Night of A Thousand Freaks

Stirring in my sleep. A chainsaw maniac chasing me through the woods, the cliché scene. I trip over a tree root – “CRUNCH!” – landing hard on my palms, tasting the soft earth. The sound of deadly weapon getting closer, lunatic footsteps crunching the twigs. Heart racing a mile a minute, struggling to free myself from the root, but shoestring seems to be snagged. The chainman is suddenly there, silhouetted against the faint light of the hazy moon. Frantically kicking at this reverse deus ex machina, tears rolling down my face. I look up; he has a mask on, like Jason, starts to lower the frightening buzzing weapon – “Please, NO!” My legs seem to give out. I stare at the madman and for just a second seem to see a glint in his eyes behind the mask, before it is extinguished like a smoldering fire. Everything in my head goes silent…and then…just then I’m on a makeshift raft with my dad in a dark swamp with trees on both sides. The sky above is starry, full of cosmic display. I stand up in this marsh and peer at the eerie forest before me and then look back at my dad. He seems to be sinking into the swamp, and what looks like rats are crawling over him, burying him alive, completely unaware, just sleeping away. My head pounds with anxiety. I stare at the horrific scene for a moment before the words that inadvertently come from my mouth are “He wasn’t worth it anyway,” and continue toward the forest, leaving my father to sink beneath the mucky depths of this mysterious wetland.

The nightmare shifts to me running through a labyrinth of houses, still at night, the sound of police sirens chasing after me, hunting me down. Heart pounding, I race through numerous alleyways and gated squares of closely packed homes, zigzagging this way and that. I keep running until the sound of the sirens are no more, not wanting to be found or face my downfall, and then the scene disappears and I am in a bright room lit by a hanging chandelier. The walls are wood paneled, the floor vanilla colored. There is nothing in this room except three wooden doors on the far wall facing me. And then a man at least 6″5 dressed in a casual dinner suit steps through the closed center door, steps straight through it like a ghost. He reminds me of someone I’ve seen before, but his face is blurry. This broad lad walks forward and stops just before me, seeming to grow a foot taller as I stare up at him.

“You know you have to pick a door,” he says in a loud booming voice filling the entire room. He stands to my right so I can see the three doors before me.

“Which one will it be, door 1, door 2, or door 3?”, the voice of Wayne Brady appears from somewhere.

The doors seem to rush towards me or I towards them and suddenly the room changes completely, gets smaller. I am now facing the three doors in what looks like a small prison cell. There is a large pool of blood in front of me and is seeping through the small floor crack of door 2. I definitely wouldn’t choose that door, would I? The other doors seem perfectly fine: one is a bolted metal variety, the kind seen in strong ship holds, and the other has wood of mahogany and cherry, expensive looking. But I am rooted on that center door, the blood reaching my bare feet, chilling my toes. I want to open that door, see what happened, the curiosity is tempting. Door 1 and Door 3 just don’t speak anything to me. But Door 3 says it all, even if there’s most likely not a good message on the other side. I touch the door and it simply swings inward, a flash of bright light and then…

I’m in a maze-like video game or movie, going through different rooms, and end up in a large bathroom/locker room of a gym perhaps. A little bit of creative thinking to solve the challenge, riddle here. Not so obvious. I start off entering the place through a door in a dark corner. Tiled floors. The sections of the locker room quiet and eerie. Up ahead is a lit area near a wall. I walk towards it and see a foggy mirror, cracked. Cobwebs hanging from the brick wall. Dust particles floating in the shining light. I turn to the left and see a lit passageway. Objects, such as a vanity set, are against both walls. In the distance is an opening to a dark chamber with the silhouette of a large menacing structure with curved sides and a sloping roof standing. Maybe there are steps on the sides. Probably enemies will be waiting for me there. They can likely sense my presence. I’d better stay away from that place. Going around the shadowy locker room looking for clues. Finally go into a section further away from the lit wall. Then a little girl appears, says “I just want to go home” in a creepy voice. She appears to be crawling on the ground and has an eerie horror look about her, one of those Gothic, depressed, lonely orphaned children. Blackest eyes of the night, pale face like pastry flour. The sequence ends and I go through a basement door, stepping into the darkness.

And just as I witness the chainsaw maniac again, his freakish figure appearing in a greenish fog, I suddenly wake up, sweat drops on my forehead, breathes coming in cold hard gasps. It’s 6:00 in the morning. I quickly grab a pen and paper and begin to recall what just happened in this nightmare.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: Just a Dream

Full Moon Flight

PTDC0019
Come with me
The moon is awake
We’ll soar to high yonder
Until the owl nestles for his long awaited break
And see those peaceful heads
All cozy in their beds
And hear the coyotes cry
Until morning light sheds

I’m Still Miss Daisy

You’ve been given a key that can open one building, room, locker, or box to which you don’t normally have access. How do you use it, and why?


