had someone to love.

Since then, my friend remained quiet until we reached our next destination.

I've gotten my group into a house, where there's a secret opening to the sewer. That is where we are headed. We have learned that there is a community down there which has avoided infection and remained hidden and safe. It's defensible and self-sustaining, and new people are welcome, though we'll have to be isolated until they know we're not infected.

The opening to the sewer is behind one of the cushions in the couch in the corner living room, which has such huge picture windows on the two outside walls that it might as well not even be closed.

Once again, I'm facing the problem of getting people motivated. They have forgotten about the horde in the building. Even though we've encountered zombies along the way and lost two of our number (strangers, but we'd gotten to know and treasure them and are as heartbroken and weary as if we'd lost lifelong friends, not just sickened over the human deaths) the sense of urgency is gone because we no longer face an immediate threat. Members of the group are looking for things in the house to grab and take with them. I'm frantic because there are not curtains or shades on the windows, and I'm sure that any minute, we'll be spotted by the zombies wandering outside and pursued again.

Most of them aren't looking for anything valuable, like tools, food, survival books, or potential weapons. Instead, someone grabs a video game console, despite being told we won't be able to plug it in. Another grabs dress shoes and make-up, and a third is going through the household's freezer for goodies. My nagging friend is grabbing unimportant little things she thinks her female friends would like - beads, make-up, dice for gaming, and other similar items which would not be useful for survival. The husband finds a well-stocked liqueur cabinet, and grab several bottles of high-proof hard liqueur. I know he's grabbing it for drinking purposes, but I hope he gets it to the colony intact, because I see the potential use of it as a disinfectant for wounds, and the glass bottles as weapons.

Only two men (my husband and a friend) and my kids are focused on survival. The men grab a toolbox, a bag of survival manuals and fixit books, and a shotgun shell-stuffing kit with supplies (but no gun can be found.) The girls grab everything in the medicine cabinet, and everything in the cleaning cabinet, which they shove into a duffel bag before heading for the living room while shouting for everyone else to hurry. My son grabs a big bag of canned food and boxed cereal. He puts trash bags over it, then throws two more at the other kids for their bag of first aid stuff, and shoves the box into his bag.

Zombies spot us through the windows. I point this out to the group, and start pushing people to head for the living room. The zombies attack the front door as we run for the living room, everyone weighed down by objects they're taking with them. At this point, we're trying to stuff 80 people into a 4' by 4' hole, so it's slow going, and fairly quickly the zombies realize they can come at us through the picture windows. I and two others are fighting them off, one at the living room doorway with a broken mop handle, stabbing at eyes and open mouths with the pointed end to create a wall of dead bodies, and two at the windows with kitchen knives (which I grabbed when the zombies spotted us) and a meat tenderizing hammer.

It takes several minutes to get everyone into the hole. The doorway guard has filled the hall with bodies, and nothing can get through behind him. We send him through the hole, then start backing toward it. My ally, a teenage nephew, wants me to go first because I am a girl. I insist that he go first because he's young and healthy, while I am not. The argument lasts seconds - him insisting I'm the leader and therefore needed, me insisting that he better get his ass in there before we both die.

Finally, I shove him through the hole. As I do, one of the zombies gets around the pile of dead in front of us, and grabs my arm. I barely avoid getting bitten, shove the hammer down the zombie's throat, and kick it into the crowd behind it. They fall onto it, ripping and shredding at its clothing and flesh. While they are distracted, I jump into the hole, slide the door closed, and lock it from the inside. The mechanism to unlock on the outside is complicated (easily used by a living human, but a challenge for a zombie,) but I fear that eventually they'll figure it out if they remember we're in here long enough to get through the mental process. Their attention span in the absence of visible prey is short, so I'm hoping they'll just leave.

The way down into the sewer involves a series of tunnels that are like amusement park water slides made of cement. It's hard to navigate, filthy, foul smelling, and dangerous, but the group seems to mostly be doing okay with it. I'm helping my mother and a few others with physical difficulties.

In the upper tunnels, we encounter a couple of recently turned zombies, and I again have to send the group on without me. This time, they listen, taking the initiative to guard the kids and get them to safety while I keep the zombies from pursuit. Again, I find myself beheading one, using the kitchen knife I still have in my hand. When the head comes off, the other zombie attacks the body, ignoring me as I stab up into its brain and twist the knife to sever the spine.

I leave the two bodies in the way of future pursuers, and turn to go down the next tunnel, hoping I can catch up with my group before they run into anything else. I know my immediate family will protect them, but I don't want my loved ones to get hurt. I'm filled with anxiety at the thought that something else may get to them before I do.

The Game

2012-06-04T09:33:00.000-04:00

I have had this dream 3 nights in a row, last night being the most recent. It's really vivid and graphic, with blood actually flying through the air and hitting me and my surrounding props.

My friends and I are in a huge arena, a lot like the Roman Colosseum was in its day. I and another player are at a table in the middle. I have one really important card that is highly coveted. I don't know how I got it, but if I lose, the other player gets it for his team. I'll win if I play it, but it is going to wreck something huge and put something else huge ahead in another game that is bigger and more broad. What we are doing right now is encompassed in that game, but we are not the main players. The two huge things are. If I don't win this game, the bad huge thing might defeat the good huge thing, and if he does, he will crack down on his subordinates, some of whom are my friends, have "turned," and are now playing on my side.

We are surrounded by ongoing violent and bloody gladiator-style battles. We are playing cards in the midst of this, as if doing so is normal. There is blood on the table. It's so close and there's so much of it around, I can smell it. I can also smell sweat and, and there's that feeling that happens in the nose when there's metal in the air. I can hear screaming, shouting, and grunting, metal hitting metal, fists hitting flesh, and the occasional wet "shlock" sound of something sharp slicing into a limb. Every time I hear that sound, it takes monumental effort for me to not gag and throw up on the cards.

My friends make up half of the combatants around us. Each is paired off an enemy tough enough to seriously endanger them, and in most cases, with the serious possibility of death. I know if I don't play the card, at least one of my friends will beat his or her attacker and go on to help the others, but the battle will be long and bloody, painful and damaging, and we risk losing some of our own. I know if I play the card, there will be peripheral damage in the stands among the cheering section for the other side. Those are people who support the other side, but who aren't gladiators in the match.

I look around at those people and at my friends, and agonize over playing the card, thinking that maybe I should just get up and fight instead. Maybe I could tip the scales, and save my friends, without harming civilians. I want to protect the civilians even though they are enemies, basically just because they are not fighters. I don't know if they're misled, or if they're complacent, or even willing, as they could be. I just know they're not fighters, and they could never hit me back as hard as I could hit them.

Among my friends, I see frustration, anger, and some fear. Then, looking past them to the stands where the enemy cheering section is, I see eagerness and hatred. These people want to see my friends die in battle. They're screaming for blood. That makes up my mind, and I start to lower my card to the table.

This is where the dream ended on the first two nights. Last night, there was this:

I can see my hand and the card slowly descending to the table. At the same time, my opponent's face is in plain sight, jaw dropping and eyes widening. I can hear him yelling, "NO! Don't do it! You'll kill us all!"

The card touches the wood, and immediately flattens down as if I slammed it instead of just placing it. A burst of air shoots out from underneath as it hits, blowing all of the other cards off of the table onto the dirt at our feet.

There is a loud booming noise, and I feel the air pressure changing. Hot wind is blowing in my face, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I can hear my friends yelling and running toward me. Through the curtain of my eyelashes, I can see panic on the enemy side of the stands, and the enemy gladiators, bloodied but not beaten in battle, retreating to the opening in the bottom rows. My companions yell that we have to get out of here before the big blast. I can see that our cheering section has all ready evacuated, the last of them pouring out through an exit off to my right.

I am grabbed by many hands, and half-carried, half-dragged out toward the exit. I can see a green, grassy field on the other side. As we reach it, there's another explosive sound behind us, this one so deafening that at first I think it burst my eardrums.

That noise woke me so hard I jumped and nearly fell on the floor. It was louder than the bang you hear when a dud firecracker goes off on the 4th, and was followed by a rumble like thunder that for a second, followed me into wakefulness. At first, I thought there was a thunderstorm, but it's sunny and relatively clear outside, just a few fluffy white clouds in the sky. The noise had to be all in my head.

Gnawing pain

2012-05-09T10:05:00.000-04:00

This is the first time in a long time that I woke from nightmares really, really freaked out.

It's dark, and I'm laying on my back. I'm in pain from my shoulders to my hips. My first thought is that I rolled over onto my back in the night, and my body is protesting. I don't know why, but for some reason laying supine like that causes my lower back to cramp up, and then if I don't wake right away, the surrounding muscles cramp, then pain is referred outward until it hurts just like this.

I try to roll up on my side, and feel something hard and sharp impact against my arm and ribs on the right. Under my shoulders and my thighs, and around my ribs and right arm, are more hard, bumpy sharp things poking into me. More of them are going across my chest and the tops of my thighs. That is when I notice a hot breeze blowing from my left, hitting everything from my head down to my knees. As I try to move, those sharp things clamp down just a little bit, pressing into my skin. I hear a sound almost like thunder rumbling in the distance off to my left. I stop moving, and the pressure on me returns to its former level. A cooler breeze comes across from the right, and I can feel that my skin is wet, and while most of my body is laying on something soft, it stops at the hard, bumpy things, and everything on the other side of those is hanging off of that edge.

The hot, damp air blows over me again. It smells like puke and raw meat. I lift my left arm and feel to see what is pressing into my chest. My fingers touch something somewhat smooth. The surface of it has a texture similar to porcelain. Trying to trace upward, I can only lift my arm so far before pressure on my shoulder stops the movement, but my fingers reach the top of the smooth, hard surface and find something different. That is also smooth, but instead of solid, it's rubbery. My fingers press into it like they would into the side of a water balloon. When I touch that, the thunder rolls off to the side again, and the sharpness clamps down on me so hard I can hardly breathe. That startles me the same way falling would, and I find myself kind of flailing, reaching out to the sides and grabbing. On my left, I find that the "cushion" I'm laying on is like a wet plush carpet, though the fibers are rubbery instead of like fabric. On my right, there's a soft, rubbery pillow-like thing.

It suddenly hits me that I'm in something's mouth. The sharp things are teeth. The first soft I touched was the upper gums. My left hand is on a giant tongue. My right hand is grabbing a lip. Every time I move, it's biting me, and that thunder is its growl. The wind, and that horrible smell... that's the creature's breath. I'm smelling stomach acid, and whatever - or whoever - it last ate.

Horror turns my insides to jelly. I imagine how big this thing must be, with teeth as long as my forearm and a mouth that's over three feet wide at the front - its jaw must be even wider at the back. My mind produces terrible images of monsters and dragons, giants, and demons. I'm sure it's going to eat me, unsure why it hasn't all ready. Is it savoring the taste, or is it just not hungry right now? Creeping cold rises in me as I try to think of some way out of this, and nothing comes to me. Near panic, I try to open my eyes, but I can't. It feels like they are glued shut. Every time I move, those teeth clamp down tighter, until even breathing is a struggle. I can feel a trickle of fluid running from my chest onto my throat, but I can't tell if it's this thing's saliva, or my blood.

This dream felt like it went on for a long time. For once, I was completely not lucid. I was not quite paralyzed with fear, but I couldn't remember what to do - couldn't pull energy, or anything, and every time I struggled to escape, it bit down harder. I don't know how long it actually was before I slipped out of that dream and into the next one, but I never dreamed that I got out of those giant jaws, and it really felt like I was suffocating under the pressure. I know I started another dream after that before waking with a jolt in the middle of the night. I remember running through a woods, hearing something huge and loud behind me, and tripping over something. I woke still feeling that pain, and thinking I was having a heart attack, until I moved and it faded. I don't know if I dreamed this because I rolled over on my back and was in some pain, or if I rolled over trying to escape the monster.

Cuz that's how it is

2012-04-21T11:37:00.000-04:00

After I had the first dream, I woke momentarily and then went back to sleep. Next thing I knew, I was dreaming from the perspective of a little kid, and feeling like one, too. There was no sense of schedule, work, or anything except what was interesting or fun, and what was not interesting or fun, and a sense of being close to and guided by the person I was with.

An older kid is watching me for the day, a distant family member I always call Cuz-cuz even though he's more distant than a cousin. I call him that, and he calls me "Vic," the pronunciation of a shortened version of my name. As usual when we're together, he's brought me to a playground, where I've found a new toy I hadn't noticed the last time I was here. The toy is fascinating. It hasn't got any of the buttons or levers that many of the other toys in the playground do. It's not made to be climbed on or played in. It's a brain teaser.

I've discovered that if I focus on the little blue and brown ball inside the glass, I can make it spin and whirl, change the shape of it, and even make it blow up in a fiery explosion, after which it will slowly re-form. I've become so entranced with the toy that I've actually got my fingers and my nose pressed against the glass. I've blown it up about fifty times, but I've tired of that and am instead shaping the surface of it, making hills and valleys, watching the blue liquid on the exterior flow into the deeper areas if I move the surface where it sits.

My attention is so fully taken up with what I am doing that I don't notice the approach of a bigger kid, until he says, "What are you doing, freak?" Looking over, I see that he's taller than me, outweighs me, and looks cross. I'm not even bothered by the nickname. All the kids call me that because I look different from them. My eyes are a weird color. My skin is, too, and my hair. Of course they aren't going to understand.

Also, there are things they do that I don't, and things I do that they can't. There are things I like that they think are weird. I have learned to not act too different from them when they are around, but in this case I've been caught. None of the other kids would play with the ball inside the glass the way I am. They would just keep ripping it apart, and if they could, blowing it up.

As if to drive that point home, the boy smashes my masterpiece against the bottom of the case, flattening the ball out like a big fat brown-and-blue pancake. I tell him that I was playing with that. He smirks and laughs, and starts slamming it around rapidly inside the case, kneading it until the brown and blue mix to make a runny black tar. When I look away from him, he starts taunting me.

"Awe, you gonna cry, freak? Waaaah! Did the poor widdow baby wanna keep it fowevew? You little dumbass, everyone likes to break that thing. It would have been someone else if it hadn't been me. Why don't ya do something about it?"

He knows that I'm not allowed, but he doesn't know why. I hit harder than the other kids, even the bigger ones. I hit in ways they can't, and in ways against which they cannot defend. So, I'm not allowed to hit at all. Whenever this happens, we usually just leave the playground and go for a walk in the woods, where Cuz-cuz tells me the names of all of the plants, or tells me stories about the conquering heroes who won this home for 'our' people. He always says 'our,' even though we both know I'm not really part of the community. I'm really, really mixed. That makes me different, and as I am learning, different is bad.

I take my fingertips off of the glass, turn my back on him, and start to walk away like I've been taught. The bully follows, pushing me from behind so that I fall down. Cuz-cuz decides to get involved. I hear footsteps, and from above my position, his voice. "You should leave this one alone."

I hear the bully snort and make a lewd suggestion as to what my sitter can do with his time. Cuz-cuz, says in a very serious voice, "How old do you want to be when you die?"

The bully laughs out loud and says, "What are you gonna do about it?"

Cuz-cuz tells me to get up. I do. The bully reaches, and Cuz-cuz slaps his hand away, then kneels down beside me so that he's my height. His eyes are kind, but sad. He says, "You know when you're with me, I'm the boss, right?"

I nod. The bully snorts again, swats again, and is rebuffed by another smack of the hand. Cuz-cuz turns and tells him he'd better quit, or he'll have both of us to deal with. The bully starts taunting again, but Cuz-cuz ignores that, takes both of my hands to direct my attention to himself, and starts talking to me again. I follow his lead, watch his eyes, and listen.

He says, "Okay, then. Think of this like a test. You have limited permission. You may cause non-lethal, non-injurious torment. Do you understand? No injury, nothing lethal. Got it?" His eyes are focused on me, filled with the intensity of an adult trying to get a vital point across, even though he's barely an adolescent. I realize that he's taking a risk. He's allowed to give me this kind of permission in more serious situations, but not like this. The adults don't think I'm ready to tell the difference yet. They don't think I can keep it under control. Cuz-cuz is supposed to take me home when I'm bullied, but he's letting me hit back because we're tired of not being able to go anywhere.

This is his responsibility. The adults have made that very clear. He's not just protecting me from the other kids. He's supposed to be protecting them from me, too. I know that if I screw this up, he'll be the one in trouble, not me, but it will also mean the adults won't trust me for a long time. This is a test of my maturity and my self-restraint.

I nod. I am resolved to not harm the boy. I just want to make sure he understands that he's not picking on a wimp. I can hear him still taunting, only now he's making fun of Cuz-cuz. "Such big words for such a little kid. Do you really think the freak understands what you're saying?"

Without looking away from me, Cuz-cuz lets go with his right hand, reaches out and grabs the bully's neck, slams his face into the glass with a loud thunk, then lets go and takes my hands again. "Don't call her that, you little asshole!" he says, not even looking away from me. Then, to me, he says, "You sure you're ready, Vic?"

I nod again, and just so he knows I'm up to speed, I tell him, "No boom, no blood, right?" Cuz-cuz smiles, and nods back at me. "You got it, Vic. Show him."

He lets go of my hands, puts one of his on each of my shoulders, and turns me to face the bully. By now, there are other kids gathered around, seeing that we haven't just fled the park and wondering what is going to happen next. Secure with Cuz-cuz behind me, one arm across my chest, and both of his hands resting on my left shoulder, I look at the boy and tell him he's a big meanie. He laughs, turns to the other kids, and says, "Awe, did you guys hear that? I'm a big meanie! Oh, no... whatever will I do?" He rubs his eyes melodramatically, and the other kids laugh.

For a moment, I can feel my temper creeping in. I really don't want to let it take over, because I don't want to let Cuz-cuz down. He's doing something for me that no one else has. He's loosening my leash, just a little bit, in hopes that I won't have to put up with this any more. By doing that, he's risking severe punishment should his choice lead to anything worse than a schoolyard scrap. I can feel that he's ready to grab me and run should I go off, but I also know that by the time he could, it would be too late.

I reach up and give his hand a squeeze, and loose the building anger into the case, attacking the ball, instead of the boy. I let the energy make the ball rapidly explode and reform itself over and over for a few seconds, filling the case with fire and sludge, until the edge is spent and I'm feeling more level-headed again. The kids watch as the toy goes ballistic, the dark substance smacking against the glass, and fire lighting it up over and over... boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-BOOM! until I stop, and turn my eyes back to the now quiet bully.

The bully is losing confidence. He starts to bluster. "You ain't allowed to hit back, and I know it. You can't do anything to me. You better not."

I feel a little uncertain for a moment, but Cuz-cuz's voice behind me reminds me, "It's all right, Vic. You're allowed. Just remember to stay within the perimeters I gave you." I can feel his heart thumping against my back. He's scared. He knows the risk he's taking. Again, I squeeze his hand to let him know I'm all right. I'm not going to let him down.

Suddenly it hits me how cool this is. I'm finally going to get a little of my own back, and maybe scare this guy off of me for good. Maybe from now on the other kids, even if they're not going to like me, will at least stop being so mean. Even though I'm not allowed to really hit back, what I CAN do will be quite enough. Giggles bubble up inside, and I let them out, shooting their energy forward and wrapping it around the boy.

