I love really wacked out dreams. The weirder the better – even if they turn into nightmares that’s okay. If the subconscious is running wild it’s worth the cold sweats and twisted covers. And last night paid off in spades…
Maybe it was the apocalyptic winter storm that was marauding across the Midwest last night, maybe it was repeated listening to the Louvin Brothers’ album Satan is Real last week, or perhaps it was the viewing of a Roy Rogers movie right before bedtime (those singin’ cowboys will get you every time), but last night was a lulu.
All night long I was swinging between Keelian visions of Mothman and shadow people and Lovecraftian slithering, gibbering, mind-blasting horrors. What does it mean? I’ll leave the interpretations and symbolism to others. I like to think it just means I’ve got some weird stuff in my noggin’, and it’s a blast when it all comes spewing out at once.
He sees you when you're sleeping...
Here’s the one dream I remember the most vividly:
I was in a very large movie theatre. The lights were dim, but you could still see fairly well. I thought I was alone at first, walking up one of the aisles. Suddenly, I hear a voice behind me.
“Cough drop,” it says.
I look back and see a man, hard to make out, but he kind of resembles the old comic book horror host, Uncle Creepy. I say, “I don’t have one,” and start walking faster.
“Cough drop,” the voice says again.
“I said I don’t have one!” not looking back this time.
Suddenly the man comes speeding past me, too fast to make out. As he passes me, he shouts out, “IT’S TOO LATE!”
Looking back I see a slimy, amorphous blob that is gaining on me fast, making obscene sucking and slurping sounds. I take off running and wake up in a panic. After a minute to re-orientate myself to reality, I think, “Good one…”