Dream a Little Dream April 23, 2003 - 7:08 a.m.

I'm having dream issues.

There was a whole bunch of fucked up running around in my head last night. But the main, I guess, story took place in a cabin-like home.

Think like, poor people shack. Tiny rooms, low ceilings, short flight of stairs leading to another story of tiny rooms. Although, this time tinier, because the slant of the roof cuts out half of the room. Think something along the lines of the house from Dolores Claiborne. Run down. Again, tiny. Barely enough room to walk around in.

So there's this older couple living there. I'd said they were in their sixties. And apparently, I'm their daughter. I'm still me, just in a different situation with different parents.

Of course, I don't remember much from the dream. I'm getting flashes of other things that are going on. Like something in the woods... a chase? Hiding? Maybe just a game with kids? I have no idea. For some reason, Sean Astin is around for the woods stuff. But nowhere else.

The main thing I remember from this storyline is one particular incedent with the parents.

First off, the dad is that mean, bitchy type. Nothing is ever right. Nothing goes his way. He's bitter and always angry, while somehow maintaining a childlike, playful side. But not really in a good way, I think. Basically, he's got a severely warped personality and view on life.

I hear some noise then go into their room to ask them if they heard the same thing. I guess I'm looking down, because I don't stop walking until I'm in the middle of the room, about three feet from the bed. Where they're both lying. Bloody. And gross.

My warped father apparently wasn't happy with something, because he shot his wife, arranged her on the bed so that they could lie together, then shot himself. I walked in when they were making their last gaping, gasping, dying sounds. So they were still moving and blood was oozing.

As I'm dropping to the floor in shock, I notice another person on the other side of the bed. A lady. I think she was like a live-in nurse or something of the sort. He shot her before he shot himself and his wife.

I drop into the fetal position. Completely afraid to move. More importantly, afraid to look around and see anymore blood. And especially faces. There's no telling how long I stayed there. I'd say hours. Easily.

There was a point that I talked to someone that came to the house. Maybe Chris? And we were in the kitchen, which was right next to the parents' bedroom. And in the conversation I very casually said 'Oh yeah, they're in there' and pointed to the room. Like, hey, the bloody mess is over there. Wanna see?

But that didn't happen until this additional sequence.

People keep coming into the house. Mailman, family, delivery people, repairmen, friends. It's a small town so everyone knows one another. So they come into the house, and I'm like 'Hey, *insert name here*. I have to kill you now. Don't take it personally.'

So we're running through the house, laughing and playing, then I finally kill them. Their response is usually a sarcastic 'Oh, you got me.', then they go hang out in the room at the top of the stairs.

It keeps going this way until I've just killed the nurse lady, then my mom. Keep in mind, those two people have already died. Then again, after I kill people, they're moving themselves to have some dead man's party on the second floor.

I'm at the top of the stairs with them. And they're all telling me that the only one left is my father. 'You have to do it.'

Oh, I just realized that as I'm looking down the stairs, it's just like the stairs from a house on Billtown Road that a friend lived in. Although the stairs are flipped. Instead of looking up the stairs like at her house, I'm looking down. But the door placement and where the kitchen is.. it's all the same. Just smaller.

So the dad walks in through the door that's located near the bottom of the steps. He looks up at me, kind of hunched over, and has this you've-gotta-find-me, playful yet menacing look on his face. Then he darts down the hallway.

Well, not completely down the hallway. He doesn't realize that I can see his feet still standing in the hallway, hiding, waiting for me to come follow him. So he can, most likely, grab me and kill me instead of me killing him. Conniving bastard. Good thing I'm smart enough to just wait and stand at the top of the steps. Despite the corpses behind me demanding that I go get him.

Eventually he gets tired of waiting and walks back to the bottom of the stairs. He starts in on some presumably witty banter but before he has a chance to really say anything, I dive from the top of the stairs, right onto him. I guess I kill him here.

But the even stranger part of that, of having to kill people that are already dead, is that I had to keep doing it. Over and over again. Once I killed the father, it started back from the beginning. I don't know if this was a hell thing, or if I fell asleep in the death room and was now dreaming. But I got the sense that I was going through everything, whether it be hell or dream, because I felt that their death's were my fault.

A dream within a dream?

So of course, once I woke up, I was afraid to move. For the longest time this morning I walked through the house with my head down. Afraid that if I looked up, I'd find some bloody people.

But now I realize that I'm in a house that I feel very, very safe in. I don't know what it is about this place, but the comfort factor, as far as safety goes, is just through the roof.

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