As the sense of exuberance wraps around him, he starts to look nervous, then grossed out as if I'd wrapped him in sewer slime. He starts trying to wipe it off of his skin, shouting, "What the hell? What are you doing to me? Stop it, you little shit!"

I start to shape the energy, still giggling at the sense of freedom and release, and begin to push it under the surface. Seconds later, his skin is a perfect match to mine, and his eyes have changed from their natural burning red to match the deep blue of the toy in the case. Looking at his hands, the boy screams wildly and begins scratching. I ask him what's wrong, doesn't he like his new look? He turns to me and demands that I change him back, right now. I ask him what if I don't? What is he going to do?

The boy threatens to beat me. I tell him to go ahead. Even with Cuz-cuz behind me, holding onto my shoulders, the bully advances, swinging his fist. As soon as he does, I make a thick, squishy wall of molded energy between us. His hand smashes into it, instead of into me. When he feels it, he punches with the other hand, both fists sinking deep in to the invisible substance, clear up past his wrists. I harden the wall, trapping him, then walk around it so I'm behind him. The other kids all move away, gasping. Feeling powerful even though I've done my tormenter no harm, I climb up onto a rock and lean over to speak quietly into his ear, telling him never to pick on anyone again, because I'll be watching. The bully, terrified because he is trapped and feeling helpless, babbles his agreement and begs me to let him go. I tell him the truth, that I've not done anything permanent. I'm holding back a lot, so everything I've changed will work itself back to normal in a few moments, but for now, I'm not going to undo what I did. He's stuck like that. He wails like a little kid whose candy was just taken away. I ignore him.

I turn and tell the other kids he's on punishment. They all know that phrase, and they know what it means. When the adults say it, it means leave that kid alone. Don't pick, because we want him to focus on whatever it is we're trying to enforce right now. You stay out of it. They all quietly turn and walk away, just as if an adult had said the phrase, and I realize that the other kids have just afforded me authority. They're responding to me not as the freak, but as the boss. I have just stepped up a lot in the playground pecking order. Maybe I will have to remind them sometimes, but from now on, I'm not the kid on whom everyone else takes out their bad-day frustration. I turn to see Cuz-cuz's approving smile. I ask him if we can go for a walk now, and he tells me I've earned it. He stands up and takes my hand, and we start to walk away.

I can feel the changes all ready wearing off of the bully. His freckles are disappearing with little popping noises. Soon, his skin will be back to normal, then his eyes, and finally, the wall will disappear, freeing him. I don't know if he'll forget his fear and pick again, or if he'll remember and stay away, but at least this was fun while it lasted, and even better, Cuz-cuz is proud of me. That makes the trip more worthwhile than anything.

I only hope he doesn't get into trouble for letting me do this.

That scene faded into the kind of walk in the woods I'd been remembering before, with "Cuz-cuz" telling me names of things and talking about how to use them. The experience felt a lot like hanging out with an older sibling. This was someone who I had to obey if he gave an order, but who didn't have the full authority of a parent. He felt like a source of sometime comfort, but not a source of discipline. There was a sense of the kind of love and admiration a little kid has for a related older kid who offers time, attention, and genuine affection... of wanting his approval, and the enjoyment of feeling important to him... but the entire experience was also clouded over by the worry that the incident at the park was going to get him into trouble with the adults in charge. I woke with that sense of worry intact, because the dream ended while we were still in the woods.

Two dudes walk into a store...

2012-04-21T09:39:00.000-04:00

Last night at work, we had an unusual and disconcerting incident. Two men came in to fix the ATM that a local bank has placed near our entrance. They were unprofessional, unkempt, rude, and very late for doing a job like that. One was in dark clothing that said 'security' on the back, but neither of them bore any kind of insignia or company name. The only thing that made them look remotely legitimate was that the part they said they needed had been shipped to the store... and anyone can do that. If I knew your address, I could have something shipped to your house right now.

When they wanted to stay after close to work on the ATM, my boss told them absolutely not. She didn't want to stick around, and neither did I, with these two. They argued, but she sent them out of the store. We finished up with our last two customers, went through the rest of the closing process, and got ready to leave... half an hour late... and stopped short at the door when we saw that those guys were still outside in their cars. Neither of them were doing anything that required them to still be there... just fiddling with their dashboards and their clothes.

My boss and I talked about the situation. The guys were unkempt, unidentified, rude & pushy, and armed. The 'security' guy had a gun. Though that's normal for working with an ATM, the level of unprofessionalism displayed was not. Finally, it was the loitering that did it for us. They weren't going to be able to get back in to fix the ATM. No one was going to be here. They weren't making phone calls or working on any kind of electronic devices, just staring back at us whenever we looked out at them... and THAT was creepy.

We called the police, not to arrest the guys, but to just show up and make sure we got out safely. Five minutes before the police arrived, the guys finally left the front lot, but as we admitted to the officers, didn't see when they left and didn't know if they hadn't just driven around behind the store. They didn't leave until we weren't watching them any more. Of course, the officers both reassured us that we'd done the right thing, that you don't take chances where there are strangers acting oddly, especially if there is a gun. I felt a lot better about us calling them when he put it that way.

Didn't realize, though, how creeped out I was by all of that until I dreamed this:

I'm really tired, having not gotten right to sleep when I got home last night. Opening is not going to be fun, especially since it's my first time. To make matters worse, traffic is nuts for a Saturday morning, and I'm not as early as I wanted to be. I wanted to have time to account for any errors or brain farts, without having any difficulty getting the registers going before the first shopper arrives. By the time I get within a block of my store, it's almost time to open the doors to customers.

At the light, I can see the store front, and something doesn't look right. It's hard to tell from where I'm sitting. When the light changes, and I drive into the lot, I realize what it is. There's a huge piece of glass cut out of one of the big windows. Looking inside, I can see that the ATM is gone.

I don't even get out of the van. I know the thieves are probably not still in there, but probably isn't good enough. I to a business across the street and use their phone to call the police. I wait there for them to arrive. As I am waiting, I see a car drive into our lot. A man gets out, goes to the doors, tries them, and looks at his watch. It's only a couple of minutes to open, and I'm not ready for customers... I'm not even in the store. The guy looks miffed, but there's nothing I can do from over here. Then, he looks at the cut glass. I think maybe he will call the police, but instead he starts visually measuring whether he can get in that way.

A coworker's vehicle drives onto the lot. At this point, I decide I have to go over there for her safety, so I tell the guys at the shop where I am that I'm going. The police will be arriving any moment anyway.

Because of the intersection's ridiculous design, it takes me 5 minutes and three turns to drive across the street. By that time, the customer is haranguing my coworker, who doesn't even know what is going on. He's badgering her to climb in through the window and open the store because he wants cigarettes. I had been going to apologize to him for the inconvenience and explain about the robbery, but he's being so belligerent and abusive to her that I just tell him the police are coming and ask him to leave. He gives me an incredulous look, points at the window, tells me, "I did NOT do that!" and starts insisting that I am not allowed to call the police. I ask, "Then how did you know that was what I was talking about? Maybe you should leave before they get here."

The guy leaves, and a moment later the police arrive. I let everyone into the store, and I head upstairs with the officers. That is when, and where, I realize... I don't know the security camera system's commands for going back to specific times. It doesn't just have rewind and play. You have to actually go through a menu and select terms, the words used for which do not really fit what you are trying to make the video do. I'm going to have to call my boss and have her come in to help them. And in the meantime, there are now three customers waiting at the register with cash, and I don't have one open. I get into the safe, grab a drawer, and start counting to confirm the amount.

In reality, there is no way those guys would have gotten the heavy ATM out that window, and even if they had, the activity would have set off the alarm. My boss would have had a middle of the night phone call, and the whole thing would have been taken care of before I got there. And I'm not opening today. I'm closing again. The ATM isn't fixed. I hope that if those guys were legit, there's someone else on the task today and not them. What kind of a bank sends creepy dudes who don't even know how to comb the tangles out of their hair and press their uniforms to work on a store's ATM at closing time, anyway?

Darkness Calls

2012-03-30T12:53:00.001-04:00

It's really dark, and there's something wrong with my eyes. My eyelids hurt and feel swollen. I can't open them enough to see even if it weren't dark, but the dimness makes it even worse. I can barely make out what's in front of my face, a rough wall of stone masonry, ending about a foot away from me in a flat edge. Beyond that, about another six inches, is a dark metal bar, probably iron. I lift my hands up to my face and see that my fingers are stained with blood, and the fingers on my left hand are swollen to twice their normal size, flesh puffing around the delicate, ornate ring I wear on that finger. I can't get any of them to bend. They just won't obey my commands. The clothing I'm wearing - not my clothing - is torn and also stained.

My head hurts. The skin on my back burns. I can't breathe with my mouth closed. I can tell by the all too familiar pain radiating from the bridge of my nose down into my front teeth and out to the sides under my eyes, it's broken.

Every breath is a struggle anyway, a sharp ache stabbing into me each time I try to inhale, even sharper when I try to let it back out.

Where the hell am I, and why am I so battered?

I can't remember. I can't remember coming here, can't remember anything before this moment except the image of a face, and a sense of urgency. That urgency still pounds inside my heart. My friend needs my help. Someone is hurting her, and someone she loves is in even greater danger.

Mixed with the urgency is a sense of helpless frustration, and behind that, a terrible, profound anger that will mean death for whoever has disabled her, just as soon as she gets free.

I have to find a way to get up and get out of here. I have to get where she is and undo whatever it is that's being used to keep her in check. If I can just do that, it'll be all that's needed to get us out of here. She'll destroy this place, and those who run it, and no one will ever be held here again.

I focus on the ring on my left hand. Through it, I can feel a channel almost like a phone line, letting me send my state of mind, my emotions, and some thoughts to those who wear the other two just like it. Trying to feel the connection, I instead run up against a wall of sheer, solid, white-hot agony.

My head explodes inside, and for what seems like an eternity, nothing exists except brightness and fiery, cutting torture shooting down my back, across my shoulders and hips, down my arms and legs, and my mind is screaming at me

no god no please make it stop make it stop make it stop
and I just want to die, stop feeling, anything to make this go away.

I can hear someone screaming, the voice slamming through me like a blast of winter wind, vibrating in my chest and ripping over my raw, dry throat. When I feel it, I realize it's me, my voice coming out of my body, completely out of my control, ending in a ragged, whining sob as a long, jagged crack splits the light, and the punishment starts to fade.

I'm cold. Freezing, shivering on the stone floor, I listen to the sound of deep hissing laughter on the other side of the bars. Sounding almost like the stage whisper of a baritone, the voice on the other side invites me to try again, praising the flavor of the energy produced by my suffering and begging me for another taste. Nausea rises in my throat, and I shrink back against the wall in despair, until a quiet answer comes through the back of my mind.

"Shhh... I hear you. Be still, but don't give up. I'm on my way."

I don't dare hope, don't dare believe that isn't my imagination. It's too much. I've been here before... not in this building, but in this place. I know that whiteness, that pain. I'm blocked. I can't call out. No one can hear me, and that voice is just wishful thinking.

Except...
Except the whiteness has never cracked like that before. 'Maybe' tries to bloom in my heart... but maybe won't do the job. Maybe is a drug, and I can't afford to be that weak, not if I'm going to help her, and if I don't, we're all sunk.

I drag myself forward, sitting up, and my tormenter laughs again. "Come on, now." The voice may come out as a whisper, but he can still sound snotty. "Did you really think I'd let you call for your friends? How many times are you gonna do that? What do you think is gonna happen if they show up? There are hundreds of us, and only a few of you. You're hopeless."

I don't think so. Defiance and rises in my chest, peppered with resentment of everything that voice represents. I struggle to sit up, push my eyes open as far as I can, glaring out at the thing on the other side of the bars, watching it enjoy my anger and hate as much as it savors my pain. The dark shadow of a robed form stands tall, barely defined against the greater darkness behind it, highlighted only by the depth of the crimson slits that stare back at me from under its broad cowl. The darkness below those narrow eyes splits into a wide, toothy grin. "Stubborn child. Why don't you just give up and come home?"

Black, bitter acrimony floods my heart. This again? I said no. I meant no.

Leaning forward until my face nearly touches the cold metal, I force my sore throat to produce one more time, then another, spitting the words through lips that feel parched, chapped, and swollen.

"Fuck."

"You."

Pushing hard with the second word, I throw what little energy I have left at the shadowy figure. It stumbles back with a surprised grunt, then laughs again, and raises an arm draped in darkness. Knowing it is probably going to hit me with something awful, I brace myself against the bars, closing my eyes against the anticipated blast just as two more pools of bright redness approach from behind my tormenter. Two of them... I can't take two. I am going to die. This is it. If they can't force me to do what they want, they'll kill me for resisting.

What else can I do to defend myself? I have no weapon, no way to call, nothing left but my greatest weakness of all, the void that hurts to maintain, yet hurts more to fill. I see no other choice. If I'm going down, I'm at least taking one of them with me.

Opening myself to the blow, I lift my chin and let myself take the full force of it right in the face. When it hits, lifting me from the floor and throwing me ten feet back against the wall, I grab onto the foul, repugnant essence and pull with all of my hunger, feeling it pool inside my heart like a pile of contaminated soil. The redness within the cowl widens in surprise, and the toothy grin drops into a pained grimace.

God, this thing's energy is disgusting... feels like I'm swallowing rancid food. I struggle to stop myself from throwing it back yet, knowing I'm going to need it to save myself when the next one attacks. The monster outside my cell begins to struggle and scream, trying to pull back its malevolent attack, but I am determined to hold on. Digging in, I open my eyes to try to gage the effect of this tactic on my enemy and the potential threat of its approaching ally.

That tiny, budding hope that I'd crushed moments ago blazes through me with my second look at the other red eyes, now rushing forward as his black sword falls across the monster's shoulder, slashing through the darkness to reveal the thunderous glare I hadn't dared to expect to see. The monster's shocked face falls to one side, his body to the other, and my companion steps over the corpse, slamming that blade through the steel barrier between us and shattering the bars. I feel myself falling, prepare for the pain as my legs hit the stone, but instead, I tumble over his arm and shoulder. Darkness tries to close in on my vision, my mind ready to collapse now that the immediate danger is gone.

No! Not yet...

"They took..." I start to tell him where she is, but he interrupts.

"The others are there now. We're going," he tells me, but he's giving me an odd look, studying my aura. Setting me on my feet, he asks, "You all right?"

He's looking at my face, bruised and inflamed, my two overly respectable shiners, and my broken, bleeding nose. I can see his heart breaking yet again, just like it does every time they take any of us. Hurt pinches his red eyes, his fingertips brushing my jaw as he gently runs his thumb across my swollen, dried out lip.

No, I'm not all right. My friends are in trouble, and I'm in pain, and it's happening over, and over, and over. This is hell. We keep going through this again and again... they take her, or they take me. They do terrible things to whoever they have, while the rest of us scramble to the rescue, fighting off the darkness to bring our loved ones back to safety and home. We try to rest up, plan to hit them back so they'll know not to keep messing with us, but before we're ready, they always strike again. I'm sick of it... so tired, and so angry.

"Not yet, but I will be." I tell him, touching his wrist with the broken fingers on my left hand, totally forgetting until the pain shoots through my bones. Seeing me flinch, he draws back under the assumption that it's him setting it off, until he sees the flesh puffing out around the ring. His eyes flick back to mine, and I shrug, ignoring the daggers that shoot through my ribs when I do. "I told them no again."

Stepping around him, I head down the dark hall in the direction from which I feel her call. He shouts at me to stay back, that I've had enough. I should let my friends handle this... but I can't. I'm furious, and I've swallowed a ball of that monster's hatred and fear, and I can't get it out. My friends are in danger, and we're all stuck in this awful place until we beat down whoever it is this time that had the nerve to meddle. I reach back with my good hand, grab one of his, and pull him along down the hall, listening to him trying to talk me out of it until he realizes how pissed I am. When he stops talking, I stop walking for a moment, and look back to see that he's resigned to the situation. "It's okay," he says. "Just don't overdo it, all right?"

I nod. I'll try, at least. That's the best I can do.

In the distance, I hear a gurgling sound, and I know that's where she is. Turning back, I head for the noise, moving as quickly as my beaten up old body will allow.

The hall opens into another, wider corridor. At the other end, through a set of double doors, we hear that gurgling getting louder, and then there's a tormented scream. His eyes widen, and he grabs me around the waist. "No time!" he growls, and suddenly the walls are a blur, then the doors are in my face. I hear him slam them open, and we're standing in what looks like the operating room of a hospital from hell. Blood cakes the floor, and is splattered across instruments on the walls that seem to serve no purpose but to inflict pain; twisted hooks, long, sharp blades, tweezers with strangely shaped points, bone saws, and circular blades with jagged teeth and dark, mysterious stains.

I see my friends struggling against smaller shadows, and people in dark clothing with knives and clubs, trying to beat their way through guards and lab assistants to rescue those they've taken. In the midst of them, I find that one set of wide blue eyes, flashing angrily at the shadows, turning her power into charm, mesmerizing, and then tripping them into defeat, each attack moving like an exotic dance across the dark and slippery floor. She falters when she spots me, almost failing to dodge the strike of a shadow's blade, and then she is spinning away, blue eyes darting back to give me an uncertain glance before sinking her own dagger into the creature's hidden throat.

In the middle of the room standing next to a dark metal table with a supine figure on it is a shadow like the one from outside my cell, looking bizarre in the white coat and green scrubs of a hospital surgeon. On its cowled head is a band with a mirror to reflect the light down onto his 'patient,' my distraught and writhing friend.

Laying on the table in a pool of her own blood, she is split open from her jaw to her groin, and that monster has his hands inside that opening, pawing at her heart like it belongs to him. We've gotten there before he could take anything out this time, but just barely. On the other side is another of those monsters, probably an assistant, emitting a dark, liquid energy from his hands into her head. That must be what is keeping her alive and awake.

Beyond her there is a cage hanging from the ceiling. Inside is the kid, clinging to the bars, screaming and sobbing that she'll be good, she'll be good... just please stop cutting and let her go. She is as battered as I am, and I can see burn marks on her skin from trying to use her own power to stop this. I know that cage, and I know the blinding torture that has hit her every time she tried. I know what they're doing. They think she's theirs, and they want her back, want to make sure she doesn't run again, so they're teaching her a lesson. Don't love people; if you love people, we'll have to hurt them. And they've hung her up to watch, made her helpless, subjected her to this. She's battered herself against the bars and the block so much that she's barely conscious, exhausted and in obvious pain, but she's still begging these monsters to spare our friend.

Suddenly, the whole of existence is shifting sideways in front of me. My vision snaps, blurs, darkens, then disappears for just a second as cataclysmic fury boils up through my gut, over my chest and throat, to fill my head with pressure and heat. When I can see again, everything is deep, searing red. I can feel myself getting taller, my teeth scratching against my lips, my head getting heavier, my limbs twisting and churning as my body tries to hold in whatever shape the rage is taking. My fingers, my ribs, and my nose unbreak, the bones lengthening and fusing, claws extending from my hands, and a low growl building up in my rapidly expanding chest.

