A quick explaination about my ‘history’. I signed up to DreamViews a little while ago and as we all know it went down but is returning. In the meantime I’ve had my first definate lucid dream, nothing really too interesting; me waking up (in my dream) walking over to an alarm clock and doing a RC, then walking down a hallway and waking up (IRL).
I’ve had what some people would call scary dreams containing zombies and ghosts and whatnot but I’ve never really minded them. When I was young my parents always enforced the idea that on TV all of the goblins and demons weren’t real so to that I attribute my lack of fear in that respect. Psychological thrillers are what get me though, things that hover on the line of believability, serial killers/conspiracy theories/straight up wackos. Well, this is what I’d describe my dream as, a psychological thriller.
Real time duration: 1 REM period. ----- Dream state duration: 2 weeks.
Warning, this is long, and a lot of details I don’t remember due to the duration.
I was walking downtown in the city where I live (Halifax, Nova Scotia for those who care). I met a group of about 7 people downtown by the waterfront. It was really foggy, one girl stood out from the rest of the group. She was dressed in a black ankle length skirt, a black leather spaghetti strap top, thick soled, black leather mid-calf boots and had short, jet black hair. Not Carrie Anne Moss short (Trinity from the Matrix), about 5 inches (13 centimetres) long and kind of stuck out a little. For makeup, black lipstick and black eyeliner and eyeshadow on pale, almost blueish skin. There was one other noticable physical characteristic but I’ll get to that when she actually explains it to me). The rest of the group looked pretty normal but in the facetious, they’re-not-really-who-they-appear-to-be sense.
Everything was going well after that, the group and I met up a couple of days in a row to hang out at my place and stuff like that. But after a couple days, wierd things started happening. In my apartment, things wouldn’t be where I left them. I remember once in particular I’d left my wallet on my night table when I got home and then later in the day I went to get it and it wasn’t there. It was somewhere else in the house, on the kitchen table. This normally wouldn’t happen because I’m usually organized and leave everything in the same spots. A day or two had passed and I hadn’t seen anything of the group of people (I call them the group because I didn’t know any of their names). I went out at night walking around and I catch a glimpse of them standing by the corner of a building looking at me and when I’d make eye contact they’d turn around the corner and I wouldn’t see them again. This happened a couple of times that night which, needless to say, put me on edge.
Now things start to really escalate. I was sitting here using the computer and I heard familiar voices outside my door. I go to look through the peep hole and I see 3 or 4 of the people from the group standing there, not saying anything. At this point they were starting to freak me out somewhat so I opened the door and told them to stop hanging around my place. Well, I guess they didn’t hear me because they came right in. This was the point when the main girl explained to me about her other physical characteristic that was apparent. She had holes in her face. Not big ones, and not in random spots. The pattern was apparent, it went from bridge of here nose down the whole length, across her cheekbones on both sides and down her jawline to meet at her chin. She said they were needle holes. Someone had taken a needle and thread to her at some point in her life and sewed this pattern into her face. She then raised her skirt slightly and showed me another pattern of needle marks on both of her legs, below the knee, extending down past her boots.
At this point, I thought to myself ‘Enough is enough, these people are freaks and I never want to see them again in my life’. They did leave my apartment that night but didn’t go far. They stayed right outside my door. Every now and then one would leave and soon another would arrive to always maintain 3 or 4 people outside at all times. It was like they were on sentry duty, making sure I never left my apartment. And I didn’t. I really had trouble sleeping, obviously, because there was a group of freakish people standing outside my door that I didn’t want to ever see again.
Next, what could have been the worst thing in that situation to happen, did. The lock on the door stopped working. I couldn’t lock the door. They were free to come in and out as they pleased. But they didn’t. Two or three days passed and I hadn’t slept a wink, constantly on edge due to the aforementioned sentry freaks at my door. They would wait out there and I could hear them talking but didn’t understand the words. I was getting quite frazzled now, as you might imagine a person who hasn’t slept in three days and is constantly looking over their shoulder would. Then it dawns on me. I get the bright idea of blockading the door with a chair so it can’t be opened. Finally, at least I can relax a little.
