Someone Is Trying To Get In

I am a nightmare person, always have been. Big horror show epics. These days the theme has generally been boiled down to various versions of: Someone Is Trying To Get In.

Last night it went like this:

It’s night and I am cleaning up around the kitchen. There is a big pile of dirty dishes and above them a huge white wall. On one side of the wall there are kitchen shelves totally stuffed with what seems at first to be more dirty dishes. But when I look closer they are cake decorating things: icings and sprinkles in bright neon colours. Messy but delightful.

The other side of the wall is bare, dirty white and spotted with mold. It’s creepy in the cold fluorescent light of the empty night kitchen.

I turn to look out the window and there – right outside the window looking in – is a woman. She is young, Asian with long black hair. Lovely in the moonlight. She waves and walks away casual, and I wave back with the distinct impression that she was too close to the house – all the way up on my lawn – to be just casually walking by waving at night.

So I rush to lock the door. But I find it partially open and it won’t close, something is in the way. I pull it open, there is a woman right there, inches from my face, already across the threshold. She is a middle-aged white woman with short mom-ish bottle blond hair and a fake smile stretched painfully, threateningly wide across her face. I scream and wake myself up yelling.

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Marc is used to the yelling. The first time he slept over at my place I woke him up with the same urgent, muffled dream screams. When I told him about that dream he changed all the locks.

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Advice I’ve been given for interpreting dreams is to consider that since these are images and symbols from your subconscious mind, you can imagine that each image is you:

I am a kitchen burdened by dirty dishes. I am messy but delightful.

I am half full of delicious and decorative delights.

I am half empty and growing dark moldy life.

I am a beautiful young woman perhaps coming in, perhaps just passing by.

I am a middle aged mom-type already here.

Terrifying.

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Posted in Dreams, Writing by Risa Dickens.