I look at my companion. He's actually looks like he is going to back away from me for just a moment, but he doesn't. "Get them out of here," I try to say, but can only manage to growl the words. Understanding slowly makes its way across his startled face. I glare around the room, taking in the battle and the injuries my friends have once again suffered, and move forward, ready to address the monster with his hands inside my friend's chest. My head pounds with stored energy that was not there before, and I feel myself drawing more, sucking it out of everything in the room; the floor, walls, and ceiling, the equipment, the monsters... this place is going to come down.

My treasure glances back at me as our companion shouts at everyone to grab our friends and get out. Her blue eyes fill with dread and tears, and she stumbles away from me, grabbing the one we call the Doc by the arm to keep from falling. Seeing me, then her, he turns away and launches her toward the iron cage and the kid, telling her to bring it down and get the girl.

The monster hurting my friend lifts his dripping hands and turns toward me, head cocked in confusion and surprise, unaccustomed to being interrupted or challenged, and the Doc takes that opportunity to grab the table and pull it toward the cage. My companion puts his hands on the other end, as the rest of the team rushes to their aid, everyone avoiding the sight of my warped and still-changing form. It looks like the monster, my friends, the tables and equipment... everything in the room is getting smaller. Or maybe I'm growing, I think... that must be it.

A flash of crystal blue stuns the guy blocking the mechanism that raises and lowers that cage, and controls the block on her power. One of the guys beats the machine to shards and chunks, and the door of the cage is opened. The group grabs both of them and then there is a flash of deep, golden light, and they're gone, out of my way so that I can let go. Turning back to the monster, who is now fully facing me and beginning to advance, I drop my jaw as far as it will fall, take a deep breath, and howl at him, letting the rage, pain, and hatred flow into that sound.

It strikes him right in the chest, throwing him through the wall full of torturous gadgets, several of them stabbing through him on the way by. Chaos descends upon the room as the guards and assistants scramble, some to escape, others to attack, but they're too late. They should have hit me before I had the chance to see their crimes. As the monster slams through the wall, I reach out again, breathing deeply and drawing in more of the ambient power, making the whole building brittle and cold. We were all together before they disappeared. We were all at home, minding our own business, just being us. We hadn't done anything to these freaks. The fury burns into the energy, growing as I reach out and drain the ones nearest me until they drop to the floor, dead.

Outrage fills my being, and I let it burst away from me in all directions, feeling the heat move against every object in my sight. Flammables begin to ignite, slowly at first, until the second wave goes out and everything bursts into flame. Screams erupt from the living, the men beating on themselves, and the shadows falling to the ground, writhing. The monster caves in on himself, howling in agony and pulling at his clothes, trying to get out of the burning fabric, but it's too late. I let the third wave out with a scream, "Stay out of my HOUSE!"

The blast that follows propels every single thing away from me; bodies of the dead, the living, the still flaming monster with the bloodstained hands, the tables and stands, tools, and the stones that made up the floor, walls, and ceiling. Everything blows out, flying away, falling away, and I drop through the space where the floor was just in time to avoid the backlash from that last boom. The sound of thunder over my head reminds me that there is more building above, and I look up to see it falling toward me.

Not there... no, there's not a building. I don't want it. I want it gone. The thought sends out the last of the power I absorbed, and I watch as the stone disintegrates into dust, taking the support from beneath more of those shadows and rough looking men, dropping them past me onto the ground below with a horrible round of solid, wet, smacking noises as they hit the rubble of the building's bottom floor.

I feel myself falling, the ground floor and the debris gaining size rapidly as I begin to diminish, the distortion of my form fading along with the rage and the power that I no longer need. It's over, and I'm done, spent and exhausted. I want to go home, crawl into my house, snuggle up to my companions, and drop out of all awareness.

In that second, I'm hit with the pain of seeing her last look at me - eyes wide with terror and rebuke - before she was sent away to help our friends. It had taken a huge leap of faith for her to accept me the last time I went off like this, and the only reason she'd come back was that she couldn't bring her self to hurt someone she loved. She told me she was still afraid, but she couldn't tear my beautiful heart. My mind latches onto that memory, but it doesn't still the growing fear. Will it be enough that she thinks that way of my heart... enough to keep her from hating and fearing my ugly, twisted soul?

Instead of landing in the rubble, I fall face down onto the beach outside my house, longing having brought me as close to home as I dare to go. From inside, I can see two golden lights, one from the Doc, and the other belonging to the little girl. I know that my friend will be all right. They're healing her wounds now. Doc must be teaching the kid how to do what he does. She's certainly capable. Glad, I rest my face on the sand. I'm here... I plan to go in when my courage returns.

I don't get a chance to make that choice. Running out into the sand, my companions fall beside me, turning me onto my back and rising with me, pulling me to my feet. I am surrounded by the two of them, his patient, long-suffering sigh, and her sobs. Surprise and aching relief keep me silent, spilling over my will and onto my face. She draws back, using her thumb to wipe away my tears. I try to tell her I'm sorry, that I didn't mean to get so mad, but she shakes her head and pats me on the cheek with her fingers. I don't know if that means it's okay, or that I shouldn't bother, but with exhaustion taking its toll, I don't have the strength to ask her. I let the two of them turn me to face the door and guide me inside to rest.

Rips and Chains

2012-03-19T07:17:00.000-04:00

I'm chained to a rough stone wall, not stone blocks but solid like the wall of a cave. The room I'm in is round, feels rough-cut (except the floor,) and is poorly lit from holes near the ceiling.

Realizing this means I'm in a bad predicament, I pull on the shackles to see if they're solid. They are, and pulling on them hurts the raw skin on my wrists and the raw muscles in my back and shoulders. I'm not getting out of this with brute force. I can hear movement, and I look around (which hurts my overworked neck) to see that the whole room, which is round, is bordered with people chained to the wall just like me. We have wrist and ankle shackles with a length of chain attached to each, so that we can step about 3 feet from the wall, but none of us can escape.

I look at my neighbor's wrists to see that the lock is covered, so that we can't even try to pick it if we find something to stick in there. She pulls away from me like I'm diseased.

Before I can say anything, the one empty space opens, and someone strides in. He's dressed in street clothes, but it's hard to see much else about him because the light is so dim. He walks around the room slowly, sniffing at the prisoners.

The sight of that sends chills down my spine. I have no idea why he's doing that, but it strikes me as primal and predatory, and I get a sense of deadly strength from him. When he gets closer to me, I can see that he is savoring the scent of each person before passing to the next, and each prisoner he sniffs looks horrified at his closeness, then incredibly relieved as he passes by.

When he gets to me, he does that thing cats do when they really like a smell. His lips part a bit more than half an inch, and he breathes in and out slowly through both his nose and mouth at the same time, looking a bit drunk. I can see his teeth now. His canines are long, and sharply pointed.

I realize there's a vampire standing in front of me, and he likes the way I smell. He's going to bite me, and it's going to hurt. He's going to bleed me to death, and that's going to hurt. The last thing I'm ever going to feel is pain and fear. My stomach cramps and lurches, and I fight the impulse to try to run, knowing that the vampire is a predator, and running will be a trigger. I'm actually focused on clinging to however many seconds I can of not dying in pain before he attacks.

The vampire steps in, and it feels like a warm blanket has been placed over me. I try to pull energy, but there is none. I try to zap him, but nothing happens. It almost feels like I've been drugged, and I can't focus well enough to use any of my usual tricks. The vampire's lips are so close to my neck I can feel his breath on me. He's breathing heavily, and his fingertips touch my waist. My heart is pounding really hard, and I can't breathe. I'm so terrified I'm sure I'm going to lose control and try to run anyway. Tears are streaming down my face, and I feel cold all over. My skin crawls as the vampire's fingers slide around to my back and grab hold of my shirt in an almost passionate manner, pressing me into an embrace. I feel those sharp teeth grazing my skin, and then there is a loud voice above us shouting, "No! Not that one. She's off limits."

The vampire lets me go and springs backward to the middle of the room, suddenly looking like a dog that had its chain yanked and got yelled at for barking at the wrong person. He turns a hungry, lustful stare at me that turns my blood to ice, then darts across the room. There's a sound like biting into an apple, and someone I can't see screams. The scream is cut off, and I can hear others in the room sobbing the same way I am. I'm flooded with relief at not being bitten, but also with guilt over feeling that way when it means someone else would die instead. The horror of the situation floods my senses, almost cutting off every other feeling.

Unable to use energy or get out of the chains, I know there's nothing I can do to help. I turn away, looking at the person on my left. I reach to try to at least offer the comfort of human contact, and she pulls away from me again, telling me it's not fair. I'm only here to get scared into doing what they want, while the rest of them are here to feed the monster. Confusion hits me hard enough that the other feelings are eclipsed by it.

I woke from this feeling cold with terror, and totally confused. It's been about an hour, and I still can't think of it without chills. I'm terrified of vampires. If it happens again, I'm going to focus on me and everyone else nearby smelling yucky and see what happens.

Well, that was strange

2012-03-15T12:26:00.000-04:00

This one needs a little background, or you won't understand why I'm weirded out.

Last weekend, I went to my parents' house to help move furniture and stuff so they could use a downstairs room for a bedroom instead of the upstairs. While I was there, my Mom told me she's been having nightmares like mine, and she described some of them. It's highly unusual for Mom to even have nightmares at all, much less involving specific things that have been present in some of my weirdest ones.

Mom isn't used to this, and she was really shaken up by some of the painful attacks she'd experienced. Unable to help her get past what she'd dreamed, I decided the best route was to help her get the tools she needed to deal with future nightmares, instead. We spent hours, while working in the room, talking about techniques I use in my dreams to fight monsters by using things that can't be done in the real world, like magic and flying. Mom can fly in her dreams, so I know that she can use other lucid techniques. I told her that when she gets ready to go to sleep, she should repeat to herself over and over that she'd be strong and capable in her dreams, that she'd know she could fight and win. Before going to sleep, she should focus on being aware that she's not in the real world, and that she can do anything. It's what I learned from the lucid dreaming book I had in high school, and though I haven't been able to completely make use of the techniques, that one thing (being able to fight back) got through.

I told her that if worse came to worst, when impossible things are happening to her and she gets really scared again, if she can't fight back she should focus really hard on me, and I'd fight for her. I went on to describe some of my battles, and how I am able to move and shape things. If it comes down to that, by telling her that, I've given her the image, figuring that when she did have a nightmare, if she "called" me, she'd experience the defense I described, because that would be the image she had of me.

Then, with Mom's consent, I did some energy work, using a candle as a focus. I designated the candle's energy to represent the forging of a connection between how she feels in her dreams and how I fight in mine. I linked that to how she fights in real life, given that she never backed down when she was in city politics, even when the local police were stalking her. I charged that as the candle burned, it would release energy that would bring out Mom's own strong will, and would bring up in the part of her subconscious involved in the dream state some automatic defenses that would stop anything scary or painful from happening. If the nightmares were a psychic attack, the connection would call me to her, and I'd be able to handle it from there.

All week, she's said she's been fine, no bad dreams or anything. Then, last night, just as I was drifting off, it felt like someone who shouldn't be touching me was. In my semi-conscious state, I visualized and half-experienced reaching out and grabbing someone by the shirt with my left hand, and punching the shit out of his jaw with my right, so close to dream-vivid that I actually heard the smacking sound my fist made against his skin and the grunt of his voice. Then, when I was all the way asleep, I had this.

I'm on that stretch of beach again, city off to my left, water on my right, and that little snack shack that doesn't sell snacks, looking smaller than ever in the distance ahead. My first thought is to wonder why I'm here, but that doesn't last long, as a confused, irritated voice calls out from behind me. "What the... Where is this place? Who the hell are you?"

I spin around to see a group of rough looking men, all huge, standing together on my beach. They look really out of place, staring at the white sand, dark sky, and choppy water. Glaring at the one nearest me, who by virtue of having spoken seems to be their leader, I demand to know who they are, and what they're doing here. It's weird... they actually feel foreign to me, not like from another country, but like invaders.

The men begin to move away from each other, spreading out to form kind of a half-circle in front of me, all giving me cautious looks. The 'leader' says my mother's name like it's a question. He's half-crouched, like he's going to pounce on me any second, but he still looks confused and very nervous. Chills go down my spine, followed by anger rising in my chest. These guys are looking for my Mom.

"Who wants to know?" I ask, digging my bare feet into the sand and drawing energy for a fight.

I can hear the guys muttering to each other behind their leader. They seem like they're coming to a consensus that I'm guarding Mom, and they have to defeat me to get to her. This idea is reinforced by their having seen a different landscape prior to finding my beach, and having experienced some kind of explosive attack that they believe blasted them into this place. Trying to regain control, their leader steps toward me, telling me it doesn't matter. I'm not who they're looking for, but I'm in their way. He says, "We won't hurt you if you just let us out of here. We're just passing through."

I can feel the guy's energy moving, searching for an opening that will take him where he wants to go. When he realizes the opening is me, his eyes narrow, and he tells the others, "Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."

Suddenly, every single one of them is holding something nasty. One has a machete, another a baseball bat with nails pounded through it. I see a straight razor for shaving, several knives, a small axe, a metal pipe, and a pair of brass knuckles. The entire crowd begins advancing on me at once, the majority of them circling around to attack from the sides and behind me.

I ignore the sight of them, feeling outward around me for energy that signifies their individual presences, waiting until they're all about ten feet away from me and ready to jump. As soon as the energy around me tenses like they're about to spring, I raise a spiked, energized shield around me and shove it out to a radius of about six feet. Every single one of the guys slams into it, getting impaled, shocked, and thrown into the air around me. Most of them go flying back into the sand. Seven land in the water. Three of them are out at least forty yards. As soon as they splash down, the dorsal fins poke up and start heading their way.

The three begin to swim, desperately trying to get away from whatever is underneath those fins, one guy lagging behind the others as his heavy workboots and the metal pipe he won't drop slow him down. Their comrades watch from the beach, shouting at them to hurry as the sharks close the distance. I can hear one voice nearby bellowing, "Drop the pipe! Drop the pipe and swim, you dumbass!" It doesn't look like the guy in the water can hear him.

The sharks forget about the other two, changing their angle to surround the slowpoke. Seeing the dorsals in front of him, he stops swimming and begins treading water, gripping the pipe in his hand, ready to swing, not realizing that fighting in water isn't going to be the same as fighting on land.

His comrades watch, sickened and dismayed, as he is ripped apart by the sharks, his ragged and gurgling screams echoing across the beach like the soundtrack of a horror movie until one of the sharks bites through his chest and silences him. I look at the leader of my remaining assailants. "Go home," I growl.

The leader barks obscenities at me, and starts to get bigger. Looking around, I can see that all of them are changing, becoming larger and darker, less human looking. Their faces, arms, and legs are a little too long. Red eyes flash from beneath heavy brows, looming at me over wide mouths full of sharp, pointed teeth. The feeling of opening a curtain tells me that their earlier appearance was a disguise they had ready for whatever nightmare they had prepared for my mother, and they've just figured out that it isn't going to work on me.

The weapons are gone, replaced by bare hands and close-fitting leather that looks like it might be some kind of armor, though I'm not sure. Growling, the monsters close in on me again, careful to stay far enough outside the radius of my shield to avoid another hit, but close enough for me to see they still mean business.

From behind me, the force of someone's energy strikes my shield. Nothing compared to the power of the last opponent I fought here, it ricochets off and spins away harmlessly over the water. Feeling out from the place where it hit, I realize that the sender has left a trail back to himself. Without turning around, I focus on the spot where he stands, and send a jolt back along that path. I feel it hit home, throwing him sideways, so that two of his comrades have to dive into the sand to avoid being hit by his flying body. The leader sneers at me. I sneer back, and take a step forward, bringing my shield with me.

When I move, I see the ones in front of me, and feel the others around me, all flinch away. Feeling confident, I stir up the weather a little more, raising my arm and waving it over my head for effect as lightning flashes across the sky. The tall, thin leader, now much closer to me than the rest of his men, looks up, then looks back at me, determination eclipsing the fear on his face. I understand his position. He is the only thing right now keeping his men from breaking and running in a panic, now that they have realized they aren't dealing with an uninitiated dreamer, but a fighter who has learned to manipulate and use the elements of the dream. He has to show that he is strong, or he'll lose them all.

Outside my shield, I feel his energy building up around him, dark, dank, and foul. It's like sensing an influx of raw sewage gathering on my beach. Disgusted, I push against it, feeling polluted and cruddy. As soon as I touch that filth, I feel my opponent twist it and shove, impacting against my shield in just one tiny little spot with the force of all of his power, making a sound like a knife hitting glass.

The spike continues to pound, tapping rapidly against the surface, moving and down in an arc along the curve of my shield, as I try to get a grip on it. Slippery and revolting, it evades my grasp, and suddenly there is a loud pinging noise as it hits the same spot over and over until a crack formed.

Annoyed, I slam a wave against the spike from the side, shoving it away from my shield. The force of the boss's attack sends his energy into one of his own guys, right through the chest. The impaled monster falls to the sand, dark blood pouring from the wound, body thrashing.

I decide I'm not putting up with this any more. These wimps were going to attack my mother, meaning to scare the crap out of her and maybe even do real harm, and I can feel that if I don't take enough action, there will be more attacks, and more monsters. They will never leave her alone.

Reaching up into the storm again, I pull down bolt after bolt of lightning, striking the remaining grunts down. I feel like I'm playing whack-a-boogie-man with them as they break and run, scrambling over the beach like cockroaches fleeing the light, until all that is left is the leader. Advancing on him, I drop my shield. It's not really needed against such a lowlife piece of scum.

Horrified, the leader backs away from me. I raise the sand behind him, and he trips, falling onto it as I continue to shape it into shackles around his ankles, arms, forehead, and throat. He now looks like he's sitting in a sand version of an electric chair. Desperate and trapped, he lashes out, his nasty energy shooting out at me over and over again. Each time, I feel it coming and slap it away with little effort.

Stepping forward, I get right in the trapped monster's face, my nose inches away from his, and call all of the energy I've drawn into my aura so that he can see it. I can feel the storm flashing in my eyes, and he shrinks back in his makeshift seat. Not satisfied, I draw lightning across above the clouds where it won't be seen, letting thunder roll in, build up, and crash over our heads. A whine escapes him, and suddenly the smell of ammonia and minerals is floating on the wind in front of me.

I poke a finger into his pale, gaunt chest, punctuating a word with each impact, backing the statement up with more thunder behind me, building the volume of my voice as I go.

"Don't.
Fuck.
With.
Me."

The last word comes out as a roar, right in his face, complete with a blast of hot wind. The monster closes his eyes, crumpling in terror, hands balled into fists. It's all he can do to shut me out. He can't turn away. I've got him pinned in that seat.

Seeing my enemy cringing in front of me, wetness spreading across his lap and the sand beneath him, I feel like a total louse. I'm bulling something that's far beneath me, driving home a point that was likely made before he even attacked my shield; that he'd messed with the wrong person. If this had just been an ordinary nightmare with an ordinary boogie-man attack, I'd have wiped them all out and left it at that. But it isn't. They started out thinking they were here to attack my mother, and I have to make sure that never happens again.

Standing up, I poke my finger at the monster's body one more time, in the fleshy area between the collar bone and the neck, where I can almost see a major vein flowing beneath the skin. Using energy, I burn my initials into his sallow hide, red welts rising in stark contrast to the nearly gray flesh. The monster screams and writhes in pain at the first touch. Feeling sorry, I put my other hand on his throat and block the sensation with more energy until I am done, then heal the burn into deep, dark scars. Feeling the numbness, he opens his eyes and stares in confusion as I finish branding him.

