Last night, I had a very vivid dream. I quickly wrote down what I could remember of it when I rolled out of bed. It's kinda creepy when I stop and think about. Anyway, here it goes... When it started, I was riding in this truck with an old man that I was related to in some way. I thought he was my dad at first, then I got a look at his profile and thought he looked more like my grandfather, who has been dead for over 20 years. Eventually I decided it must be some far flung relative I have never met before. That made me very uncomfortable in the dream, because the area we drove through was wooded, and quite remote. On top of that, he never spoke to me directly, and didn't seem to notice I was in the truck with him.
After a while, I realized we were driving through this area where I used to live, and I began to feel a little more at ease. That's when we reached the Crossroads store. I realized at that moment, we were going toward my old house, and as the driver slowed down to turn onto my road, that's when I saw this tall, skinny, barefoot country boy standing in the dirt and gravel along the roadside. He looked to be between 17-19 years old. Anyway, the teenager was wearing dirty overalls and thumbing for a ride.
When we turned the corner and drove past him, the teen's face changed from expressionless to very mean. He cursed at the truck, and I heard him yell, "Not smart, since I'm in walking distance of where you live!" Somehow I knew the teen was good for his word. The guy was dangerous. It was very disturbing. I got scared after that, and apparently so did the driver. Instead of turning into my old driveway, he turned in at my ex-neighbor's driveway. I guess he did it to throw the guy off, although it wasn't much of a deception since the gravel drive made a big U shape that connected all the driveways in that little cul-de-sac.
We pulled up in front of the A-frame, Arts and Crafts style house I used to live in, and instantly we were standing on the screened-in front porch. The house looked very different from when I was last there. Instead of country blue and white, the house was a light, caramel brown with redwood trim. Interestingly enough, the blue and white is what my mother painted the house. Caramel brown and redwood are the colors I chose for the first house hubby and I lived in. I even remembered that in the dream.
The porch had a ton of ferns and ivies, and potted palms and rubber trees. It was a veritable jungle up there. I loved it. There were wicker-blade ceiling fans going, and these two heavy-set elderly ladies were sitting in rocking chairs on the porch. I had this impression that I was related to them, too. One of the women, I think, was the driver's wife. The other lady was her sister. They knew me right away, and all I could think was that one of my grandmother's favorite places used to be the front porch. Every day, she'd take her tea and sit on the front porch and watch the traffic go by. It's a southern thing.
I walked over to the screen door, and it looked like the door from my childhood home, only painted redwood. I reached for it to pull it open, and stopped because that's when I heard one of the ladies talking to her husband about calling the police on that teenager down the street. I turned to watch him explain what had happened when we'd turned onto the front road, and the women were visibly upset. The old man said he'd go in and call the sheriff, but he couldn't find the door to get into the house. I called him over to where I was standing, and opened the door for him. The minute he stepped inside, he vanished. The house was empty of furniture. A ghost house. NO one lived there, and yet, I went inside anyway.
The house was a maze of oddly shaped rooms, just like the Winchester house. I wandered around looking through the rooms, and I remembered when I grew up in that house, my mom and dad's bedroom had a fireplace. The closet was right beside the fireplace, and when you opened the door, you could see the exposed brick. In that little cubby-area inside the closet, there were two trap doors. One went up to the attic. The other was literally a secret door. There was a small space around the raw brick that was just large enough for someone to hide in. You had to know where the door was to find it. My friends and I used to play hide and seek in that house, and that area of the closet was a favorite hiding space. I remembered this in the dream, and thought of the teenager on the corner. I decided I could hide from him in that closet if he came to the house.
I moved on and continued to explore. I could hear people in the house, but I couldn't find anyone. I went from room to room, opening doors. The house was far larger and had many more rooms than the real house I remember. I opened one door into an area that looked like Lincoln's Cottage in Washington, D.C. - the actual cottage is on the grounds of the Veteran's Home, where my father-in-law lived until he passed away last year. There were dark, square rooms with chandeliers. Others were rectangular with very old wall paper. I went up several flights of stairs, and the voices became louder and much clearer. I glimpsed daylight through a large window off to my right, and walked over to it. It was a loft with a gazing window. When I looked down below, it was like looking into a living diorama. I could see an antique sales floor and production area. It was a small, workshop bay for a plate factory. There were a lot of colorful plates, and workers were giving tours to small groups of people.
