A Most Unwelcome Guest

A strange beginning…

A small, Daschund-like dog, mostly tan in color with black tip lowlights struggled to free itself from its bonds. A single stiff ring caught his torso and was tethered to the ground. He pulled and pulled! Slowly, desperately trying to get it over his hips so that he could be free.

I was walking down the sidewalk and I observed this. I did not help; I only watched curiously. Finally he broke free and ran off down the street. Somehow I found the dog in my arms, and I brought it back to who I thought was its owner. He was a rather creepy man, tall, thin, yet strong, and he wore a blue workman’s jumper. I handed him the dog. He walked behind a curtain that was half covering the opening to his dirty and cluttered garage. This was no car garage. It was a place of old machines and cob webs and the stench of oil.

When I heard the dog’s neck snap, I could not control the flood of emotion! Desperation, loss, yearning to undo mistakes of the past, anger, fear, a fear that would soon turn to terror. This man was much more than creepy. He turned his gaze to me: he was less than alive and much more than living. He wanted to snap my neck too!

Now dear reader, I ask you to simply remember your favorite dream in which you are being chased by something horrible. No matter your pursuant, you remember the fear as being quite tangible. And of course, your feet provide very little traction when running. Oh you can run, sort of, just enough to keep the chase going, just enough to preserve the fear.

My man had a battle cry, and he said it with a menacing monotone only the undead can produce.
“No change! No change!” he cried.
At the time, this was just about the worst thing such a creature could say to me. If he caught me, all my progress would be undone! He was created by my mind. He was my man, but what was he? Where did he come from?
“No change, No change!”

And then he started shooting at me. Son of a bitch! Thankfully, my body remained nimble despite my pathetic feet. I ducked behind a wall. Each time I peeked my head out, another bullet flew by. No hits. I was fast. I had my knife. I counted and I waited. Out of bullets. I stepped out from behind the wall and threw the knife. It plunged deep in between his collar bones. A curious landing, and the blood began to pour. Not that it mattered. His pursuit did not lessen. And the chase continued.
“No change! No change”

A lousy ending….

Awake. Well that sucked! What a most unwelcome guest! I know why the dog wanted to get away.

Echh, Zombies!

This was a nightmare. I was in "The Happening", you know, the latest thriller from director Sham-a-lam-a-ding-dong. No, I have not seen it. But I was in it. I recall a scene in an underground parking garage. There were no cars around because I was in one of those extended turn-arounds without cars--underground. A lady in a car drove by me, and I got her attention. She stopped, and I asked her if she'd seen any of those freaky zombie people walking around. She said, "Yeah, and you were just now one of them!" "I was?", I exclaimed. "Yeah! You were walking down here all freaky and zombied out, and then you snapped out of it when you came up to my car."

This came as a big surprise, along with a healthy dose of mortification and some serious personal concerns for my own well-being. I was feeling fine, having a cogent conversation. How could I have just been a zombie?

And now the wonderful power of the dreamscape comes in. At this point in the dream, I decided--in some meta-subconscious way--that I would experience myself in this zombie state. And so I did. Just as the lady in the car said, I was wandering around in this extended turn-around in this underground parking garage--a zombie. I could see my surroundings in all the detail that my conscious mind is accustomed to; however, my body was moving of its own accord. I had no control. I was walking (sort of) as if in a mindless stupor, yet my mind was clear--it was along for the ride. Indeed! Even my motivations, my desires, anything that compels any of us to locomote and seek things out were out of my control. My mind, observing and understanding, was unable to influence my trajectories in any way. I was along for the ride!

It was then that I realized that these somnambulistic tendencies could prove quite harmful, even fatal. I felt my body walking along a path of doom. Now, enter fear. Now nightmare. Where would my mind go without its carriage? Even a listless, self-destructive body was better than no body at all. At least that's how it seemed at the time.

"Well, that was interesting," I thought in a different meta-subconscious channel. If Sham-a-lam-a had placed his audience inside the waking mind of an out-of-control zombie, he'd have really had something there. A truly horrifying film! I doubt very much that he did so. For now, I'll take my dream over that flick any day!