Getting down to his level again, I scoop up some sand and melt it to produce a mirror so that he can see the marks. "You know what this means?" I ask him. Understanding flashes across his face, and then resignation. What is he going to do, argue with me? He has no choice but to accept the situation and be glad I didn't just kill him outright. My stomach turns, cold rising in me as my spirit objects. This isn't my way. I don't want to do this. I hate doing this... but I know that if I don't, there will be more of them, and I will not let them come after my mother again.

"You now belong to me," I tell him roughly. "You're my property, subject to my will and my whim. Get up." I dissolve the chair and the bonds, so that the monster must either stand, or fall on the beach. Even slouching in defeat, he towers over me, standing on trembling legs rather than let me see him fall. Misery and fear in his eyes, he waits to hear the rest of his fate. I steel myself against my aversion to what I know has to be done, then I continue to explain.

"You are now my mother's guardian. Stay just near enough to know if anyone else like you approaches. Don't try to interact with her at all. Just protect her. Nothing harmful gets to her, ever, without killing you first, understand? You can use every ounce of your power to fight and defend yourself against attackers, but only in the course of protecting her. You will warn anyone who runs away that if they come back, they'll end up like you. You will destroy anyone who doesn't run. And..." I let my voice become more harsh and ragged as I speak. "...if you ever even think about trying to harm her, or anyone else I love..." Here, I send a fiery spike of energy down through the brand on his shoulder into his bowels, knocking him screaming to his knees, doubled over at the gut, head thrown back in anguish.

The sight and sound tears at my heart. Immediately, I stop, putting a hand on his bony shoulder to stabilize his weight, once again healing the damage done by the energy. Relief shapes his features now. "I'll know, and I'll come for you," I finish, disgust with myself and my actions cramping my gut, making my words sound all the more vicious and cruel. "I'll make you wish you never existed."

The monster's mental state breaks entirely. He reaches out and grabs my clothing, pressing his forehead against my chest and babbling, promising me his loyalty and obedience, but then begging me to either kill him or go away. Pangs of guilt and shame stab through me at the sight and sound of what I've done to him, anger trying to follow them in as my mental defenses try to blame him for my terrible actions.

I can't do this. I'm not domineering. I don't even like to fight. I was just trying to protect my family. Fighting tears, I close my hands over his long, twisted fingers and shush him, telling him it's all right now. The fight is over, and I'm not going to hurt him any more, just as long as he doesn't try anything dumb.

"Yes, Mistress," the monster begins, the name punching me right in the chest, bringing those tears even closer to the surface.

"Ma'am," I quietly correct him. I'm no one's mistress, even if I have forced him into servitude. I can't take that title. It'll kill me. "Ma'am will do. Don't call me anything else. Now, do you have any other injuries?" Without waiting for an answer, I start looking him over, feeling for anything that is not as it should be, ignoring the return of that look of confusion on his face as I work on the places where my spikes went through in the initial assault.

"Why?" he asks, the confusion deepening, edged with faint hope that I can see him trying to quash. I want to tell him not to give that up, but I don't know enough about this guy to have that much trust. Instead, I lie, pushing back my own moral objection to hurting him in favor of the impulse to protect my family.

"You're not any good to her damaged like this." But I can see the wheels turning. The hope goes back under the surface, but it's still there. I'm going to have to keep consistent watch on him, using the brand like a mark, or he'll turn on me. Uneasiness settles in as I go over every hurt, using the same power that defeated and dominated him to heal my new slave. No... servant. Just a servant, a prisoner of war, paying for his crime. I'm not an enslaver. I'm not!

God, what have I done?

Fool me twice

2012-03-12T07:35:00.000-04:00

It's dark, and I'm running. I don't know what's behind me, only that if it catches me, I'm going to wish I were dead. Terrified, I pick up the pace, trying to lift off from the ground, but the oppressive atmosphere seems to be holding me down. A tree root reaches up and snags my ankle, tripping me. I go down hard, smacking my face on the packed dirt of the path, and I hear a familiar laugh behind me. Turning, I realize it's not a monster. It's him, not someone I have to fear. I sit up and reach out, sobbing with relief as he wraps his arms around me, telling me it's all right now. He's not going to let anyone take me. I only have a moment to feel safe before he sinks his teeth into my throat, and I realize the mistake I've made.

I'm jolted out of the nightmare, waking in my room, tucked under the covers and surrounded by darkness. Sitting up, I look at my alarm clock. It's past time to get up. I'm going to be late, and everyone will be mad. I jump out of bad and dig for my clothing, intending to drag it all on at top speed. I hear a noise behind me as I grab for things. Turning, I see him standing in the doorway. He asks what I'm doing, reminds me what day it is, and I feel silly for panicking. I don't have to be anywhere. It's tomorrow that I have to get up early. He crosses the room quickly, pulling me into a gentle hug, telling me he came in because it sounded like I was crying in my sleep.

As I hesitantly tell him the nightmare, he responds with soft kisses to my forehead and words of comfort and reassurance, that he would never let anything hurt me. When I finish talking, he kisses me deeply, taking away the last vestiges of the night's terror. Feeling better, I lay my head on his shoulder, briefly opening my eyes as the sun starts to come up. He's there, standing in the doorway, shock and hurt on his face as he watches me holding onto someone else.

I turn toward the monster in my arms. It's laughing. I shove, then push energy into my hands, jolting it over and over until it's burnt to a crisp, nearly blinded by tears of shame and horror at the realization of what I've been kissing crashes over me. I turn to run to him, but he turns away from me and begins to walk away, shoulders slumped, sadness in the voice that floats back to me, "If you ever really loved me, you'd have known the difference." I run after him, but by the time I reach the doorway, he's gone.

In his place is the monster I was just attacking. I turn and look, and there on the floor in my room is my love, crumpled in a heap, his final pain still showing in his dying eyes. My shoulder is clutched in a huge hand. I feel myself spun around by the force of it, to face my attacker. The monster draws back and punches me hard in the chest.

I woke from this with pain in my chest, and palpitations like I haven't suffered in years. I have an irregular heartbeat, but it's been determined that it's non-life threatening. It doesn't usually hurt.

For several moments, I could hardly breathe as my chest alternately pounded and squeezed. I focused my mind on it slowing down, slowly forcing one breath at a time using a breathing technique that is normally for singing, pulling the air in with my belly instead of my shoulders because I couldn't get my chest to expand.

Finally, the feeling passed, and everything settled, but that was really scary. I probably should go to the doctor, but the last time this happened (and it has been a few years,) they couldn't find the cause, and I have no insurance, so I'm not going to be able to afford it.

Anyway, the pain is gone, and now all that's left is the guilt of having not been able to distinguish which character in the dream was whom. I can't seem to shake that.

Oh, and for the record... I don't even have an alarm clock. When I need an alarm, I use my phone.

Multiple nightmares

2012-03-03T22:57:00.002-05:00

I don't know what it was... stress, maybe, or something I ate, but last night really sucked ass.

I'm ten years old, riding in the back seat of the car, feeling kind of sleepy, so I decide to lay down. When I do, and I see the back of the driver's seat from that angle, I realize where, and more importantly, when I am. This is the night of the car accident that changed my mother's life. We're going to be hit, and she's almost going to die. She's going to be in pain for the rest of her life. I know I'm having a nightmare. Wanting to wake, I shake my head back and forth really hard. That never fails to wake me, ever.

Except... this time, I don't wake up. Terrified, I try again, and again, until it hits home that I'm not getting out of this. I'm going to watch her suffocating again.

I think that maybe I came here to dream about changing it. I tell Grandma not to turn down that road, but she does. I tell her not to pull into that lot, but she does. I tell her to wait a minute, that there's danger down the road, that she can turn around after he passes, but she smoothly turns the car around and pulls back out onto the road.

I feel the car turning right, a sign that the accident is impending. I hear the tires squealing as the other driver loses control. I scream at Grandma to hit the gas, get out of this space, but it's too late. Suddenly, there's the sound of metal crashing and screaming, glass breaking, tires screeching, and we're moving sideways faster than we'd been moving forward. I hear Mom's head hit Grandma's as I am thrown on the floor, covered in beads of broken glass.

Then, it all stops. For a second, everything is still, and then I can hear Mom trying to breathe with two collapsed lungs, a high pitched whistling, wheezing sound coming out of her throat. I know what is going to happen. A bus driver is going to call an ambulance. It's going to feel like an eternity until they arrive and use the jaws of life to get my mother out of the car. They're going to separate us, taking her to one hospital, and me to another, where Grandma and I will pray for hours, worried the whole time because we are unable to get any information on my Mom. Mom will live, but her doctors aren't going to be able to figure out how. She's going to be in terrible pain for the rest of her life, and she's always going to be discriminated against because her disability is invisible.

Except, this time, there is no bus driver. Instead, a tall man in dark clothing comes to the window and calls her name. I can see two of my mother, one overlapping the other. The bottom one is wheezing and struggling to breathe. The top one is looking at the man. He holds out his hand, and she cringes away from him.

The man howls in fury, pounding on the outside of the car, bellowing that no one escapes him, and it's her time. I realize that what I'm seeing is some kind of monster trying to steal my mother's soul out of her body. I climb out of the broken window, onto the hood of the other car, and scramble across. I throw myself onto the tall man, kicking and punching, trying to defend her. He tries to shove me away, and I grab on tighter. I can see the bus driver who is supposed to come to the window and then call for help. He's trying to calm the kids on the bus, who are yelling and pointing at us. I let the man push me away. I drop to the ground, crouch down, and grab his knee, pulling so that he loses his balance and falls. When he does, he drops out of the kids' line of sight, and they get quiet. The driver gets out of the bus, and starts walking toward the car.

The man tries to get up, and I start stomping and kicking at him, intent on keeping him away from Mom's door. I'm screaming and yelling, "No! You can't have her!" over and over, as he keeps shouting her name and telling her she has to come. When he tries to sit up, I tackle him and try to hold him down, biting into his arms and shoving my knee into his gut, anything I can do to save Mom.

I can hear sirens coming in the distance, but it seems to be taking forever, prolonging the wrestling match for my mother's life. The man, who is bigger and stronger than me, finally pins me to the ground, looking triumphant. Before he can do anything else, the EMS is there, ripping open the car and taking my Mom out into the ambulance. I've delayed him long enough; she's going to make it.

Enraged, the man glares at me, calls me a thief, and tells me that I owe him, and one day he'll show up to collect.

*********************************

I'm sitting in a courtroom, next to a man in a suit. I figure out right away that the man is my lawyer. I'm accused of murdering a neighbor who I can clearly see is very much alive, sitting on the witness stand talking about how I "killed" her. I am thinking that this case should be dismissed, but my lawyer is actually arguing instead, questioning the woman's credibility based on flimsy crap that I know isn't going to stand up, instead of just pointing out that - hey, there she sits, alive, so I can't have killed her!

Witness after witness comes forward to describe heinous acts I never committed against this woman, acts that would be evident if I had, by anything from leaving scars to causing her death. By the end of the trial , I'm incredulous. I can tell by their faces that the jury is convinced I'm a brutal murderer.

They leave the room. I ask my lawyer why he didn't just point out that the woman is not dead. He tells me that doing so would violate her privacy rights, and that if she says she's dead, no one has the right to question that. Again, my jaw is hanging open. I ask, what about my right to a fair trial? Don't I have the right to have all of the facts presented in my defense? I'm told that no, if it involves someone's medical status as living or nonliving, I don't.

I ask how everyone can ignore the obvious, that she is up and moving, talking, coherent, and even testifying in the case. Isn't all of that evidence that she is not dead? According to my lawyer, only an expert such as a doctor is legally allowed to diagnose someone as being alive or dead. Since no such diagnosis was offered, the jury is required to disregard any evidence of the victim's living status.

Finally, the jury returns. The foreman reads off the verdict: Guilty.

Totally shocked, I sit and listen as the judge sentences me to be executed for my crime. The method of execution is that I am to be tied between two posts and chopped to death with a machete. Horrified, I turn to ask my lawyer how many appeals I have, but he's white as a sheet, and there's a bailiff grabbing him from behind. He tells me that he has to serve my sentence with me, and it's going to happen right now. He thought we'd won the case by proving that the woman had been caught lying repeatedly, but we've lost, and there is no appeal. I'm dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the courtroom by a large man. Outside the window, I can see three tall wooden posts. My family, sitting behind the defendant's table, are sobbing and holding each other. I feel like I am going to puke.

The big man starts shoving my hands into looped ropes that tighten around my wrists. I know if I don't get out of this, it's really going to happen. I'm going to feel that blade cutting into me over and over until I die.

I can hear the sharp, wet, squishy sound of the blade slicing into my lawyer, followed by his first of many screams. Another man grabs me, and I know it's too late. I'm done for.

*********************************

I'm at work, at my old job instead of my new one. It's about halfway through a full shift, and I'm getting hungry. I step into the back room and grab the quart of milk I bought to keep me going, and guzzle about half of it. When I come back out to the front counter, my coworker is crouched down on the floor, reaching for a dropped pack of cigarettes. She doesn't pick up the pack, but instead, stays in that position. I call her name. She doesn't answer. I get down to see if she's all right, and I see that her skin has kind of a gray tint to it. As I watch, her cheeks begin to crack and sag, and then her lips, and her lower eyelids. Her hair falls out, and her ears droop out to the sides. she falls over sideways. I back away, looking around for help, but there's no one.

I grab the phone and dial 9-1-1, listening to the phone ring on the other end. No one answers. I run to the cooler to get my boss. She's draped over the drinks, her flesh dripping down onto the floor. I flee the store, heading out to my car, which won't start. Cussing and slamming the door, I run the three blocks home to my apartment, passing wrecked cars and rotting neighbors along the way.

When I finally reach the complex, there's no one outside. I have no idea if people here are all right or not, because I've only seen people inside my store and outdoors. Bursting into the apartment, I see my husband and son sitting on the couches, watching anime online. Relieved, I start to tell them what is happening outside, but as soon as I start to talk, my son's jaw drops, and his tongue rolls out. My husband's lower eyelids begin to droop, and I notice that both of the guys are gray. There is hair all over the cushions around them, and bald spots are forming on their heads.

*********************************

I'm in a shopping mall. It's really crowded, like around the holidays. Everywhere I go, people are staring at me with angry looks on their faces. Whenever I'm not actively shopping, they're running into me on purpose. I'm trying to avoid being in the hallway outside the stores very much. At least when I'm shopping, the other patrons leave me alone.

I find something that I want to buy, take it to the counter, pay, and walk out of one store, headed for another. When I get into the hallway, all of the people there converge on me. Someone takes my bag and runs. I try to go after him, but there are dozens of hands on me, people hitting and kicking, biting, and spitting on me.

I'm screaming and struggling, but I end up on the floor. I realize I'm going to be trampled to death, but I have no idea why everyone is so mad at me. The only feeling I have is that I'm an outsider, and they're attacking because I'm not one of them.

*********************************

That was the last remotely coherent dream I had last night. After that, it descended into a night of faces and noises, and the feeling of things pinching and biting me. I kept almost waking up, then finding myself confronting yet another horror. The last thing I remember before waking was having a sleep paralysis dream where I was in my bed, but I couldn't move. I could see part of the room, but not the whole thing because I couldn't turn my head. Off to the side, I knew there was something waiting for me to stop paying attention so it could attack and eat me.

All day today, I've been haunted by last night's experiences, mostly the decaying dream and the car accident, with the feelings from the night of the accident cropping up at bad times, like when I was working with customers.

Recurring nightmare: Skinrider

2012-02-03T22:13:00.000-05:00

This is one that I had recently, but because my schedule has been so messed up, I couldn't tell you when. It's a recurring dream, one I usually have when I'm tired, and in a lot of pain. I was really little the first time I had it, with the dream taking place in the first house where my family lived. We moved from that house when I was four, so it's likely the first time I dreamed about this monster, I was close to that age.

I'm in my room, putting laundry away. I'm home alone right now, but where the rest of my family has gone is not on my mind. I'm thinking about what I can get done before they get back, knowing that I have a couple of hours.

I turn to go down the stairs, and hear a noise down by the door. It sounds like there is someone moving around in my living room. At first, I don't panic about this, because when the neighbors in the next apartment go down the stairs, it sounds like there's someone hitting the wall. I think that maybe it's just one of them. Then, I remember that last week, an old lady opened our door and walked into our apartment looking for our neighbors. My husband had to argue with her for several minutes before she would accept that our apartment was just an apartment, not the landing at the bottom of the stairs to the one-bedroom next door. Maybe she is back, and that was what I have been hearing. She was pretty adamant last time... I am afraid this time she might get violent.

I decide to sneak to the edge of the stairs and peek around the wall, to see if I can see anything at the bottom of the stairway. The point of view won't give me much - it's a pretty narrow space - but from the right angle, if someone is standing down there, I'll be able to see feet and legs, and the person won't be able to see me. I carefully and slowly sneak over to the spot where I'm going to peek, listening the whole time to make sure I still hear the noises. I figure if it gets quiet, I've been heard, but the whole time, I can still hear movement.

I inch around the wall, carefully keeping my body obscured while I peek down the stairs. There, at the bottom, I can see a pair of bare feet and legs, extending on up beyond my vision. My stomach clenches in fear as I see them.

It's obvious that there is no skin on them.

Instead, I see gelatinous looking red flesh, glistening in the light so that I know it's moist. I can see blood vessels and tendons. As I'm reeling from the shock of what I've seen, the creature suddenly bends down faster than I can move, and stares up at me with huge, bulbous black eyes. Its whole body is just like its feet... skinless, moist, and glistening. I can see that it has a knife in one hand.

As soon as it spots me, it starts climbing up the stairs, growling and snarling, showing jagged, uneven rows of teeth in its over-sized mouth. It moves quickly, getting halfway up the stairs before I can even move. The only thing I can think of to do is run to the bathroom, where I shut and lock the door. I don't know how I know, but I know that this thing is here to steal my skin so it has something to hide inside of while it does terrible things that I would never do. It's not only going to kill me, it's going to kill me in a torturous way, and then afterward, it's going to make me look like some kind of monster.

In the bathroom, I look around for a weapon. I realize I'm not going to accomplish much with the safety razors. I dig in the cupboard and find Epsom salts.

The phrase "salt on an open wound" occurs to me. I start thinking of a plan, as I hear the creature shuffle down the hallway to the bathroom. I have a big cup in there that I use for rinsing the tub when I wash it out. I grab that, dump in some salts, and run water over them. I keep the bag of salts open.

Having not been able to run the water enough for it to get hot, I am not seeing the salts melt very fast, but enough has dissolved to do what I want. I stand back and let the creature break open the door. As soon as it steps into the bathroom, I throw the salt water on it. The creature screams, sounding like a colony of angry bats. I grab for the knife, but the creature pulls its hand away from me. It looks furious, using its free hand to try to wipe the salt water off of its skin. As it lurches toward me again, I throw a handful of dry salt, hitting it right in the face and chest. It screams again, and I take the opportunity to push it into the tub, so that its head smacks hard against the tiles. I dump the salt onto it as it continues to thrash and scream in the tub, then I run down the stairs to try to get out of the apartment. As I get to the bottom, I realize I forgot to disarm the creature. Turning, I see that it's all ready at the top of the stairs, crawling across the carpet, heading for the first step down. I've slowed it down a bit, but it is still determined to get me.

