In dreams, I walk…

I thought it apposite, considering the tone and themes of this blog, and indeed The Double R Club itself, namely the hypnagogic, the nightmarish, the unreal and the illusory, to recount to you, my neighbours, one or two of my dreams…

As previously mentioned, from the age of around 4 to perhaps 12 or 13, I had BAD dreams almost nightly. The following are not exclusively nightmares but merely those nocturnal sojourns that stayed with me. They are all genuine; and BE WARNED, some of them may make you look at me strangely, if you ever look at me again…

The earliest dream I can recall is one I had roughly every year (for about three or four years) in my childhood. It was very simple and consisted merely of a featureless white background into which a bare foot descended. A hand appeared and pulled back a thick flap of skin from the heel of the foot. Inside there was no blood, the foot instead revealing itself to be solid skin. Inside the flap lay four or five small seeds. And that was it. Hindsight might bring forth interpretations of  some kind of representation of ‘potential’ (the seeds), or growing; though it seems unlikely that my pre-teen subconscious could have conjured such abstract symbolism. But then who knows…?

Another dream, this one  v e r y  frightening (I can’t have been more than 10) was of the chenille bedspread at my nan’s house forming a face and talking to me. I think it had something to do with Humphrey Cushion of Hickory House; something about the amorphous face, the shapelessness of it talking to me. It should also be mentioned that the dream occurred whilst sleeping at my nan’s house, under the very covers that came alive in the dream, meaning that when I woke, my tormentor was already upon me. For real.

A little later my dreams took on something of a motif, that of floating furniture. That’s right, you read that correctly, furniture, floating –  and always in a dark room or hall. For instance: I would dream I was in bed and there would be a knock at my door. I would open it and outside in the dark would be chairs and tables, hanging in mid-air; for some reason this was utterly terrifying to me.

Once I dreamed of tiny alligators swimming about on my parents’ patio, which had flooded, and woke to hear mum saying to dad that the snails were eating the garden alive. Of a fantastical bent as a child, the temptation to see this as some kind of prophetic dream was strong but I never really believed it. My guess would be that while asleep I heard her say the same thing to someone else, maybe my sister, and reinterpreted it. It was exciting for a bit though.

One of my most enjoyable and unusual dreams was ‘my’ monster movie. I had watched ‘The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms‘ on television and while asleep later that week I kind of remade it. The dream, like the film, was in black and white, and at the end titles actually rolled. One of my additions to the original film was the inclusion of a different ending my subconscious had re-written, no doubt informed by the habit of horror films of the time (which I watched religiously) of using what is now the hackneyed “The End… or IS IT?!” trick. After the monster is slain at Coney Island, the dream-scene faded to daylight and to a beach, where the camera focused on a sand dune, which shifted, then disgorged a giant egg, surely the unhatched young of the creature, soon to wreak new havoc upon the world…

I have vivid memories of a bad dream where I was walking up the road opposite my parents’ house, for some reason transformed into a steep hill, the sky was dark as if night but the sun was up and burning brightly. If I may borrow from a piece of writing: “Though the sky remained as night, the whole impossible scene was lit by a fevered, jaundiced sun, a terrible vibration in the air, something immense, black and pitiless.”

There was a fun dream where I was on roller skates being chased on nazis. This involved all manner of adventures and near misses, but when they finally caught me, instead of telling me I was to be executed, they said simply, and oddly, “It’s time for your angel to be sent up.”

I once dreamed that I killed my entire family (mother, father, sister, nephew) whilst wearing a white apron which ended caked in blood. I remember everything was dim, though it was day, and the whole scene had a distinctly, and unsurprisingly, apocalyptic feel; it felt like the end of everything. I think I painted a Hitler moustache on myself with their blood.

Easily the most graphic dream I’ve ever had would be where I found myself watching a woman being raped and tortured by two men. Both men were faceless. They stripped her, cut off her nipples with scissors, and then while one raped her the other took a Stanley Knife and, placing his thumb at her nostrils, the blade roughly between her eyes, he cut off her nose, leaving a kind of elongated red triangle, which bled across both cheeks and filled her ears. Yes, I know.

I dreamed once that I was sitting on a chair in a dark room lit only by an open fire. Orange reflections of the fire played on the wall and floorboards.  Beyond the light of the fire everything was black. I sensed something very bad in the dark. Unable to move from fear, I stared into the fire, willing the terrible thing to go away. And then suddenly I was watching myself sat there. And from behind the me I was watching, a figure stepped across the perimeter of the firelight. The figure was hunched over and grotesque but recognisably another me (a ‘doppelgänger’ if you will). It was me but its lidless eyes were too big, its hungry grin stretched from ear to ear; and in its right hand it held a large butcher’s knife. And the me in the chair couldn’t move, hadn’t seen him/it/the other me, and he/it/the other me was getting closer, raising the knife.  As it took another step into the light, I woke up.

~ by benjaminlouche on November 2, 2010.

One Response to “In dreams, I walk…”

  1. […] that I had throughout my childhood inspire me a great deal (some which were documented in this blog entry). Nowadays I seldom have nightmares, maybe because I’m venting them upon the general […]

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