Well, I certainly didn’t need an alarm clock this morning. The dream that woke me up at 6:56 served well enough. I don’t often dream, and even when I do I don’t usually remember my dreams, but let me tell you, this one was a doozy.
There’s some nonsense about Swedish composers and a school play about the Oregon Trail and picking up legos (Duplos, actually) at the very beginning, but these are all scenes that don’t really cohere. At some point, something resembling more of a story line begins to emerge.
It’s Christmas, and the extended family is over at my house. By this, I mean the old house on Price Lane; even though we haven’t lived there since I was thirteen, it’s the only house my dreams have ever known. Katie and Catharine are over too, for some reason, and we’re sitting in the living room with my brother. I’m talking about how my family left me behind for something or other; I don’t remember what.
At this point, however, all conversation ceases because we’re distracted by something in the backyard. A large mothy creature has landed in the backyard. It’s roughly human-shaped and -sized, but purple, with pathetic little wings and an enormous moth-like head. Big eyes like Venemoth, and something big and droopy coming out of the top of its head, but a darker purple.
We’re all gaping at this thing, and everyone starts taking pictures through the windows in the dining room and the kitchen. But the flashes seem to bother it; it walks forward and knocks on the dining room window.
Everyone scrambles back from the windows, and I retreat onto the living room couch, which for some reason is missing a cushion. Then the thing casually punches through the glass and climbs in the window. It walks into the kitchen and begins wreaking havoc, starting with throwing food; there are potato slices everywhere. In a matter of moments this creature has gone from a curiosity to an invader to a hostile intruder that must be dealt with.
My dad runs to the garage and grabs a baseball bat, but the thing takes it from him, so he has to grab another one. In any case, he and the thing start battling with baseball bats. Katie has a broom, which she’s using like a quarterstaff. I’m stuck behind a crowd of relatives in the dining room. All of us have either our cameras or our cell phones out – but rather than calling the police, the ones with phones are either calling other relatives or getting video of the incident, just as I am.
At this point, the dream skips ahead. I don’t remember how we got rid of the creature, but we were plainly victorious. Now it’s just me and Katie and Celina alone in the kitchen, making dinner as we so often do. But we aren’t in our kitchen here; we’re still in my old kitchen, cleaning up the potato peelings and spilled water from the fight with the moth-thing. There’s cold air blowing through the jagged hole in the dining room window, and I close the curtains, but it still makes me nervous. I mention, lightly, that the windows are obviously a serious weakness that will have to be dealt with in case of the zombie apocalypse, but I’m quaking inside over what’s just happened.
And that’s where I woke up. I don’t even get the satisfaction of knowing what happened to the thing, or how we beat it, or even if we managed to salvage a satisfactory dinner out of the whole thing. (We were making salmon and potatoes). Mostly I remember the sensation of being terrified in my own house, as though it’s no longer a safe place.
Dear subconscious, where the heck did that come from?