I open the door and run down to the street, where I start screaming for help, but no one seems to be around. I turn and head for the corner, leaving my door open, hoping to find traffic so that if the thing attacks me, I'll be seen. I don't want to run too far, because the thing might still be there when my husband and son get home, and I can't let it hurt them, either.

When I get to where there is traffic, the creature is right behind me, stumbling along with that knife. Now, people can see what is happening, but no one is stopping to help. I stop and turn around, realizing that I'm going to have to fight. The creature slashes at me with the knife, and I try to dodge, but it catches me on the arm, leaving a long gash. I kick at it, and it jumps back away from me. I grab a rock and throw it, just missing the creature. It lunges at me, and I grab it by the arms. Its flesh is warm, wet, and squishy, and I have trouble holding on.

It tries to stab at me with the knife, and I throw it to the side, out into traffic, right in front of a city bus. The bus driver slams on the breaks, but still ends up hitting the creature. Blood splatters everywhere, and the knife goes clattering down the street, landing yards away. People come running now, yelling and pointing. I'm grabbed by two men, who seem to think I've assaulted an innocent person, despite my protests that he was attacking me with a knife, and the fact that his weird face is clearly visible. As the crowd gathers around me, I can see through some of the spaces between them that the creature is still moving.

It's starting to get back up.

This is one of those nightmares, after which, it just starts out feeling like my whole day is going to be bad, you know?

Taken

2012-02-01T20:12:00.001-05:00

It's been a long two weeks, and I've had nightmares that I haven't posted due to lack of time. Friday night was my first good, solid night's sleep during that time, because I was changing jobs, working my last two week's notice on the night shift at one, and my training hours on the day shift at the other. Boys and girls, can we say exhausted?

I'm really little, like maybe four years old, maybe even younger. There are adults all around me, rushing around in some kind of a panic. A dark-haired lady takes me by the hand, rushes me out of my room past a vanity with a big round mirror on it. In the mirror, I can see that I'm slim, with long, dark hair like I have now, and wearing some kind of a sleeveless summer dress with sandals. I have on a lot of ribbons and things. Everything I'm wearing seems to be green, yellow, or golden orange.

The lady picks me up and runs with me to another room, where a man with hair like mine, and a beautiful woman with bright red hair are rushing around. The man is wearing armor that has been painted green. He's carrying a sword on his back, a short mace at his hip, and a bow at his shoulder. His face looks deadly serious. The red-haired woman has put on a dark leotard, and she's holding a maternity dress, even though she's not pregnant.

The dark-haired woman hands me to the red-haired woman. As she takes me in her arms, I realize that this is my mother. She tells me to hold on around her belly, and the dark-haired woman ties scarves around me to help me stay put. Then, my mother puts on the maternity dress. I hear her tell the man, my father, that it's a good thing I'm still small. Over the maternity dress, the ladies place what feels like an apron, but if I turn my head just right, I can still see through a button hole.

I watch the dark-haired lady put on my mother's armor. It's too long, but she doesn't seem to notice that. While she's doing that, my mother's hands pick up a dagger and a little tube with some needles. They move down below my vision, and I see the dark-haired lady strap a belt around her own waist. On the belt, a sword in a scabbard hangs down past her knees. She grabs a shield, turns and runs her hand along my head through the fabric, kisses my mother on the cheek, and then runs out of the room. My father moves the bed, opens a trap door beneath it, and sends my mother and me down inside before putting the bed back in place. I hear him walk across the floor and open a window. There are more footsteps around the room, then he heads out the door. My mother sticks the tube in a hole in the trap door, and places a needle in it. She stands waiting. It's dark where we are. I can hear sounds of running throughout the house, and some shouting.

We are like that for several moments, and then I hear my father's boots again, stomping on the floor outside the door. There is the sound of metal clinking against metal, and then there is the sound of splintering wood, and a massive thump right in front of our vantage point.

We can hear fighting in front of us. My mother's breathing is fast and shallow, and I know she is scared. I know to be quiet, that we're in here because we're hiding. I press my face into her belly and hold on tightly. One soft hand runs across the back of my head. It's all the comfort she can offer.

The fighting escalates, and one of the participants bumps the bed, sliding it just a little to the side. I hear a choking sound, and another loud thump, but it's hard to tell who is down. It's quiet for a moment, then boots that are not my fathers begin walking around the room. Ever few steps, we hear someone knocking on the floor. Knock-knock... knock-knock... not our code. This person is looking for a different tone to the knocking sound, indicating empty space under the floor.

Someone speaks quietly, and a different walk approaches the bed. We hear it pushed aside, and the footsteps walk right up to the trap door. Someone drops down in front of it, knocks, and says, "This is the spot."

My mother takes a deep breath and blows into the tube. There is another choking sound from outside the hole we're in, and then there is shouting. More footsteps approach the trap door. I hear my mother blow out another needle, and another. Two more men fall, and then I hear the door open, and the blade at her hip sliding out of its sheath.

I hold my breath as I feel my mother struggle with the man above her, stabbing and slashing at him. Wetness lands on the fabric around me, and I hear a man's gurgling moan. Suddenly, we're moving up, really fast, and my mother screams. I hold on tight, trying to stay quiet. Tears roll down my face. I'm sure whoever is left alive up here is going to kill us both.

I hear footsteps, and a female voice confronts my mother, asking where the child is. That's me. I stiffen up to keep from shaking. My mother says that she sent the handmaid out the window with me, but couldn't follow, in her condition. I hear a slap, and the female stranger asks if my mother thinks she's stupid. Over my mother's horrified protests, the apron is ripped away, and then the dress. I see that we are surrounded by large men, all in robes and wearing armor. Several of them are holding onto her, with her arms pinned behind her back, and her head held still by their hands in her hair. In front of us is one petite, dark-haired woman, black-robed, with a strange shimmery look to it.

The scary little woman steps forward and puts her hands on me, and pulls me away from my mother. I scream and hold on, but she's stronger than I am. I'm overpowered, and find myself dragged away from her, and then the men close in on her. The last thing I hear from her is the sound of her voice, screaming my name, as the woman carries me toward the door. I'm struggling and kicking, trying to get away. I feel the woman raise one hand up behind my head.

I woke from this, feeling something hit me in the back of the head, and jumped so hard I nearly fell out of bed. I was terrified beyond reason, seriously still feeling like a scared little girl for several minutes before I finally settled down.

Recurring nightmare: Indefensible

2012-01-26T07:16:00.000-05:00

I haven't been sleeping much lately. My schedule is way weird right now - working night shift for two weeks at the job I'm leaving, so that I can work days at my new, lower stress job. There isn't much room for sleep. I've had broken dreams, odd things that seem to disappear as soon as I wake, and one really upsetting one I can't really express. So, here's one that I've had many times before, and will probably have again.

I'm at an event. I'm not sure exactly what is occurring, but the area in which it is happening includes a big portion of the small town where I grew up. There seem to be multiple things going on, including a cross-country race that winds around the entire grounds.

On the ground in front of me is a great big guy. He's battered, severely injured, and unconscious. I know that I'm the one who did it, but I don't know why. I feel like I was pushed or trapped into it doing this, but I know I'll still be held accountable for it regardless, because from the appearance of his injuries, I didn't stop beating on him right away after he was down.

There are people nearby who heard the fight and are coming to see what is wrong. I back away rapidly from the man, trying to hide in the bushes before they see me. I realize I'm covered in his blood. If I don't get out of here, I'm going to be in huge trouble. I run away from the scene, barreling through a maze of snack trailers and equipment until I reach an area that seems to be outside of the event. If I can get a little further away, I might be able to make it home without being detected.

I hide between trashcans to avoid a police car driving by, then run down a series of alleyways toward my parents' house. The whole time, I'm sure someone is following me, but I can't see anyone. Finally, I get there, only to find that my whole family has gathered in the kitchen and is waiting for me. When I enter the house, they lecture me and say they are ashamed of what I've done. I beg them not to say that, telling them that what happened wasn't something I planned ahead, or even did on purpose, just a response to a situation that was inflicted upon me by the victim.

My father tells me that the man died from his injuries, that I punched him so hard in the chest that I stopped his heart. There are tears in Dad's eyes, and he asks me, "Do you have any idea how much force that takes?"

I don't know, but I figure it's a lot. I am filled with dread, realizing I've taken a life. The horror of it doesn't all dawn on me at once... at first, I just feel sorry that the man is dead, and guilty over being the cause. Then, I realize that there will be others affected by his death, people who loved him. And having killed him is a terrible crime. I'll be convicted and sentenced. I could even be sentenced to die as punishment, even with extenuating circumstances. As the reality of the situation begins to weigh on me, my family advances upon me and I understand that they mean to turn me in to the authorities. I turn to run, head out the door, and flee across the yard, pursued by everyone.

This is when I usually wake, feeling despondent, thinking about what to do next and how to survive, knowing that I would either have to hide forever, or turn myself in and face the criminal justice system. Upon waking, this dream stays with me, usually for at least a day, sometimes two or three, causing a sense of impending doom, and strong feelings of guilt, anxiety, and depression.

Just a dream

2012-01-25T13:05:00.000-05:00

I can't even describe this one. I have the words, just not the fortitude, or the heart. I came out of it with this. This is all I can do.

EDGE

Baleful Craving
Echoing, pilfering
Wanton entreaty
Softened screaming
Heavy whisper
Nudging, edging
Trudging, hedging
Pushing, pulling
Rending, Seething
Exposed, unguarded
Dropping, falling
Down and away
Rattling on
Settling in
Infinitely bound
Unheeded, unheard
Unnoticed, unwanted
Unseen, unclaimed
Unclean, undone

And yet I miss them

2012-01-13T11:01:00.000-05:00

To start this one, I need a bit of back story. I've always had a bit of a 6th sense. Not like in the movies, where everything is plain as day, just the ability to feel presences, hear and smell details that are not so obvious, but that others will notice when I point them out, and sometimes see auras or what I think of as energy disturbances. Sometimes I seem to pick up on "leftovers," energy or strong emotions that are attached to areas or objects. Once in a while, I'll have a full-on "psychic" experience, where I get an image, or a memory, or some other information that is hanging around waiting for someone susceptible to show up and feel it.

I've never been entirely comfortable with this, and have avoided messing too much with "the other side." I don't seek things out. If things find me, I do what I have to do to handle and extract myself from the situation, and try to have no more involvement than that, with the exception, at Samhain, of honoring those of my loved ones who have crossed over, or of helping friends handle and protect themselves from unwanted "other side" experiences that they have had.

In 1996, I moved in with a bunch of friends. When I say a bunch, I mean 7 of us all combining our resources together to rent a house. We had 1 kitchen, 1 bathroom, 3 guys 4 gals, a straight couple, a 1 -straight-1-bi couple, a lesbian couple, and a single gay man all living together. It was a beautiful disaster. We'd have made a great reality show.

The lesbians were into ghost hunting. My then fiance and I were practicing Wiccans. For some reason, the girls thought this should translate into a desire on my part to go ghost hunting with them.

It didn't. I refused. So, one day, my sweet buddies decided to take me out for fast food, then pull a half-bait-and-switch (we actually did get food) and take me to reputedly haunted places as kind of a psychic sensor without even giving me a heads-up. I was not a happy camper.

"This isn't the way home. Where are we going?"

I look around at my housemates. My fiance is in the front with SL & DK, with SL doing the driving. I'm in the middle of the back seat, between JD & TG, having just finished a fast food feast. I'm in the middle because it's the only way for me to have enough leg room. JD & TG are razzing me about my insanely huge appetite and how it doesn't go with my skinny ass. They're loud and funny, and I've been enjoying the camaraderie until this moment, when I realize they're taking me somewhere other than where they said we were going to go.

TG says, "This is the only way we could think of to get you out."

I admit, I've been cooped up since the accident, but I've also been in a lot of pain, and it's cold outside. I just recently found out that the reason my recovery from a simple whiplash injury has been so slow is that I have fibromyalgia.

ST pulls over in front of one of the area's more broken down farms. It's kind of odd in the Northwest Ohio area. Driving through the rural areas, you'll see everything ranging from state of the art to completely abandoned. This one looks abandoned. It's overgrown with weeds and brush, the buildings decaying, equipment sitting unused and rusted beside the slowly falling barn. Something about this place gives me the willies, and I shiver involuntarily.

"Everything ok? Why are we here? Is there something wrong with the car?"

The girls exchange a secretive smile. JD opens her door, gets out of the car, and before I can protest, grabs my arm and pulls me out too. TG is getting out on the other side. Everyone is exiting the vehicle. At this point, even my fiance is asking why we're here. We don't have a flat tire, and there were no funny noises from the motor.

I'm feeling a super-sized dose of get-the-hell-out-of-here from the barn. The energy here nauseates me. I feel the oddest sense of dread, like a kid who has been told "wait 'till your father gets home" and is anticipating far, far worse than just the lectures I had when I was a kid. I am shaking, fighting tears, and my back feels like it's covered in bee stings. I look around. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the car.

My fiance sees me losing the color in my face, shaking, and looking very upset. He is immediately right next to me, asking why we've stopped here and if I'm all right. I say we should leave, now. JD & TG start to look less sure of themselves, and ask what I'm "seeing."

I'm not seeing anything, but I'm feeling way too much. I try to push it away, mentally focusing on putting a divide between myself and the residual energy or feelings of this area. I don't know what's hitting me, but it feels totally awful. I use a technique I've learned in my Wicca studies with my fiance and some other people we practice with, drawing lines of strong, pure, positive energy around myself and spinning them into a hard, egg-shaped shell. That strongly mutes the "psychic" ambiance in my personal space, allowing me to take a more objective, uninfluenced look at what just hit me. In this case, the biggest relief I got was that my back felt better.

Something bad happened here, not just once, but over and over, to someone who was powerless to avoid it. I'm not skilled or practiced enough to be able to tell exactly what it was, because I don't practice this. I avoid this. I'm pissed as hell that they have done this to me. I don't want to be here. I told them that. Things like this are why.

I suspect that I'm feeling the residuals from a situation of serious abuse, but I can't feel how old it is, or whether it's attached to the building, or the property. It could have been anything; animal abuse, a family thing, an employer thing, a cruel slave owner, or mistreatment of native people by white immigrants. The only direction I have is the feeling that the origin of the dread is young and male.

I find myself unable to keep it to myself, and end up explaining that to the girls. They're eating it up like it's some kind of entertainment, but I'm not. Even with my shield, I feel like I'm going to heave on the lawn if we don't get out of here.

My fiance can see that I'm extremely uncomfortable with being here. He tells me he'll protect me, and he steps right up next to me, puts his arm around me, and creates the same kind of shield I just did. With him standing there, the residue is not getting through as easily, and I feel better, but I still really, really want to leave.

The girls ask if I can see anything. I'm looking at the barn, but there's no shadow or figure that doesn't belong there. The creepiest thing about the place, I tell them, is that rope hanging from the ceiling which can be seen through the sagging, half-open doors.

Both girls immediately give me the hairy eyeball. I'm confused until my fiance tells me that the barn isn't falling apart, the doors are shut tight, and there's no rope that any of the rest of them can see. When he says that, I'm finally able to see through the residue of the past, as the rot, rust, and decay just sort of slowly fade away. First, I can see through everything that isn't there, then it rapidly increases in transparency until it's gone. The house isn't the same house. It's not quite in the same spot, is made of wood instead of bricks, and is bigger. The barn is in the same spot, but it's taller, in good shape, and closed up tight. There's no farm equipment sitting out. The place is deserted, but not like before.

At that moment, the air of the place changes for me. There's a sense of the dreaded moment rapidly approaching, and I physically hear someone stomping across a hardwood floor in heavy boots. The far off sound of a deep, inhuman growl makes me jump out of my skin. It almost sounds more like someone dragging something heavy across a rough surface than a voice. I cover my ears with my hands. Whatever I'm feeling nearby wasn't here before, and it's malevolent. We could be in serious danger.

JD & TG both pepper me with questions. "What is it? What do you hear? Do you see something? Is there a ghost?"

At this point, SL & DK, both of whom have just been kind of watching, are starting to get really creeped out. If I'm going to convince anyone to leave, it'll probably be them, because JD & TG are too curious, and my fiance is bent on being a knight in shining armor. I look at DK and say, "We have to move, now. It's pissed, and it knows we're here. We have to go."

That creeps her out like nobody's business, and she starts pestering SL to get back into the car and drive away. I push my fiance toward the car and tell him to get in, at the same time shoving myself away from him. I climb into the back seat. SL agrees to leave, not willing to admit it's because he's got the heebie-jeebies, but quite able to admit that DK's emotional state is a concern. JD & TG reluctantly agree to go. As we all pile in and close the doors, I'm hit with a sense of urgency, my mind picturing SL stomping the gas and shooting forward like a race car. Something is approaching the vehicle.

SL turns the key. The car turns over, but doesn't start. He cusses a blue streak, pushing the pedal to the floor once, letting it up, and trying again. I hear pounding on the ground outside, turn to look, and see a dark shadow coming out of the barn. It looks like a big black cloud of smoke, moving slowly across the yard toward the car. I hear SL flat out yell at his car to start, still swearing like mad. My fiance puts his hands on the dashboard, closes his eyes, and quietly starts singing an elemental fire chant we sometimes use in the circle. SL turns the key, and the engine roars to life as that smokey cloud crosses the drainage ditch and reaches the car. The whole vehicle rocks sideways like something slammed into it. SL floors it and peels out of there, speeding up the road for quite a distance before slowing down. No one says a word until we get home, where I remind them "I don't go ghost hunting!" before heading up to my & my fiance's room to defrag with some music.

The actual experience was almost identical to the dream, until the last paragraph. I remember getting into the car, and SL having some difficulty starting it, but we actually got out of there without that black cloud getting anywhere near us. We drove around for awhile, hung out by a reservoir, and had a second experience I also wasn't happy about. I ended up telling the girls off a little, but I didn't wander off to sulk in my room when we got home. We sat around playing video games, instead. The memory of my fiance using the fire elemental chant to start the car was from an entirely different incident, with a different car, and for the record, after the chant, the previously unresponsive car started like nothing was ever wrong.

I don't know what made me think of this last night. We ended up having a falling-out, moving out of the house, and breaking off contact with them. It's been around 15 years since I've had any contact with anyone from that car except my then fiance, who is now my ex, but still a friend. Either way, the dream has stuck with me today. I'm not hugely bothered, but I do feel kind of weird, and to be honest, I do miss those guys.

By request

2012-01-12T21:18:00.000-05:00

A few readers have asked me to try to draw the Doc. Though I'm not a confident (because I don't feel competent) artist when it comes to drawing, I decided to give it a shot (no pun intended.)

Instead of trying to put pencil to paper, this time I did the entire thing in photoshop. That worked out slightly better, though I couldn't focus on his relaxed state and ended up drawing the last time I saw him. I think this one came out better than the drawing of the monster. Maybe I draw better with a mouse than with a pencil.