There were kids playing in one group, and one of the adults, a man in a suit, turned to one of the kids, a little boy who was dressed like a child from the 1920s. The man began yelling at him. I assumed it was the kid's dad, who was telling him to leave stuff alone before he broke something. The kid then purposely turned and started breaking plates, and it caused this chain reaction that broke almost every plate in the room. I didn't want to see the kid get in trouble, and I knew I couldn't change anything, so I walked on. Too, I knew it was only a matter of time before that teenager who was down the street "came to the house to kill us", and I wanted to explore other areas of the house, before I had to go hide.
I moved on to a darker area of the upstairs area, and through one of the doors, I could hear chimes. Music. Like what you hear when you open a music box. As I got closer to the door, which was painted the color of a pink rose that has been kept pressed in a book for a long time, I leaned my ear to the door and heard one of the "grandmothers", the old ladies from the front porch, talking inside the room. I wondered who she was talking to, and I opened the door.
It was a playroom filled to the brim with old stuffed bears from the 1920s, and porcelain-face baby dolls. Everything looked dusty, moth-eaten and old. There were vintage prams, high chairs, tea sets on tiny tables. And a little girl with light brown hair stood across the room with her back to me. I never saw her face. She didn't turn around, and didn't seem to notice I was in the room. She was playing with a working, mini roller coaster set that had a train of cars large enough to put dolls and bears in. The track ran around the whole room, which was probably 16x18. A good sized room. I was amazed at the elaborate old roller coaster set. It was made out of metal, and the cars were colored with cloisonne designs like what you'd see at a circus, or a county fair.
For several minutes, I watched the little girl play. She wore an off-white lace dress with a faded pink back bow, and I guess she was maybe seven years old. She put one of the dolls into a roller coaster car, and when she had the doll seated, she pulled the string on the doll's back, and the voice that came out of it sounded like one of the women downstairs on the porch. That was the voice I'd heard through the door. It scared me, hearing it come from a doll.
The little girl then walked two steps to the left and turned a switch, and the roller coaster took off. It carried the doll around the track, but the girl didn't turn to watch it. She stood there in the same spot, her hand on the switch, her face away from me. I assumed she was a ghost, and decided I better leave the room so she could play in peace. That's when I had the feeling that the teenager from up the street was nearby. The thought terrified me. Was he in the house already?
I blinked, and suddenly I was downstairs in the kitchen, and it was nighttime. The floor was black and white checker board tile, and all the appliances were a deep country blue, which made the entire room look darker than it really was. There were two windows, both diamond wire windows - one at the far end of the narrow kitchen, and the other one over the sink. The room, although clean, looked like it had not been used in many years. I went over to the sink and looked out into the yard. We used to have a swimming pool out there, but in the dream it was a pond, and a heavy fog rolled off of it.
I saw someone standing near the pond, and it startled me when I realized it was the dangerous teenage boy. But something had happened to him. At first I thought the old ladies from the porch had done something to him, although I didn't know what. Then it dawned on me he was like the little girl. He was a ghost. They were all ghosts.
I watched the teen walk over to the pond. He carried a lit, antique lantern in his hand. He walked straight into the pond, and went totally beneath the water. I stood at the window, nervous, not knowing what to do or what to expect. A few minutes later, I saw the lantern light underneath the water. The teen was coming up out of the pond, and he raised the lantern up out of the water first. Then he came up, arm, head, body, then legs. When he made it fully onto the bank, I noticed there were palm sized, fiery orbs of light following him out of the pond. Will o' wisps. Dozens of them. They were different pastel colors, pink, blue, yellow, purple and green, and moved like they were intelligent - or at least conscious of where they were going. The teen turned without saying a word and started leading them away into the fog. I realized at that moment, I was no longer in the kitchen. I was standing outside watching the procession of ghost lights.
I knew now the teenager was leading the spirits of the dead away. To somewhere. A new realm. Good or bad, I don't know. But it worried me, and I didn't dare follow him or the fiery orbs of light. Instead, I took off running in the dark, in the direction of the heavy, wooden gate my dad built for the end of our driveway back when we lived there.
The minute I went through the gate, I woke up.
Psychologically, the dream probably means I'm nuts, so I won't over analyze it, but I did think it was interesting enough to share. <wiggly eyebrows>
I don't have much else to write about for now. I'm working on some requested material, and cleaning up the erotica collection so I can release it on Smashwords later this month. Once summer rolls around (actually it won't be much longer since Mini only has a few weeks left of school), I should have more interesting things to blog about. Until then, I'll enjoy the slow times here at home. That's all for now... <3