Wrong. Once they couldn’t open the door, they started coming to the god-damned windows. This put me over the edge and I tried to fight back. I grabbed a folding knife (the same on that I own) and opened up the window and tried to scare them into leaving. The person at my window had their own knife and fought back, cutting my right index finger quite badly. There was a gash along the length of my index finger approximately 3/4 of an inch (2 centimetres) deep and almost the entire length of my finger. I could see inside of my finger and I could feel it fold when I’d move it. I realized I couldn’t fight them off that way so I dropped the knife. They weren’t content to watch me from outside now that I had fought back. I guess they wanted to step it up a notch so they all just sat inside my apartment. I couldn’t do anything but the bare essentials: use the washroom, eat and drink. And they wouldn’t even let me do those things by myself. When I went to the washroom, someone followed me and stood outside the door. I couldn’t get up to get my own food or drink, they went and got it for me. Basically, I was limited to sitting there, me watching them and them watching me. It felt like this went on for another 2 days or so.
By this time, I really was starting to go insane. It was at the point where I couldn’t take it any more so I just jumped up and took off out my door (much like the scene in the movie Conspiracy Theory when Mel Gibson is being held in that empty building by Patrick Stewart, strapped to a wheelchair, his eyelids taped open and they inject him with a drug that makes him tell the truth) frantically running and looking back knowing that my life depended on me escaping. I made it out of the building and they couldn’t keep up with me so I lost them. It was nighttime so there weren’t any people on the street.
The only place I could think to go was the hospital, so they could stitch up my finger and hopefully keep me safe. On the way I met a friend of mine, the only person I saw between my place and the hospital. He noticed my finger was cut badly and said ‘You should go to the hospital, your finger’s pretty bad’. Somewhat out of breath and panicked I said ‘That’s where I’m going, these people are after me, we’ve got to get there fast.’ Enough time had passed from when my finger was cut until now that it was starting to heal. The cut wasn’t so deep and didn’t hurt as much. We eventually made it there and went inside the main doors.
There were a few people inside but all were quiet and minding their own business. We found the map of the hospital and located the section we needed to find. We hit the button to call the elevator but it took a really long time to arrive and when freaks are chasing you, it sucks to wait for an elevator. Once inside I hit the button for the third floor, the doors closed and I felt the elevator move. I looked up at the display for the floor number and watched it count up from 1 to 3. We stopped and the door of the elevator opened.
We hadn’t moved. The numbers counted, I could feel the elevator lifting us but we were still on the main floor. We tried it again and still nothing. We got out and just stared at the thing as a few other people got on and when it came back they weren’t inside, so it worked for them. I said ‘To hell with this’ and took the stairs. IRL my friends father has arthritic hips and had them replaced and he’s starting to notice it too. This was magnified so that we took a long time and I kept on encouraging him to keep up and that we had to hurry. We eventually reached the third floor and I opened the door.
This did not look like any floor of any hospital I’ve ever seen. If I had to guess the whole space was no more than 20 feet long and wide but there were halls, covered in light brown tile, no more than elbows distance wide, layed out in some kind of human maze. There were also black and white bathroom signs (figures of a male/female) hanging on every wall. I started walking around trying to figure this thing out but I just kept getting lost. Once I turned a corner it looked the same as where I had been. I kept trying to figure this thing out, going around a corner then backtracking, taking another direction, but I couldn’t even tell where I had been or where I was going.
Eventually I saw some type of hole down towards the floor that was big enough to crawl in. Now, at this point I should say that I’m not claustrophobic, but I don’t like being in tight spaces when they’re tunnel-shaped. Get locked in a closet, no big deal. stuck in a bathroom stall, so what. If you were to dig a tunnel in the snow big enough to fit in but only stretched out, wouldn’t happen. That’s what this space was, a tunnel that looked like a miniature cave and the walls had been polished smooth by running water for thousands of years. I went in, feet first, and I had to stretch out. The walls of the tunnel were about 4 inches (10 centimetres) from my face and the pace of my breaths became quicker and shallower. I couldn’t back out now though, this was my way out and I had to do it. I was going along okay, inching my way along on my back and I saw that the tunnel was getting brighter. I could, literally, see the light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, I also noticed something else.