Parting shot down

2012-01-11T10:43:00.000-05:00

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

The sun will show no mercy

2012-01-10T15:25:00.002-05:00

I feel watched, but not immediately threatened.

Slowly and carefully, I take inventory of myself, focusing first on my own spirit and my energy, looking for anything that doesn't belong. I find the marker again, but aside from that, there is nothing, only me. I turn my focus to the physical.

I feel the hard mat under my back, pillow of leaves under my head. The blanket is flat, pulled up to my throat, tucked up under my chin. I'm still half-sitting, half-supine, with my hands flat by my sides. The pain is gone. The numbness is gone, too. There is no discomfort.

In my right hand is a small object. Under the blanket, concealed by my resting form, I turn it over in my hand, testing it with my fingertips. What am I holding? It's cold... round, but not solid, thin on one side, becoming thicker as I feel around it, then thinner again; a ring. I focus attention on it, keeping just a little behind to keep my face expressionless, my breathing normal. I reach inside the smooth, cold metal, and the little stone set into it, to feel the ring's energy.

There is warmth here, familiarity. In my mind's eye, I can see it's form; cut amethyst set in a slender, delicate sliver circle. I remember this ring. A host of emotions slam through me as the memory eclipses everything.

"What's this for?" I ask, holding the ring in the palm of my hand. Instead of answering, she picks it up and draws my fingers apart, sliding the ring on next to my wedding band. It doesn't fit, falls right off, and she gives me the most melodramatic sad face. It tears my heart out, but at the suddenness of it, I have to stifle a giggle.

I pick it up, put it on my middle finger. "Is this ok?" I'm rewarded with a nod. I ask again, "But what is it for?" It's not a gift giving occasion. Is this the commitment she's been wavering on?

She smiles an affectionate, but half-troubled smile, and answers, "For now."

The moment, so sweet when it happened, is a hard blow to my heart now. Awash in a sea of conflicting impulses, I fight just to breathe at all. The craving that hits me brings with it stabbing pangs of regret and a deep, dragging concern. Why the hell did I bring this with me? As I struggle to maintain control, my mind touches on another scene, the moment when I realized that the monster had put on her form to trick me. My heart protests... you had no right. Who would be next? My friends? My Husband?

My son? As the thought crosses my mind, I know that he would. The monster will use anything to twist me into something he can use.

The present pain is joined by a conflagration of heady wrath, and I realize why I need this ring. I seize on the emotion, feeling it try to expand, blaze wild, and erupt. This is mine. My memories, my rage, my struggle. I have fought this battle. I know all of the steps. In a second, I'm holding within myself a hot ball of righteous indignation, not blind rage. The feeling is bright, white-hot, and pure, fueled not by my hatred and fear of him, but the almost territorial devotion I feel for my loved ones. And I still feel watched.

The monster is waiting.

I open my eyes to see him staring at me from across the room. I failed to control my face, my breathing. He isn't stepping forward.

Instead, I feel a blanket of dank, bleak energy rising across me, poking and prodding at my presence. Light pressure grazes above my forehead, lingers and pokes, then falls between my eyes and lingers there and prods, followed by my throat, right above the thyroid. I feel the touch fall to my heart, searching, as the monster's jaw sets, his eyes narrow, and his ears stand straight up. The energy rolls toward my belly, and that indignation rises, bringing with it the impulse to administer a hard slap. I push the impulse forward, feeling my will strike a blow, and the pressure stops.

I sit up, push the blanket off of me, turn to let my feet hit the floor, rest my elbows on my knees, watch, and wait. The more I look at him, the hotter that ball becomes, melting into a pool of liquid outrage, but a calm settles over my consciousness. I've been here before, not with him, not in this way, but I've been here. This is my charge.

We sit like that for several moments; I, relaxing on the edge of the bed, and he, studying me warily. He knows I've cleared myself of his poison, but I haven't expelled the marker. I know that he's trying to size me up, figure out what I'm doing and how capable I might actually be of doing it. He's probably also confused, because I haven't put up a shield.

Finally, I decide there's been enough waiting, and ask why he let me build my strength back up, "...and don't tell me you still 'want through,' because that's bullshit. You could have taken that while I was down. What are you really after?"

He sits down with a slightly surprised, suspicious look on his face. I feel that prodding at my belly again, and I shove it away with another slap. "Mitts off. It's not there. If you want it back, look behind me. Are you gonna answer my question, or not?"

This time, the surprise isn't so slight. He shoots forward, moving almost faster than I can see. One second, he's sitting on the floor a few yards away from me, and the next, he's to my right, reaching behind me, poking at the mat with his fingers. I resist the impulse to move away. I'll not give him any ground, and besides, it could be worse. At least he isn't groping my chakras any more.

Finding the residue of his attitude soaked into the mat, he falls back into that sitting position, bemused, muttering something I don't understand, then says something to me about not realizing I was that sentient.

Finally, he answers my question. He struggles to describe some of the concepts, but gets across to me that it's rare for him to encounter someone who carries his favorite flavor of torment, who isn't either insensitive to anything beyond physical consciousness, entirely self-destructive, or a one-time producer. Most are all three. He can use them for a while, but they get used up. They don't replenish, or they damage themselves to death, and then he can't find them any more.

The callousness of his description pisses me off, my heart going out to his previous victims, but I keep myself calm, tell myself not to lose sight of what I have to do. I have to know what kind of mindset I'm dealing with. I ask, "What has that got to do with me?"

He answers, "You're the rarity."

My stomach turns. I think I know where this is going. The molten pool inside me boils. I keep my face neutral and watch him.

He frowns. "But you're a stubborn (gibberish). I can dominate you enough to take what I need, but not enough to take what I want. Your friends are going to protect you to death again, and I'll have to look for you again." It's almost as if he's thinking out loud instead of talking to me.

He looks up with eyes as red as blood, leans forward, says my Name with striking gravity, and tells me, "This is the covenant I offer. I will see you protected from my kind, and any other. I will educate you beyond the knowledge of your peers, and provide you with material wealth. I will not dominate your will. In return, you agree to completely surrender your torment to me upon demand, and to admit my marker, that others know not to trespass, and you will remember to yield."

For one dimwitted moment, I feel horribly threatened by his posture and the glow in his eyes, especially combined with that gravelly, dragging voice. I want to crawl backward, hide on the other side of the bed from whatever this thing is, that is leaning into my face. Then, it dawns on me. He wants me to agree to be used as livestock, wear his mark of ownership, and periodically feed him the most tremendous challenge of my being, as if everything I've invested in refining myself were worthless. Oh, HELL NO. My control is tenuous at this point. It's ready, and it's going to blow if I don't make a move.

"What do I have to do?" I beat back the fear and disgust, focus on my outrage and my goal. I bring back the image of the moment when she gave me the ring, permit the pain of knowing where it is now to assail my heart, and draw tears. It has to look real. He has to think it's what I want.

"Be still."

The monster pretends to care. I can see through the charade, but he in his eagerness, he isn't even trying to look through mine. He pulls himself to his knees before me, facing me at eye level, arranges his face in a terrible mockery of compassion that could only fool someone who didn't want to know any better. Behind it is a ghastly, slavish voracity that I'm sure he doesn't know I can see. It takes every ounce of my will to maintain the facade when he takes my hands. My inner self cringes away, revolted, horrified, and enraged.

Keeping eye contact, he says, "You don't have to fight any more." What a pro... I am so disgusted. He doesn't know much about human women. I sniff, hiccup, and look as pitiful as I can, holding that eye contact.

"Do you have to use that... thing... on me?" I don't have to act for this part. That aversion is totally real.

"Not if you don't resist." One hand moves up to my face. I have to struggle to stifle the urge to vomit, or to fight, holding that blistering inner fire in check for the right moment. "Be still. I'm not going to hurt you." His face is a mask of false concern, the stark craving barely hidden behind contrived sympathy. The act is so practiced. How many people has he consumed? At that thought, the awareness of being in the grasp of a soulless predator threatens to freeze me. My blood is like ice, but I hold on.

Suddenly, I'm wrapped in a many-armed embrace. His face is beside mine, his body pressed against me. I didn't even see him move. I hear, "Hold on," and my reflex forces me to do just that, as the world falls out from under me. There's a pull on my mind, searching for a connection. Jagged claws and cold fingertips graze my cheek, and he closes the gap. At that moment, I release not the sick, impotent rage he's looking for, not my lifelong onus, but the blinding, searing light I've built up inside. It erupts from me with a deafening shriek. I give it a massive shove, feel it pouring out of me, striking home, expelling the marker and lighting up the monster's insides.

Shock registers in his eyes as he chokes on the barrage of righteous anger. He tries to pull out of the embrace, but I'm not giving up. I grab a hand full of his filthy, matted hair, and hold him up to the assault. My voice is joined by a howl of agony as my attack rages through his system, burning him from the inside out. The red in his eyes fades, replaced by brilliant light. He pounds my back with his fists, kicks and squirms, struggling to escape from my grip. The molten, bubbling anger continues to erupt, flowing through the connection he chose to make. I feel him shaking, and I push again. The howl rises from that low, guttural tone to an animalistic scream, and I can actually feel heat emitting from his chest.

His hands stop beating on me. His arms drop, hanging limply at his sides. I release the hand full of hair, and his head rocks back, exposing his throat. His eyes are totally expressionless. The last of my shriek dies down. The energy stops flowing. I can feel the mat beneath me, but it's soft now, as if it's not completely formed. I lower him to the floor, laying him on his back, meaning to examine him carefully.

Before I can, there's a loud crackling noise, and fissures begin to appear all over his skin. I flee to the doorway, fearing an explosion, but instead, the body collapses onto the floor. I go back for a closer look, but there's nothing recognizable left, just clumps of what appears to be gray dirt on the floor. Even the clothing is gone.

I look down at the dust, as cracks spread across the floor toward the walls, and the bed collapses in on itself. That's all he is now? That's the scary monster? That's nothing. I kick at the dirt on the floor.

"I told you not to touch me."

I turn around and walk out the door...
...and find myself waking.

Picked on as a child, dumped on as an adult, kicked aside, smacked around, a person can only take so much. I always let it go, suck it up, and drive on, until it gets to something that I can't tolerate. Before I learned control, this is where the meltdown would happen, with uncontrolled verbal storms raging indiscriminately out of the furthest place from my true heart, lashing out at whoever happened to be closest, cutting deep, leaving other people's fragile psyches burned, scarred, and broken. Even the people I love.

Especially the people I love.

Nothing in my life has ever hurt me more than looking at the damage I've done to others. I can't even pretend it's not my fault, because I have this clingy, telescopic memory that focuses on things like that, gets a grip on them, and holds them up to me long after my victims have worked past the incident and moved on. I call the effect my overactive guilt gland.

Years of hard work have gone into the battle with my disposition. It took me twenty years just to realize I couldn't get rid of my temper. It isn't going to go away; it's part of what I am. It's not that I'm charged with overcoming the existence of it; I'm responsible for refining and controlling it, so that it doesn't shape who I am. And it took another decade to get a shaky handle on that. It's been nearly a fourth decade since it clicked inside me, the ability to detach myself from the emotional experience, and act outside of it, separating my tone from my timbre, so to speak. Just because it's loud, doesn't mean I have to be obnoxious.

I've been practicing that control the whole time, and I still slip up on occasion, but I've mostly gotten to a level at which I can let the emotion be the motivational fuel that pushes me to solve a conflict, without letting it be the hand that shapes the method I choose to address that. Only a true fool would ask me to give up now.

Trying my hand

2012-01-09T18:34:00.000-05:00

I decided I needed an image to give more visual idea of what the monster from my recent nightmares looks like. It didn't come out right, but I'm posting it anyway.

Since I've had zero training in drawing techniques (unless public school elementary art class from 30 years ago counts) I warn you, I totally suck at drawing (and you can tell by the hand, which I should have positioned with the fingers curling more around the arm.) I did do the original outline by hand before editing for color in photoshop (during which the program decided to crash about 20 times, which is unusual.) The image isn't going to look like a photograph, it's going to look like a badly drawn cartoon version of the guy. But, it at least gives a visual of the eyes, the boots (which I am pretty sure are steel-toed,) and the (originally) gaunt face. I chose the pose because I had something in that same pose to look at, and because he's actually stood almost like that at one point.

On a side note, no, I didn't draw the wall. It's a small section of Zane Cavern in Ohio, where I shot like 500 photos when I visited. I pasted it in layers and manipulated it to create the two walls shown in the image.

Into the light

2012-01-09T08:15:00.000-05:00

Inside of my heart is a tiny, bright little light. It's mine, and it's like a nightlight. I can feel the warmth of it, constructed of the right that is in me, my love for my family, my identity, my conscience. It is reminding me what I need to do. I reach in, and focus on it, holding on tightly.

My head hurts again, but it's not bad. I've felt much, much worse before. This is only a minor thing. I am not going to let it distract me.

I pull the light, stretching it over my whole heart, filling it with what is only me, and my will. I feel warm. I keep stretching and pulling, careful to keep the light close to, but under, the skin on the front. It has to be done just right, or this will be noticed. I stretch it over my ribs, grow it across my belly and my shoulders, down my arms and legs, through my throat and over my face, down into my hands and feet. It's like there's a blanket of light under my skin, warming my body.

Once the light has filled every inch, I begin to expand it down toward my back, letting it push out everything that is not me, not my will. The cold, dank, darkness begins to sink through my body, until I feel it pushing against the skin of my back, all except for in my head. There, I find a marker that must be left for now, or he'll know what I'm doing. I surround the marker with my light, isolate it, and harden the light into a solid covering, so that the marker is in place, but it is not touching me. It will remain, but it cannot poison me.

I push the light out through my back, feeling the nasty, clammy darkness oozing out before it like pus. I focus on rejecting that energy, pushing it down into the mat where it won't be seen. It's not mine. I don't want it. Go away!

Relief floods me as the last drop is pushed out, leaving me no longer longer feeling contaminated, no longer compromised. But now, I'm really, really tired again.

I could open my eyes, try to talk, but instead, I find myself drifting, and then there is nothing.

I had little fragments of dreams throughout the rest of the night, nothing I can really place today. It was like I was drifting in an out from the snippet dreams, into and out of one main dream about resting on a bed made with a hard mat, and a pillow of leaves. The whole time, I felt watched, the way my mother used to watch me when I was sick as a kid with really bad asthma, or the time I got bit by a mosquito and almost died of Encephalitis. I felt kind of tended to, for lack of a better term.

This morning, I feel more rested than yesterday, like I got about half a night's sleep... but now I'm definitely sure that I'm fighting a cold... probably a sinus infection. My son is sick, too, so we're headed off to get checked out. I swear, I have never produced this much snot in my entire life!

The word of the day is: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!

Hangover

2012-01-08T14:31:00.002-05:00

I'm in a bed, but it isn't mine. It's narrow, barely wide enough for just me, and it's not soft. I'm propped in a half-sitting, half-reclining position. Something less firm than what I'm laying on is under my head, and it feels like I'm covered by a thin blanket. Feeling totally disoriented, I try to figure out where I am, and why, but I can't remember anything prior to this moment, except that I was just dreaming there were ghosts in my apartment, talking to me. I learned how old they are by asking them what year it is, each of them answering with the year in which they died. The rest of the details have all ready faded.

I feel watched. It's a terribly disconcerting sensation. I'm sure there is someone in the room, but I can't feel what kind of presence it is. It's not masked. I'm a bit groggy. I try to pretend to still be asleep, hoping that whoever it is won't notice as I try to get a better sense of the room.

It feels like it's just me, and the watching presence. I feel mentally prodded at, and I'm pretty sure it knows I'm awake. I find my eyes opening, despite my intent.

He's leaning against the wall at the head of the bed, about ten feet away from me. He looks a little different from before. For a second, I can't place it, but then it clicks; he's less scrawny, and less ragged looking. His eyes aren't as dark or as red-rimmed as before. His face isn't quite as gaunt, and his form isn't so wiry. He looks like he's put on a couple of pounds, and maybe gotten some sleep. Except, I know that isn't why. I don't know what happened. My mind reaches back for the memory, and encounters something that feels like a huge wad of cotton. Thinking in that direction floods my heart with chagrin and loss. Why?

I try to turn my head, and a bolt of pain shoots through from the back into both of my eyes. Something laying across my forehead pulls at my skin, and I reach up to feel dampness on a smooth, flat, surface. He says, "It's an herb. Don't try to move around yet."

I can't move? Why can't I move? What the hell is going on? I'm engulfed in a feeling of dread, not like I'm in imminent danger, but like I feel when I've had a blowout at someone and said something I'm going to feel guilty about for the rest of my life. It's an all-to-familiar feeling, but not being able to recall the incident, and knowing it involves him, is totally unnerving.

The fact that we're not on my beach suddenly registers with me. This place doesn't look familiar. The wall he's leaning on is stone... the whole rest of the room seems to be stone. It's not constructed - it seems to be cut out of one piece. There's an arched doorway to another room in the middle of the wall across from me. I can't see into the next room. Where is this?

He steps over to me, crouches down, and reaches for my face. I cringe, startled, and that pain shoots through me again. He looks annoyed. "I told you, don't move. You're injured." He lifts the damp herbs off of my forehead. I see that what he has is a poultice of long, narrow brown leaves. He turns it over and places it back on my head, reaches down beside the bed, and then places his fingers on the poultice. A coolness spreads through it, and I am able to guess that he's just put a few drops of water on it. He holds a spoon up to my mouth, and out of instinct, I open without thinking, and swallow warm, sweet liquid with a distinctly grassy flavor.

He slides his fingers behind my shoulder, and then upward toward my head. I hear the pillow behind my head rustling, and I realize it's not a pillow, but a big bundle of leaves. His fingers brush the spot that is sore, and my head explodes with pain. Darkness closes in on my vision, and I'm instantly nauseous. I'm overtaken by the memory of being dominated and then pinned, the pain in my arms and shoulders, and the feeling of having my head punctured by that thing. I fail to suppress an agonized scream.

I feel his fingers withdraw, and there's cool dampness beneath the wound. It's incredibly soothing, and I feel numbness blooming through the back of my head. My awareness slowly expands from inside my head to the rest of my body, and I find that my breathing is hard, eyes are clamped shut, and I have a death grip on the blanket, holding it bunched up around my throat. The feeling of dread deepens, accompanied by a nagging sense that I can't place. I remember seeing the Doc with a terrible, somber and guilty expression on his face, holding a blade to my neck, but he's not looking at me. I let go of the blanket and feel the skin there. My fingers brush over another of those leaves. The area beneath it feels bruised, and my heart aches. I'm pretty sure I have lost an ally.

I force myself to breathe, bite back tears. This is bad, and I know it. I'm in trouble, and I'm not going to get out of it by wallowing self-pity and remorse. I'm going to have to be able to defend myself, somehow. Opening my eyes, I look to see what the monster is doing.

The monster is hovering over me with a strange expression on his face. His jaw is set, lips drawn together in a tight line, eyes wide, and his brow creased with apparent anxiety. One hand still rests on my shoulder. The other hovers over my body indecisively, as if he's not sure what to do. Is he serious? Does he think this act is going to fool me after everything else he's done. I'm offended. For just a split second, there is the impulse to tell him off, but before I act on it, another thought occurs to me.

