I'm standing in a bathroom. All white; white tiles, white fixtures, big white bathtub. There is a girl with long blonde hair sitting in the tub, laying with her knees bent and just barely sticking out of the water. We're talking (can't remember what about) and I see a large, hairy, spiny, dark brown spider on the side of her right leg, just above the water. I can see the ripples just barely touching its legs. I can see it's reflection shaking in the tiny waves.
Trying not to make any sudden movements, I tell her quietly about the spider. "It's a big one." I say.
She thrashes violently in the tub and the spider falls into the water as she's flailing. It is floating, legs spread far apart to keep it at the surface.
She can't get out of the tub fast enough and I watch the spider as it floats and tangles itself into her long, wet hair.
She's tearing at her scalp, trying to shake the spider free without touching it. She's pulling her hair out in chunks but the spider keeps getting more and more tangled.
I don't help her. I just stare. I don't want it to get on me.
My mother and I are driving on Pulver Road in Burlington
(my ex-husband lived on that road and I called him for some information yesterday so that's why it was that specific road).
We're driving at night and there aren't any streetlights. My mother is driving and I'm sitting in the front passenger seat when I notice movement on the right shoulder. I see a shadow moving and to the right, down near the ground, I see quick single bursts of bright light. As we get closer, I see that it is a man, fully dressed in green jungle camouflage with strings of bullets crossed over his shoulders in the shape of an 'x'. He has the calf-high walnut brown leather lace up boots; his pant legs tucked sloppily inside. He has a camouflage "fisherman's" hat on, covering his head and concealing his face from my view.
In his right hand, hanging with the barrel just above the ground, I see that he is holding a large gun. I don't recognize what kind (I'm not familiar with guns) but it's a gun that the bullets neatly wrapped around his torso would fit into. (Think, Rambo).
I see the gun, dangling from his hand,, with his index finger on the trigger. As he steps, the gun shoots the ground.
I rhetorically ask my mother, "Why is he doing that? Why is his finger on the trigger?" And I start to dial
I get the voice mail box (If you call 9-1-1 in Everett, chances are, you'll have to leave a message...true story).
I'm trying to express the urgency of the situation in my voice while also trying not to work myself into a panic. We slowly drive by him and he raises his head, then his eyes to mine and starts to lift the gun.
The gun is BIG, he struggles to lift it with his one hand. He swings it to get momentum. (Think, Texas Chainsaw Massacre).
We drive by as time moves in slow-motion. He brings up the gun, and shakily aims it in our direction and fires several shots, none of which strike our car.
I look in the mirrors as we pass him and he keeps walking, slowly limping along as if nothing had happened. He walks along the road until he comes to a house with a bright light shining through a picture window with the white wooden blinds closed within.
I call 9-1-1 again and try to describe what I'm seeing.
The man, stumbles down a small embankment into the yard. The grass is green where the light is on it and the dew on the tips is reflecting brightly. He drags his dirty leather boots through the grass, towards the window and puts the funnel-shaped barrel of the gun (now turned into a musket) against the glass and waits.
(Even though I'm technically in the car still, it's as if I'm standing right behind him to his right).
I see the shadow of a man, walking towards the picture window. I can make out a baseball cap and what might be suspenders over a button down shirt in his silhouette. I tense my shoulders as I see his hand shadow reach toward the blinds.
The gun goes off. The glass doesn't shatter, or break at all, but the man's shadow falls back out of frame.
My mother and I are driving on S. Front Street in Clear Lake (the street they live on). It's dark and raining and I see the man again. Same situation; he's walking, almost limping along clumsily. He's shooting the ground as he steps. We drive past slowly again and he turns to look at us.
I'm instantly terrified. I replay the other moment when our eyes met in my head. I feel dizzy.
I call 9-1-1 from my cell phone and get someone on the line.
I'm in the living room at my parents' house and I'm frantically telling my father what my mother and I had witnessed. I tell him I saw the man outside on the street before we got to the house. He goes to the kitchen, into the front room, and looks out the window on the main door.
The flood light kicks on as the limping, dragging man trips the sensor.
I'm in my old bedroom. Looking out the window into the front yard. The light outside reminds me of dawn; light pinkish with orange highlights. He's walking toward the front porch, which is to my right. I have a musket in my hands now.
