The past couple of nights have been intense, dreams that have had me waking constantly, eye's wide open. I'd calm myself and push the images away, before unwillingly diving back in where I left off upon closing my lids.
Two nights ago I dreamt I was living in the age of Zombies. To survive, the humans had joined forces and the country was full of tribe like pockets of survivors, each thinking they were the only humans left alive. In true post apocalyptic style they hung onto the past in a distorted fashion, they thought department stores where museums, depicting a glorious past where humans used a multitude of wondrous devices, most of which had dark rope coming out of them that ended in a strange metal claw. Throughout the dream we where attacked by Zombies on numerous occasions, each time losing a member of our tribe, no matter how many of the beasts we beheaded. There was never a sense of victory, hope was stretched thin, yet the desire to survive was strong. I awoke proud to be a survivor, yet quite depressed.
Last night had a different spin. No Zombies this time, but I wasn't particularly fond of this one either as I awoke drained.
I lived far from 'the city', the town had a 5 shop high street, a picnic park and a lake that used to be chalk pit. A place that tourists used to stop by to enjoy some fishing or a peaceful barbeque. But the new interstate meant people didn't pass by as much any more.
Someone had gone missing in the town, I local person we all liked. The police were moving from door to door; the usual enquiry stuff. As I went to answer my door, I noticed the missing persons jacket on the coat hook; he hadn't been here in months. The front door had a mottled glass panel so the officer could see I was standing there. Confused and feeling strangely guilty, I unwillingly opened the door that thankfully hid the coat rack. Mumbling through the officers questions, he gave me a thoughtful look before heading on. My back now damp with worry, I turned my attention to the jacket. Apart from it being where it shouldn't, it looked quite ordinary. A search of the pockets only turned out a yellowing page torn from a book. Along the border of the page was the word, L I N T in a heavy font with each letter looking individually punched. Although its meaning was lost to me, the irony was not.
As the dream continued various other items of the missing man turned up in my possession. His truck keys in my writing desk, work boots in the wardrobe, even his favourite beers in the fridge. It accumulated so quickly, that going to the police soon became a closed door, through fear of being a suspect. Someone was out to set me up, they could get in my house with ease and knew my routines. I figured it was someone I knew so I couldn't ask for help, I was alone and they knew it.
A second torn page appeared, stuck to my bathroom mirror using the condensation from the shower I was having, my remaining nerves fled when I saw it, I felt myself loosing hope. Knowing they were so close whilst I was completely vulnerable was crushing. I longed for a confrontation, one that I somehow knew I wouldn't fair well from; I didn't care though, I just wanted it over. Like the first scrap, letters were punched into the border, H O U P, again I struggled to find any meaning in it.
More notes appeared along with various other possessions, one in my wallet, another in my trouser pocket. More letters stamped into them - L Y C A and S L U E - but I couldn't figure out the puzzle, if it even was a puzzle.
Towards the end of my dream, I came downstairs to find a half drunk hot coffee on the kitchen side and the back door wide open. Running to the door I closed and bolted it, only realising as I did so that I may have just lock myself in with him. As my mind rushed, doors start slamming loudly on the other side of the house, my legs gave way, I slid to the floor. Fear and exhaustion fought amongst themselves in their desire to possess me. As a last ditch effort I took out the scraps of paper and lay them out before me, desperate to find a way out of this, all the time wishing I was better at anagrams - I hate anagrams - trying various combinations, I had to get this right, with each slammed door closer than the last, my fingers shook, yet through the frantic shuffling of letters something finally came through that seemed to make sense, yet made no sense at all - THE LUPIN CALLS YOU - I laughed hysterically at what I had made, as whether I was right or wrong, it wasn't going to end well. As the door in front of me opened, I woke up
2 comments:
how disconcerting these dream must have been... many times i agree, though i'm certain he believes he's being funny, the Sandman is quite a jerk
Wowsers matey, unhappy stuff. I know you didn't do it, but my curiosity wants to know who did. Perhaps that answer would have been less interesting than unravelling the metaphor, tho. Dreams are tricky little sods. Thanks for sharing.
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