I'm injured. I can't get up and fight. I don't know if I can use energy, or if anything I do if I can use it would work against him. I can get angry and blow off some verbal steam, but that would only serve to alert him that he hasn't broken me down. As long as he's feigning concern and treating my injuries, he's not an immediate, active threat in the way that he is when he's overtly aggressive. I have no viable alternative but to play along.

I allow my distrust of him to show, but I don't offer any resistance. Instead, I begin asking questions. I let a little of the fear I'm feeling bleed into my voice. "Where are we? What did you do to me?"

He answers "This is a hidden place. You're safe here."

Oh, yeah. Safe. With a monster 10 inches from my face. Now, that's security. I force my face to relax a little. It takes a huge amount of control to not flinch away from his raspy, growling voice.

"I brought you here to recover."

Okay. Why would he do that? Wouldn't an injury give him an advantage? Why isn't he using my condition to gain access to what I've been protecting? I want to ask, but I'm afraid to. Instead, I ask what I'm recovering from.

He explains that he's never "crossed through" during what he first tries to describe with one of his gibberish words, then pauses, and says "a transference." He seems to think this explains everything, until I shoot him a look of total confusion. Then he clarifies with "I injured you during the escape. It's not as bad as it feels. There is inflammation, but it's not in the nerves, and it's receding. You'll heal, unless you irritate it."

I start to ask him what he means by "crossed through," but before I speak, I catch a fleeting glimpse of the beach again, melting around me, then the nausea returns and I remember falling to my hands and knees, puking butterflies in the woods. We moved. Didn't he say not to move? I think I remember that, but I'm feeling sleepy again.

I try to keep the look of suspicion off of my face, but he notices. "It's all right. I don't expect you to trust me. You have no choice but to cooperate. You have no defenses, and no escape. You know full well that I could crush you with no effort right now."

So much for acting. I try to find any source of energy around me, reaching out to the walls and floor, though it takes a lot more effort to feel outward than normal. The rock feels totally different than before. It's not like real stone. Its energy feels just like that thunderstorm did. I ask if we're still on the beach, and this is just another illusion.

He says, "No."

I try to reach beyond the walls, but it feels like there is no beyond. What the hell is this place?

He says, "You're going to hurt yourself."

I ask why he cares. If he has me broken down, why is he helping me? The sound of my voice seems odd to me, like it's coming from far away, and I'm pretty sure I'm speaking unusually slowly. Why do my eyelids feel so heavy?

He says, "I still want through."

And that's it. The concern is not fake. It's just not compassionate. I'm being preserved because I have something the monster wants. And the Doc was going to kill me, because I have something the monster wants. The monster didn't save me; he hid me. The state I'm in starts to dawn on me.

I am thinking out loud, without realizing it. "If he had killed me, I wouldn't really have died. I just wouldn't be here. I'd be awake. I wasn't in any danger, so why did he look so sad?" Am I slurring my words?

The monster looks amused. "Wait. You think this is all just a dream? That explains a lot."

I glare at him. What kind of a trick is he playing now?

He says, "If you're just dreaming, why would I have to drug you to get you to sleep?"

I start to answer, but my mouth feels like rubber, and I can't keep my eyes open. Somewhere off in the distance, I can hear him saying something else, but I don't really understand the words.

I don't know what to say about either this dream, or the last one (which I blogged in the middle of the night) except that I woke this morning with the most horrendous headache, bad enough that I've taken medicine. I don't usually do that.

Aside from the headache, though, I feel oddly relaxed today. It may be because I've taken time off of work, but I can say I haven't felt like this in years. It feels like something is missing, but for some reason, I don't care.

On a side note, this is the first time I can ever remember that the realization that I'm dreaming has not been immediately followed by a massive panic response.

All the rage

2012-01-08T04:38:00.003-05:00

I'm on my back in the sand. I don't know how long I've been like this.

I remember running. I remember getting hit in the face, and then feeling like I was falling.

I remember him laughing at me.

I can feel that time has passed. I don't know how much. I have to get out of here, now. I roll over onto my hands and knees, get up, and turn around to face the little building.

The sky suddenly darkens to almost black, and something behind me grabs my arms, pulls them back, and twists them up behind me in a painful hammerlock. Clawed hands have a tight grip on my wrists, holding them high against my back, so I can't move anything but my feet. It's not even been a second since I stood.

Something wraps around my shoulders, across my chest. A scream escapes me, as I'm yanked backward this way, through several feet across the sand. I try to pick up a foot and kick, but I don't hit anything except sand. As I'm dragged, his voice sounds in my ear, "You've worn out my patience. I'm done being gentle with you."

I'm pulled up against him, pressure put on my wrists, pain radiating across my shoulders, down into my chest, down my triceps. Quickly, something pushes my hair aside, and at the same time, there's a soft, wet, smacking sound, and a stinging sensation in the back of my neck, right up under the base of my skull. I start to raise my foot to kick again, get less than an inch, and I hear, "I wouldn't."

Something terrible is in that voice that wasn't there before, a gravity that sends ice down my spine. He also sounds like he's talking through teeth gritted around a cigar. I freeze. He continues. "I'm right in next to your brain stem. One slip, and there will be damage. You know what that means. You shouldn't move."

I very slowly rest my foot back in the sand. Does he have something sharp against my skull? Did he stab through the back of my neck with that... thing? My neck feels kind of... pinched... in that spot. I don't know how else to describe it. My heart is pounding, as an icy, sick feeling of dread fills me. I don't want to know, but I ask anyway. "What are you doing to me?"

He growls, "Be still."

My head hurts, and I feel dizzy. I know that something really bad is happening, and I know that it will be worse if I try to fight right now. If he damages the nerves in my brain stem, he could kill me. The thought makes my knees want to buckle, but I can't let myself fall.

I feel light touches on the back of my neck and head, and cold breath against my skin where the stinging sensation is. I feel his other arm across my chest pull tighter, pressing me against him, his hand gripping my shoulder tightly. There is pressure in that pinched, stinging spot. The dizziness is worse, and then suddenly, I'm overpowered by vivid memories, and dark, painful emotions.

It feels like being carried down a rushing stream, unable to control my movement, sometimes going under so that I can't breathe. I watch - almost relive - moments of conflict and pain that I thought I'd reconciled. Bitterness rises in my chest, resentment toward people who aren't even part of my life any more, as the memories move through my consciousness, browsed like the pages of a magazine, until the faces of four women come to the forefront - three I'm angry at, and one I'm angry about - and I am filled with cutting rage. I hear my own voice screaming in fury, obscenities mixed with inarticulate sounds. I try to subdue my anger, but I can feel something pulling from the other side. I try harder, and pain explodes inside my head. His voice sounds distant, "Don't fight me. You'll only make it hurt worse."

I struggle to control my emotions, using every technique I have to rein in my temper. It isn't happening, and the pain is becoming unbearable. I want to kill someone right now. I can feel myself actually leaking animosity. In the distance, I hear thunder, and then closer, his voice. "Very good. Now let it go."

Something cold is against the side of my neck, resting on my shoulder, on top of my hair. A familiar voice says, "Don't move, either of you."

I'm not moving, except my eyes. I look up to see the edge of a blade beside my face, running back beyond my vision. The other end is held by the hand of the Doc. His face is grim. He's not looking at me. I can feel the blade pressing against my skin. I can tell by the sudden stillness that it's against the monster's neck, too. It's cold, and painfully sharp, and in a blink, I understand that if Doc can't get me out of this, he means to use it on both of us. He's not willing to let this monster through the door.

No matter how logical it seems, I can't control how I feel about it. I'm hurt, feeling cast aside by a comrade instead of defended. If he cuts me, will I really die?

Resolve is not all I can see in the Doc's eyes. I see regret. There is also grief. He says, "Let her go."

Deep in my mind, a question rises that didn't originate from me. "Do you want to survive this?"
Of course I want to survive. I'm almost indignant at the thought.

I see a scene play out; the Doc and nurse talking, discussing my situation, deciding I've been compromised, corrupted. On the inside, I hear that raspy voice. "He's going to 'rescue' you, then kill you to keep the door safe from me."

I don't want to believe that. The doc is a protector, isn't he? But he has to protect the door, not me. My heart resists it, but the logic is there; why would he let me live, after I've been corrupted? I look at him. He won't look at me, but I can see on his face that the something is hurting him from the inside. His eyes totally betray what he's going to do. I'm as good as dead.

Something breaks inside, and the anger drains, wholly replaced by terror. Several yards away, lightning strikes the beach. Doc jumps, and I feel the burn of a shallow cut. His eyes turn to me, and I see surprise added to the other emotions. The hand on my shoulder grips harder. In my head, I hear, "Steady. Don't fight him. And for the sake of your life, don't fight me."

And then everything around me blurs, and fades. I hear the Doc shout, feel the blade start to move, and then it's gone. There is nothing but darkness. I can't feel anything. My body feels cold. I can't breathe. Panic rises in my chest, threatening to overcome my thoughts. I'm sure that I'm dead. There was no time, and the doc killed me.

Light floods my vision, and the pinched sensation returns at the base of my skull, then the feeling of my arms twisted behind me. My feet are on the ground, and there's an arm across my chest, a hand gripping my shoulder. We're surrounded by trees. There is no doc.

I feel the proboscis thing slip out of my neck, accompanied by a wet, popping sound. All of the strength leaves my legs, and I start to fall. He lets go of my wrists, and carefully lowers me to the ground, so that I'm on my knees when the nausea hits, very suddenly, and very hard. I lurch forward, retching forcefully, but it's not my lunch that I lose. With each gut-wrenching heave, I spew out hundreds of little black butterflies. Wave after wave of tiny winged insects flies out of my body, spiraling away from me, off into the forest. As I cough out the last ones, spitting the last delicate creature out of my mouth, I realize that the monster who brought me here, from whom I begged for protection, against whom I've fought viciously for days, is holding my hair while I puke. And what's that look on his face? Concern? That can't be right.

I notice that he seems to be getting taller, then realize I'm falling down, but instead, I feel an arm under me, and darkness closes in on my vision again.

Crystal clear as mud

2012-01-07T13:35:00.002-05:00

I'm just getting home from a long work shift, and a hell of a day. Memories of it float through my head as I try to figure out how to explain to my family what happened. They're going to have questions when they see the shiner on my left eye, and my broken glasses.

My boss had attacked me in the cooler at the height of an argument she started. She was pissed off because I helped a co-worker she recently fired get unemployment from the company. All I did was answer a phone call from his case worker, and tell the truth. Problem is, I can't keep my big mouth shut, and I told her that it was her own fault she got caught in another lie. Usually, that gets me restroom cleaning duty, or outside (super-heavy) trash can duty, but this time, she turned around and slugged me twice - once in the jaw, and once in the eye. The attack was totally unexpected. She knocked me clear across the room, into a stack of soda trays.

I've been fired for filing criminal assault charges. My boss was hauled out in cuffs, and about an hour later, the district manager came in and notified me that I was being let go because the company was considering my choice to "carry the conflict beyond the company" (call the cops on my boss for assault) to be insubordination, and therefore a firing offense. I know that the unemployment office is not going to agree with the company, but I also know it's going to take me at least a month to get through that process.

I don't want to tell my family that we just lost half of our household income for a month, and we'll only be able to recover half of that until - or if, in this economy - I can get another job.
And, oh, yeah. I need new glasses, because that punch in the eye broke the left lens in mine.
Because we can afford them, now that I'm not working.
Again.
I am feeling totally defeated, even though I know I'm not.

My husband's car isn't in his spot. Great. I wonder where the guys went. Hopefully they're not buying fast food. We can't afford it now. Then, I remember, they went out of town, and they won't be back until late. I'm home alone for the next several hours. At first I'm disheartened, but then, I figure being alone will at least give me time to get online and file for unemployment right away. I decide that's what I'm going to do.

I step inside, remove my shoes, and shake the sand out of them outside before closing the door.

I'm not alone. My girlfriend is there, sitting on the couch. When I walk in, she starts to say "surprise," but stops at "su" and stares at my face. She half-panics, asks what happened and if I'm ok, and whose ass she needs to kick for me. I still want to know what she's doing in my apartment. Where is her fiance?

Instead of answering me, she runs across the room and touches my face with both hands, looking up at me with a deeply concerned expression on her face. She sees the empty left frame on my glasses, and immediately demands to know if I got glass in my eye. I ask about the fiance again, and she says he's at work, and she just wanted some "us" time. It's been a long time since we've had a girls' day. She tells me to quit stalling, and explain the bruises. She draws me over to the couch, sits me down, and curls up next to me, staring at me with those wide, tender eyes. I tell her everything that happened at work, starting with having been given every crap duty my boss had, to the argument in the cooler, and the assault, to being fired, and being worried about finances for the next month or so until I get through the unemployment process. Before, I was just disheartened, but now I realize the position my boss has put me in, and I'm pissed. By the time I finish talking, I'm so angry, I'm actually shaking.

Her eyes widen throughout the story, her expression becoming more sympathetic. She asks why I didn't hit my boss back, and I remind her how small the woman is. I just can't. Even though she's strong, I'm bigger and stronger. And I don't hit people. I just don't. She knows that.

I'm overwhelmed with frustration, anger, and a sense of complete powerlessness. I don't want to worry my girlfriend, but I can't keep from crying. She shushes me, pulls me into a hug, wraps herself around me and pulls me down on the couch. The cushions feel oddly lumpy and hard, almost gritty, giving me the stray thought that it also needs replaced, but I'm lost in her soft, comforting affection. I let myself sob into her shoulder, frustration spilling over in the form of tears. She whispers in my ear, reminding me that this is not so bad, calling me babe, reminding me that I won't stay down like this; I never do. I'll get unemployment, and then another job, and I'll never have to deal with that bitch again.

She must be really mad. She doesn't usually use that word in seriousness.

Well, she is really protective. Feeling loved, I hug her closer and take deep breaths, trying to stop the tears. I feel soft kisses on my temple, then my cheek, and she gently presses under my chin with her fingers. I turn my face to hers, feel her lips brush against mine, and her teasing tongue...

The wrongness finally registers with me. Her tongue should feel soft and flexible, not solid, and kind of rounded. She never calls me "babe." This isn't the right apartment... we moved from here 4 years ago. There shouldn't have been sand in my shoes, because I was on the pavement the whole time. My husband's car wouldn't make it out of town. And she and I don't snuggle up like this... not any more.

I open my eyes, try to push back so I can see, and feel pressure from appendages wrapped around me, more than two legs, more than two arms. From the lips in front of me protrudes something that looks like a bug's proboscis, a long, tube-like appendage. And the couch isn't just hard and lumpy. It's made of sand. I feel new bruises forming on my temple, then my cheek, and realize that "she" wasn't kissing me. He was tasting me. My spine turns to ice, and my gut to water as I begin to understand the position I'm in. I feel so stupid!

Screaming in horror, I struggle to extract myself from the grip in which I'm held, thrashing and kicking, trying to move my arms. "Her" face wears an expression of disappointment, and then it begins to melt into something else. "Her" brow widen, and her chin narrows. "Her" eyes grow larger, darkening to a deep, impenetrable black, rimmed in darkness and bordered on the bottom by red. "Her" full lips disappear, only to be replaced by that thin little mouth he has. He slurps the proboscis back in like a spaghetti noodle. He says, "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. It's so much easier if you don't struggle. You know how this is going to end. Why keep doing this to yourself?"

My struggles don't seem to bother him at all. He lets the movement happen, not losing his grip on me, my efforts only serving to roll us off of the dune he masked with the couch illusion. Even then, he doesn't seem to lose any momentum. We land in almost the same position. With a determined look, he takes one of his arms out of the embrace, reaches up with the same fingers that seemed so gentle just moments ago, and tries to pry open my mouth. Hard as I fight, he gets one sharp claw between my teeth, and wrenches my jaw down. I try to bite, but his hands are strong. I can see his mouth opening, and that proboscis thing coming back out. Greedy anticipation fills his eyes.

I find a solid chunk of his hair with the hand of the arm is pinned under his body. I get a good grip and yank hard, pulling his head backward. He lets go of my face, and reaches back to try to find my hand. I put my teeth on his throat and clamp down. I'm unable to break the skin, but I get what I want. He forgets about his hair, and uses both of his "up" hands to push on my face, trying to prevent the bite. My other arm freed, I reach into the pocket of the armor-pants, and pull out one of those little crystals. It's no bigger than the size of a sweet pea. I put as much thought into it as I can in short order, howling my intent. I want to hurt him. He was wearing her form. I'm trying to remember a familiar word that sums up what I want this to do to him, but it won't come to me. All I can think of is "toxic."

It will have to do. I reach up and shove the little crystal deep into the end of that tube with my finger, then clamp the end of it shut with my hand, focusing on toxicity. The tube, previously a translucent pink color, turns deep red around the crystal, and his face contorts in an expression of agony.

He releases his grip on me with all four arms, half of his body rising up so he can grab at the hand holding the crystal in. With my other hand loose, I grab the tube between my fingers and the crystal, squeeze that, and push back toward his mouth. He's clawing at my clamping hand, trying to pull it off. With his two other hands, he's gripping my shoulders, trying to push me away. His eyes are wide with dismay and... is that fear?

There's a burning sensation in my fingertips, and I realize I'm running them over little tiny, spiky teeth, but I don't stop until I get almost to his lips. There, I run across something that feels almost like a cartilage joint. The thickness and texture changes there, and I can't squeeze that part shut. He makes a choking, gagging noise, and I see the crystal sucked in past his thin lips.

He shoves me away, rolling back in the sand, his body curling up, head thrown back, hands clawing at his throat. I see that behind the second pair of legs is what looks like the back-end of a wasp again, only the stinger isn't sticking out. That deep, raspy voice of his is raised in a half-yell, half growl. He thrashes, around, alternately roaring at me, coughing and sputtering, retching up some kind of black ooze, but he can't seem to spit out that crystal.

The last growl comes out almost like a whine, and he curls up in a ball in the sand, hands over his head. I can see the second pair of arms melting into his body. The legs are going, too, and so is the stinger. Slowly, he returns to the form I see the most frequently, tucked into an almost fetal position, knees up to his elbows, hands grasping his own hair.

Is he dead? Dying? Injured? I'm afraid to approach. I crouch in the sand, ready to try to run if he moves. I watch. He just lays there, uneven breathing the only movement I can see.

I stay where I am for several moments. Nothing changes, except that his breathing becomes more shallow, and then I can't tell if he's breathing at all. I watch for what seems like an eternity. He's totally still. My heart is pounding. I don't know what I should do.

Finally, I get up the guts to approach. He doesn't respond to the sound of my footsteps.

I touch his arm. I think I might hear something, but I'm not sure.

I push on him, and he rolls backward. His hands fall, and I can see that his eyes are wide open, showing not just the red on the bottom, but also the red on the top. And his pupils are totally dilated. I can just barely see a border of iris around them. He's wearing an expression of dazed amazement. His eyes turn to me, but they don't focus. Then, he giggles, madly, points at me, says "Bad," and mumbles four syllables of complete gibberish. "You are smarter than" and then he spouts more gibberish. The laughter returns. It's just about the creepiest sounding laugh I've ever heard. I back away, but he doesn't pursue. He sits up and wipes his face with his hands, his movements totally uncoordinated.