He's shooting carelessly towards the front door. Arms swaying, torso twisting.
I gently, gently slide the window open. Trying to simultaneously break the air-seal while he fires shots, so he can't hear me open it.
I open it slowly, and place the wide barrel against the screen.
I'm wondering how the bullets will act; does this gun shoot one round at a time? Will I have to reload immediately after? Will it shoot pellets like with a shotgun? Do I have to be at a closer range to hit him?
Then I wake up.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
I'm an astronaut. I'm on a ship with other people and we're casually looking through one of the round windows at random space trash orbiting past ship. I notice something that looks like the shape of a man far far away in the distance. I'm squinting to see that far. I grab a telescope/binoculars and look through and see a silver-ish man wearing a silver skin-tight suit (think Tin Man) and he's flying, like Superman but with his arms at his sides, not out in front He is flying from left to right past my window. As I'm staring out, still trying to comprehend what I'm seeing, he turns his head. Turns his head slowly, and looks at me. Directly into my eyes. Back through the telescope.
I'm at my parents' house. Alone. The lights are off (maybe the power is out?)
I feel anxious. I know he's watching me. I'm panicking, I look out the window of my old bedroom and see him. He's walking briskly towards the front door. I run to make sure the door is locked. It isn't. We reach the door at the same time and I lock it. We're staring at each other through the glass, our faces 12 or so inches apart. I'm staring directly into his eyes. His skin tone would be best described at "corpse gray" and he has liver spots on his bald head. His eyes are a deep deep silver.
I put my palms on the glass and he does the same. Then his eyes change. He looks angry. He starts to hit the glass violently with his hands. Louder and louder and harder and harder. (I don't know why..but) I do the same. We're both hitting our hands on the glass and it occurs to me that the glass might break if we keep hitting it. I stop and he continues, getting more violent.
I start to panic again. I run towards the back of the house, closing doors as I go (maybe he'll think I'm hiding behind them and check the other rooms while I'm escaping). I run into my old bedroom and lock the door, quietly.
I can't physically see him breaking through the glass in the front door from where I am but I can imagine it vividly. In my mind I can see him puncturing through, not caring about being cut by the shards left in the frame. He's clumsy. (He moves like one of the zombies in the Thriller video).
I can imagine him walking through the house and try to calculate where he could be, if he's close, and if I have time to escape.
I slowly and quietly climb onto an antique Singer sewing machine under my window and slide the glass as gently as possible as to not make the air pressure sound (it's the best way I can describe the sound when you first crack open a window).
I feel a wave of relief. I'm no longer panicked. I'm still scared, but I have hope now.
I can visualize him approaching my locked bedroom door but before I can even hear his clumsy footsteps on the hardwood, I jump.
It's only about 8 or 9 feet so I land on my feet. It hurts my ankles just enough to make me limp the first few steps. I see my car parked in the gravel by my dad's workshop. I run. (Thankfully) I have my keys in my hand with my car key already in position. I grab the handle, insert the key and then I wake up.
I'm awake now. Kind of. I'm scared of the dream, but I want to finish it....
I play out scenarios while I lay there with an uneasy stomach:
Do I go North or South out of my driveway? If I go South I have to deal with S curved roads with little to no shoulders. If I go North, I have the off chance of being pulled over. I can picture him suddenly beside me on the passenger side of my car while I'm stopped at a stop sign. He's reaching for my handle.
The dogs are in the house. The dogs are LOUD. Coco and Kelly, 2 West Highland White Terriers. They are loud when the man first comes to the front door of my parents' house. He furiously stares down at them. We don't hit the glass together like we did in the original dream, I see his angry eyes and run towards the back of the house. I hear the glass break. I'm not picturing the scene like in the original but I can hear him. I can hear them. The dogs are running, their nails scraping the wood floor as they search for me to save them. I know they'll lead him to my hiding place.
I open the window again and I can hear them whining frantically, tearing the bottom of the outside of my bedroom door. I jump. I run, terrified to my car. I can't hear the dogs anymore. I know they're not OK but I try not to think about it. I'm thankful they saved me in a sense.