My life would be so much easier

if I could drive a car

and sail off into the sunset

and leave this life afar.

But sadly, that is not a reality

and I am stuck here in neutral,

unable to advance ahead

and be one with the people.

The jobs abound, out there are rich and plentiful,

while in my current position, the buffet table is very lentil.

Creativity unleashed, new places to explore.

I could do it all

if that key would open the door.

PTDC0416
The car sits idle in the driveway, but I can’t drive it

DP #59

Dream Retrieving

Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call). Feel free to switch one ingredient if you have to (or revisit one from previous trio prompts).


dream18a

The more somber part of my experiences takes me to a dark, spooky, and desolate ghost town…

An eerie breeze can be heard. The metal sign hanging from the porch of an old shophouse claps in the wind.
Suddenly inside the shophouse, I am standing in front of a crazy old hillbilly sitting in a rocker; he passes me a scratch off lottery ticket; the scene is very short and vague; I believe there is a fire burning in a grate behind us, shining across the wooden floor panels. Then it is morning the next day and police are doing investigations at the place. What happened between me getting the lottery ticket and the lawmen showing up? Did the hillbilly kill me or give me an illegal ticket? I remember him having a red plaid shirt on and sporting a pretty healthy looking countryman beard. He didn’t seem to be there when the police were searching the place so maybe he’s a wanted man who has run off somewhere.

Next, after easing into my rapidly deteriorating dream state, I am standing at the end of a hallway that is clearly like the one in my current home; there are two rooms on either side; one is my actual room and the other is my sisters; it is a debate in my head between going in one or the other. When I enter the room on the right, the door suddenly breaks off its hinges and hangs there. The first thing I see is an open fridge without the freezer on top; my dad has his head in it and is eyeing some donuts on the top door shelf. I grab a sticky chocolate one at the same time he does, our hands nearly colliding with each other. I now look at the hanging door and don’t believe I can stay in this room. I discuss it with dad and mom, who is also in the room. They tell me to go try the other room across the hall.

As I stand in the foyer of the second room and stare into the entrance on the right, I feel a lot more content and joyous; Mom is standing behind me in the hallway and seems happy as well; I believe there are tears of joy in her eyes as she stares back at me. I walk into the room, which seems endless, and start admiring the square pictures and notes on the walls, some of them featuring moments from my childhood, stuff dedicated to me. On the first wall to the left as I enter the domain is a corkboard with an open card tacked to it:

Happy Birthday, Matt

Mike

“Mike” is obviously written in my dad’s handwriting but I still think it is actually from my Uncle Mike. As I walk further on towards the “end” of the room, I see a message on the wall from a Kaley, and I immediately think it is from Kaley Cuoco (my mind conjures up an image as well).

Soon, as I turn to the right wall behind me, I come to a note talking about a writing program that is trying to get to D.C and get accepted to write articles for the United States government. The note also says they need volunteers and I feel terrible for not seeing this earlier.

Suddenly, I am taken out of my room and end up inside an indoor football field. Barack Obama and his crew are standing on the far right side of the field (near my right eye) and on the left side, the “writers” are buried underground and sticking their arms out the soil into the air, trying to get Obama’s attention. Obviously Barack doesn’t notice them and has a smug grin on his face.

dream15a

Another sharp twist of my swirling vortex of thoughts takes me to a much darker moment in the sleepy town of Spring Arbor where I used to live. In an old Buick parked in the driveway of a grey house I moved out of four years ago, I am sleeping face down, as if crazily drunk. The car is from from a John that my mom was seeing for a while but is now a distant friend. The Buick was a hunk of junk and broke down not long after it was used.

Now I see “Dad”, who looks like Ted Beneke from Breaking Bad, coming out of the house.

Then I am inside the house, going into my room down the hallway on the right. Around the “L” shaped corner of the room on the left, I see my bed made with a sign on the end board:

God Gave Us Christ’s Child

Wow. What a message to see in my dreams. That’s surely a sign (no pun intended). That never existed there in real life so something truly remarkable is going on here.

Now, sitting in the front row of the auditorium of my high school, I am attending a play or dance recital; I am near the railing on the right. My dad comes by (not Ted Beneke) to pick me and my sisters or something special up, I’m not quite sure. Someone is expertly showing off their Beethoven skills on stage.

The curtain closes and the black dressed ballerinas exit stage left. Curtain opens again and white dressed ballerinas have taken the stage. Interesting – it’s like evil turning to good.

ballerinas


Daily Prompt 10/30/14