Oh, my God. He's high. I didn't shove enough of the burnt shield into him. He's not poisoned enough. I didn't kill him. He's only stoned out of his mind.

I have more. I've got to get it into him while he's incapacitated like this. Maybe I can overdose him. I grab another one out of my pocket, this one slightly larger.

Approaching him carefully, I try to figure out how I'm going to open his mouth and get it into that proboscis thing. I hold up the crystal, and he crosses his eyes trying to look at it. Then, he turns his gaze to me, reaches up with lightning quickness, and grabs my wrist with a clumsy, too-hard grip. He yanks me forward so that I'm inches from his face again, and says, as if correcting a wayward toddler, "Noooooo, now you cut that out." I try to wrestle my arm out of his grip. He leans forward on me, knocking me off balance, and I end up on my butt in the sand. He takes the crystal from my hand and pops it into his mouth. I hear him crunching it between his teeth. He says, "You should stop trying to kill me. It's such a waste of time." For a moment, he looks totally serious. Then he bursts into another laughing fit. This feels more dangerous than before, probably because he's less predictable. And he just ate my secret weapon like candy.

I back away, but he doesn't come after me. He's looking at his fingers, completely fascinated. I run back along the beach, toward the little building I'm not supposed to enter. I have to get out of here. Maybe she knows how.

As before, I don't seem to be getting any closer to it for quite some time. Then, suddenly, I'm right in front of it. Even though I'm running in sand, I'm moving way too fast to stop, and I smack right into the wall. I feel the impact of the wood against my face.

And suddenly, I'm awake, lying on the floor, face down. In my haste to run away from him, I must have rolled over in bed and fallen out. Now, I've got a sinus headache that won't go away, probably from breathing the dust in the carpet.

My girlfriend. I don't even know how to go there. "It's complicated" isn't good enough to cover the bases. We're together, but we're not. She's engaged. I'm married. Both of them are aware of us, and both have agreed that we shouldn't be kept apart, and neither of them minds. Both find the concept sexy. So, we're like a family, but we're not. They live across town. I don't do anything with him. She doesn't do anything with my husband. And I'm afraid to do too much with her, because I don't want to step on her fiance's toes. He's my friend.
But, I'm also afraid to be with anyone else. She and I have agreed to an open relationship, but I've got a pretty good sense that she gets jealous of other women who attract my attention. My husband and I have the same - open, but really not. He's ok with other women, but I'm pretty sure he's not as ok as he wants to believe he is with other men, and I'm really not interested in testing that theory.

I've pretty much made my peace with the situation, as long as no one stirs the waters, so to speak. This dream churned them up like a blender. Today is going to be a rough day. Tomorrow, I'll see her at a friend's house, where we hang out for a few hours every other weekend. That's going to be even harder.

Right now, I just want to curl up in a blanket and pretend I don't exist. Yep, a deal with something that wants to take my feelings away and eat them... is very tempting.

Feed me, Seymour.

2012-01-06T17:20:00.000-05:00

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.

Temper and a tempest

2012-01-05T11:35:00.000-05:00

I'm cold and wet. It's dark, except in a few spots where the sun breaks through the clouds. Rain is falling all around me, and the tide is coming in. The sand under my feet is treacherous, slipping out from under me with each step, and if that isn't enough, there's a wind blowing hard enough to threaten to blow me off of my feet. I am absolutely miserable. I just want to get inside.

I'm searching along the side of the building, trying to find the door. I seem to remember being here before, but for some reason, I don't think I'm going to be able to get in. Moving all the way around the place, I confirm my suspicion. There is no entrance. I find a spot where the roof hangs over, and huddle underneath that. It provides little shelter, but at least less rain is hitting me.

I look out into the storm. There was someone here before, but now there isn't. I'm all alone.

I should be able to shape this. There are sunbeams coming through thin spots in the clouds, off in the distance. I can still use the energy from the sun. After a moment of reaching out, I can feel it. I draw it in, and try forming a small shelter up against the side of the building. It's kind of like half of a wigwam, with the open end right up against the wall of the building. Under the wigwam, I can hear the weather outside taking a turn for the worse. Thunder rolls across the sky, and the rain pounds my shelter so hard it sounds like hail.

I use energy to fortify the wigwam, then turn my attention to the wall. This temporary shelter is keeping me dry right now, but if the weather keeps getting worse, I'm going to need something better. I put both hands on the wall. I think of the wood temporarily becoming flexible, like a hanging curtain. I feel it relax, and move under my fingers. I pull several boards to the side, and look in. It's very dark. I can see what looks like a restaurant table a chair. I step through the wall/curtain, let it fall behind me, and make it solid again.

Now it won't matter if the wigwam blows away. I'm in a sturdier building, and the rain isn't getting in here.

It's completely dark in here. Feeling to see if I can still reach the energy from the sun, I'm able to produce a small glowing ball. I see a light switch on the wall, and I flip that up. Some of the areas on the ceiling light up. Oddly, they don't look like light bulbs. It looks like there's a mini-sun in here, and some other little round orbs that could be other suns. The ceiling is really dark blue, and the walls are dark brown, but the room still seems brightly lit.

The room actually seems to be some kind of a studio. Beside me, there is a drawing table positioned like the paste-up tables I used to work with at the newspaper (it's on a slant) and stocked with paper and art supplies. Further away, there's a tripod and a camera, and a backdrop stand. Beside the stand, there are a few different backdrops on the floor. Across the room is a chair surrounded by crochet and knitting supplies. A few feet away from that is a desk with a computer hooked up to a scanner and two printers. There are images sitting in the tray of one printer, and there are typed pages on the tray of another.

Next to the space where the computer set-up is, there is another table, this one laying flat. It's about a third covered in fabric, sewing tools, findings, and accessories. Mixed in with those items are jewelry making supplies. There is a dressmaker's dummy with a partially made outfit, and there are mannequin parts with partially made jewelry pieces on them.

There's a loud tapping noise on the roof, and then suddenly there are a whole lot of loud tapping noises. I wasn't imagining it earlier; that is definitely hail. I can hear the whistle of high winds, and the building shakes. Using some of the energy I pulled earlier, I thicken the walls. As I turn back to look at the room again, I see a trap door in the floor.

Curiosity compels me to open it, but my mind makes up the excuse that if there's hail, there will probably be a tornado. Maybe there's an underground tunnel leading away from the beach. Maybe it goes to another building, and that's why there was no door to get in here. I start to lift the door, and a child's voice from behind me says, "I wouldn't."

I spin around to see the voice's owner, a little girl of about 10 years old. At first glance, I only notice that every single thing she's wearing is pink, right down to the frames of her glasses. I had a pair of glasses exactly like those when I was her age. As I notice the frames, I really see her face for the first time, and realize she could be my 5th grade twin. She looks suspicious of me, and asks, "What are you doing in here? How did you get in?"

I tell her I'm sorry for intruding, and that I only came in because of the storm outside. I figure she has to know I've been out in it - I look like a drowned rat. I ask if it's all right if I stay in here until it blows over, and she looks at me like I've said the stupidest thing in the world. She says, "It's only storming like that because you pissed him off and then let him get away. And don't go into the cellar. You don't want to confront what you keep down there."

I ask the little girl who she is, and she rolls her eyes at me. "Oh-mih-GAWD. Do NOT tell me you're seriously asking me that." She executes a melodramatic flounce, and begins putting something together on the sewing/jewelry table. When I wait for more of an answer, she continues with, "Well, I can't tell you, anyway. It's not like I have a name or anything. Jeez . Anyway, you shouldn't be here. This is my place, not yours. You can dry off, but you're eventually going to have to go back outside, and you can't let him see you... did he see you come in here?"

I start to say that I don't think so, but then there's a loud thunk on the side of the building. I hear the wigwam crunch apart. Her eyes widen, and she says, "He may not have seen, but he knows you're here. You have to go!"

I start to ask how I'm going to get out without him seeing the opening, when suddenly I'm back on the beach. I'm in a sunny spot, but there's a storm raging all around. It's like I'm in the eye. I can see him walking along the edge of the water, heading my way. I can see hail hitting the roof of the building, and the wigwam being battered by the wind. I call the energy I used to make it back into myself, and it kind of dissolves. I want to make sure that building and the child inside are safe. I move the sand, piling it up around the walls, until the entire building is inside a huge dune. I pack it down, then melt the outer inch depth of sand and solidify it so that it's basically glass. Then, I work on my shield, making it like a narrow egg shape around my body.

Lightning strikes out on the water, then another flash strikes the sand near where I am standing. Finally, a flash strikes my shield. I hear a sound like a bomb going off in my head, but no damage is done. The shield holds.

I think to myself, so, he wants to play with the weather? That's my game. I do this all the time. It's my favorite toy.

I reach out and feel the storm. It feels like he's focusing on one thing at a time. He's gotten the storm going, and he set rain falling, hail stones falling, and wind moving, but is now ignoring all of that to use lightning. The entire rest of his creation is vulnerable.

I begin increasing the wind, but not at ground level where he'll notice. Instead, I move the air way over our heads, just below the clouds, creating a downdraft that hits the water a little out to sea, and behind his position. I move the air harder and faster, and pretty soon it's pulling other air along with it. I let go and watch as a funnel cloud forms, dropping down to the water. I grab it again, pulling it closer until he can hear the tell-tale whistle.

He turns to see it, then shoots a look of shock and indignation back over his shoulder at me. I wave at him. He grits his teeth and turns away from me, and suddenly I can feel an icy energy trying to remove my mental grip on the tornado, causing it to waver and threaten to disperse into the wind.

I flip the tail and smack him with it, picking him up, spinning him around, and tossing him into the air. He lands hard on his side, rolling across the sand before landing near me. I can see that his clothing is burned on one side, and he has scars on his arm, and on the skin under all of the rips.

He ducks his head and balls his hands into fists, and I feel his energy pushing against mine again.

I blast him with a gust of wind from the other side, and he falls over. He starts to get back up, and I pull another funnel cloud down from the sky, so that there's one on either side of him. Neither of them are huge, but the winds from both of them are battering him pretty well. He is getting hit by driftwood, shells, and hail, and scoured by blowing sand.

He puts his hands up on either side of him, and I can feel that cold, clammy energy again, trying to wrestle control away from me. I push, and the tornadoes move closer to him. I pull down a third one behind him. I've now got the thunder and lightning worked into a rhythm, with the cyclones whistling along, almost making the storm into a song. He turns around and looks at me again. I'm dancing with excitement as I trace a finger through the air, and lightning follows it across the sky, then down to the sand, striking the beach with a loud boom. I grin at him, then hit the sand with a wind sheer that kicks a huge cloud of it several feet into the air, like a bomb went off under it. Sand rains down on his head. He looks like he's taken a bite of something unappetizing, but can't spit it out. I'm feeling really triumphant, and quite proud. Playing with storms is something I'm good at.

He suddenly launches himself at me, moving so fast I don't even think to react before I'm tackled.

I forgot to maintain my shield. I put every ounce of energy I had into my little show. I realize it's gone as he knocks me down and lands right on top of me. I push him away, but he's got a grip on my arm with one hand. He slashes at me with the other, scraping along the front of my armor, which fortunately hasn't disappeared.

When he can't claw through my clothing, he balls up a fist and tries to punch me. I take the opportunity, while he's off balance, to throw him off of me. Scrambling backward, I begin indiscriminately pulling energy from the storm, trying to focus on shielding myself. In doing so, I end up sucking in the entire storm, taking both my energy, and his. It's nasty, like having to put on a smelly, sweaty article of clothing after a shower. I don't like it, and I don't want it, but since I have it, I use it to blast the sand around him again, kicking it up into his face and over his head to keep him busy while I shield myself. What I'm able to form quickly doesn't look right to me. It's got spikes, and it covers me, but it's oddly dark, like smoky glass.

For a moment, he doesn't move at all, just sits there in the wet sand, giving me a slack-jawed stare. I figure I must have stunned him. I step forward. He sits up a little, but doesn't take any action. I realize I still feel that cold, clammy touch, and I wonder if he put all of his power into that storm. I throw a gust of wind into the sand again, blasting him with it, and he does nothing but stare at me. His jaw moves like he's about to try to speak, but he doesn't. His eyes are more open than normal. I can almost see the top of his irises. Is that what he looks like when he's afraid?

My next thought is that if I can keep him out with a shield, I can keep him inside of one, too.

As he sits there, I work on building a bubble over him. It's different from encasing myself, because I'm not doing it from the inside, I'm doing it from the outside. The energy wants to form a box instead of a sphere. Instead of correcting the problem, I let it be that way. He sits there and watches me. As I walk around the box to make sure it is complete, he turns his head to follow my movements. I notice that one corner of his mouth has turned up.

I know something is wrong. The box is as smoky as my shield. I can feel that it's solid, and completely closed, but why isn't it clear, like normal, and why is he looking at me like that? I momentarily lower my shield to reach out and physically touch the box. Aside from the color, I can't find anything out of the ordinary. It feels like my shield always feels, a lot like glass. If I concentrate, I can reach right through my shield, as though reaching through a liquid, because it's energy that I've drawn through myself, and it's attuned to me.

As I place my fingers on the wall of the box, he stands up and steps toward me, still looking kind of stunned. Maybe now I can get him to talk to me.

"What do you want? Why do you keep attacking me?" I know he's replied to this, but he really hasn't given me an answer.

He acts like he's going to speak, but no sound comes out. I'm wondering if I made the box too heavy. Without thinking, I reach out and tap on it like a window. Fast as lightning, he reaches through it, folds his fingers around my hand, and grins broadly.

That cold, clammy feeling. . . the energy that made the storm was drawn through him, manipulated by him. And I drew it into me and used it. I used it to make the box, and I'd used it to make my shield. He could have gotten through the whole time.

He says, "You have quite an appetite."

I try to pull away from him. I don't want him touching me, even if it's not an outright attack - and it's not, because he hasn't even come the rest of the way out of the box. He doesn't let go of my hand, and even though I'm a bit taller than he is, and I'd guess that I outweigh him, he's got quite a grip. More than that, I can feel a pull through the palm of my hand, pulling on that energy, and on my focus.

I don't know what he's doing, but it can't be good. I make a mental stab at blocking off my hand, but I can still feel that pull. I pull back against it. Immediately, I get another taste of that icky, cold clammy feeling, and then he's pulling harder. I feel my control slipping away.

I say, "Good dodge. Not gonna answer me?"

I double my effort, pulling it back, and feel his claws dig into the back of my hand. Blood runs down onto my wrist. He's trying to use pain to distract me.

He steps through the wall of the box, right into my personal space, and says, "I told you, I want to get through." Even his breath is freezing cold. I'm completely repulsed. I want to pull away and run, but I know that won't do any good.

I give a hard pull, drawing something into myself that isn't me. It's not anything like the energy I've been manipulating. It makes my hand feel freezing cold. It's almost a burning kind of cold, like temperatures that cause frostbite. Intense, searing pain fills the bones in my hand. Whatever I just brought in has found my arthritis.

I realize that this won't end well for me. If I win the tug-of-war, I'm going to be filled with something terrible that feels like it might kill me. If I lose, he most certainly will. I have to change the rules.

I ask him where "through" will take him. He gives me a momentary look of confusion, then says, "You don't remember?"

He grabs my other hand, and starts to pull back, taking through both of them. I let the icky energy go, but try to hold on to my own. At the same time, I'm thinking about my family, how much I love them, and how much I want to protect them. I focus on the things about myself that make me proud to be me. I dwell on the joy I find in everyday things, and in the people who are closest to me. I use those thoughts build up a bright, warm energy within myself.

I ask what I'm supposed to be remembering.

I still feel the tug on my own supply. I don't seem to be able to separate those two energies from each other just by willpower. The warm brightness, though, seems to be untainted. I hold out, pulling just hard enough to keep him from getting anything, but not hard enough to subject myself to another burst of freezing cold.

His look of confusion changes to surprise. Instead of answering me, he says, "You don't remember. I can't believe you don't remember. Why are you even fighting me?"

I tell him, "Because you tried to take whatever it is you're after without my consent. You never even tried a peaceful path."

I move the warm, bright energy I've built up, letting it flow down through my arms and into my hands, displacing what's there with it. When he pulls again, I let it flow, pushing it through the connection he chose to make when he grabbed my hands. The feeling of it moving is so opposite the way what came from him felt, it has to do some kind of damage.

Except, it doesn't. I feel the energy flow from my hands, and into his. I can even see that it's affecting him. The pale skin of his hands takes on a little more color. His fingers twitch, pulling away from my hands, and he lets go. I can see that even his face is less pale, especially around the cheeks. Once again, he gives me that slack-jawed, wide-eyed stare. He backs up against the wall of the box. It cracks, then shatters and melts into the sand.

Only thing is, he doesn't look injured. He just looks really, really surprised. He blinks - which until now, I haven't seen him ever do. Even that is weird. His upper eyelids move down to meet his lower ones, but the lower ones don't move up, so it looks like his upper eyelids are really long, and the blink is kind of slow.

I'm all ready working on building up more energy, trying to figure out a way to knock him down before he snaps out of it and retaliates, but he doesn't. He just asks me if I realize what I've just done. Now it's my turn to be confused, and I can feel that it shows on my face. For a moment, he actually looks pensive and a little amused, but then he seems to snap out of it.

He says, "I still want through. I want through." He takes an aggressive posture, and then does absolutely nothing, just stands there. I don't even know what to do right now. I fully expected that positive energy would hurt him because he seems so evil. It didn't. I'm at a complete loss. I take a defensive stance and seriously hope that he makes the fight physical, because then I might have a chance.

Instead, he seems to melt into yet another swarm of bugs, but this time is different. Normally, the swarm is made up of wasps that look like Great Black wasps but are over 2 inches long. This time, it is a swarm of tiny, silvery-black butterflies, each no more than an inch. The swarm flies right at me and totally surrounds me for a moment, flying so close that I can feel some of them brushing up against my face and hands. I expect an attack, and try to focus energy on them, but nothing happens. There is no attack from either of us, and the butterflies move out of my reach and keep going until I can't see them any more.

I hear a noise behind me. I turn to see the little girl from inside the beach shack walking toward me on the sand. She gets up close, gives me an angry and incredulous look, and shoves me with a loud yell, "You IDIOT!"

I feel myself falling backward.

From there, this turned into one of those falling dreams, where you feel like you're falling endlessly. I woke when I "landed" on the bed. It was the weirdest thing - it really felt like she'd pushed me out of my own dream experience.

I'm pretty sure she's me, or part of me, because she looked just like my ten-year-old self, right down to my first pair of glasses. I don't know exactly what she represents, but it's got to be connected to my creative side, because her 'room' was full of arts and crafts that interest me.

Out of the whole screwed up dream, the thing that has messed with my head the most is the butterflies. They're the only non-stinging bug-like thing I've seen the whole time I've been dreaming about this particular monster, and the reason they bother me is that they don't fit the pattern. There's always something scary, never something nice. I really feel like it has to be some kind of a mental trap.

A note about the storm - playing with tornadoes was one of the first lucid things I ever did while dreaming. I absolutely love storms, particularly electrical storms, and am fascinated by tornadoes. I guess I just explored that to a more "me" kind of level in dreams growing up, and now it's kind of second nature. It doesn't even take any effort most of the time.