The tunnel was getting narrower. I tried going along and squeezing as far as I could and my feet were almost at the end but at this point my face was almost touching the sides and I could move any more. I said to my friend ‘I can’t believe it, I don’t think I can fit’. That pretty much shot the whole idea of the hospital being of any help right out the window. We gave up, left the place and my friend left to go back to whatever he was doing. I made it back to my building and went up to my apartment. I walked through the door.
The place was a mess. Stuff knocked over, empty clothes drawers were strewn about, closet door half ripped off. I went to look for my wallet and it wasn’t there at all. The only thing that was left of any worth was my black knee-length overcoat and a pair of shoes. (afterthought: I don’t think I was wearing shoes the whole time of the trip to the hospital because I left in such haste) Now I noticed something that had never been there before, a large toolbox right beside the window, on the floor, full of knives. I thought to myself ‘This is it, it’s gone too far, nothing is working, I’m going to find out what the hell is going on or die in the process.’ I put on my coat and shoes, walked over to the toolbox and looked through it. Some of these knives I’ve never seen IRL and some looked like regular knives. There were all kinds, serrated bread knives, steak knives, filet knives, butcher knives, short, long, thin, fat. A blade for every occasion. Eventually I settled on a box cutter for my right hand and a steak knife for the left hand (both small so I could keep my hands in my coat pockets and conceal them). I get up and turn around, taking a second to prepare myself as this could be the final moments of my life. I start off towards the door and reach out to grab the handle.
It starts turning before I reach it. I stop and slowly back away, pulling out both knives from my coat. It opens slowly and a man in a dark grey sport jacket, black pants with a beard and somewhat large (looked alot like the guy from Mission Impossible 2, the head of Biocyte, John Macloy) calmly walks through the door. I have never seen this guy before (in my waking and dream life) and he just nonchalantly saunters across the room. The whole time I have the knives in both hands ready to gut him like a fish if he even looks at me sideways. He sat down on the edge of my bed and I just stood there, waiting to see what he was all about.
He looks at me and says ‘You’re not going to believe this Nick, but for the past two weeks you’ve been part of our new reality television series.’ I just stood there and looked at him, totally confused with a ‘WTF’ look on my face. He just sort of mildly grinned at me and then I grinned back and collapsed on the floor from relief. I then said ‘Are you serious?’, he nodded and I asked ‘Where are the cameras?’. He told me to follow him and we both slowly walked out the door and down in front of the elevators.
The entire ‘cast’ (the group of people that were harassing me the whole two weeks), the crew with cameras, my parents, everyone was there. They were all looking at me like I was the guest of honour, shaking my hand, patting me on the back and congratulating me. The main cast member, the freakish girl in black, was there, only she didn’t look the same. She had on a dress and spaghetti strap top, but they were both blue. The dress was a very light material, sort of mesh type stuff but kind of puffy and frilly and the top was another thin fabric. The holes in her face and legs were gone, she had wavy, elbow length, light brown hair and no makeup at all. She looked like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She looked me in the eyes and said ‘Aw…come here’ and opened her arms to give me a hug. We both hugged each other for a bit, she even FELT beautiful.
We both pulled away and then I looked over to the producer and jokingly said ‘So how much money do I get for this?’ We shook hands and I felt a credit card in his hand, which he passed to me. Then he gave me a piece of paper which looked like a statement from VISA that said ‘$463’ at the bottom. My mom was standing there, as I mentioned, and wanted to take a picture, so everyone lined up, smiling from ear to ear, arms on each others shoulders as she knelt down to steady herself.
CLICK
The end.
When I woke up I just layed in my bed for a second wondering what the hell was going on. Then I looked at my finger, where the cut had been. Of course there wasn’t anything abnormal about it at all. I got up, looked at the clocks, did RC after RC, and then let out the biggest sigh of relief perhaps in my life.
Even now as I’m finishing up this post, I still glance down at my finger, checking to be sure there isn’t a scar. This was by far the most mentally involving and elaborate dream I’ve ever experienced.
Still, after the anguish and suffering that I was put through, I’d do it all again for a hug from the girl in blue.
)