Night Frights

I jerked awake from a bad dream and looked groggily at the digital clock on my nightstand. The bright red letters read 1:16 a.m. Experience told me I would not capture sleep again, so I shambled into the kitchen and started some coffee. I then made my usual rounds through the apartment, making sure all the closet doors were closed securely, and nothing lingered under the beds.
Satisfied that nothing was amiss, I parked myself in front of my computer and switched on the power. Invisible parts whirred into motion in the early morning silence.
Something moved in my closet. I was sure of it, as I heard the distinct sound of a hanger sliding across the metal rod supporting most of my shirts and other attire. This closet is wide, with two folding doors - I slowly approached them, listening for anything else out of the ordinary, or perhaps just acknowledgement that what I had heard was something quite normal and easily justified.
Instead, I heard a slight rustling of clothing. Fear urged a quickening heart, a racing pulse. I most surely did not want to open the closet doors, but what was the alternative? To merely sit and wait for grotesque beast to emerge hungry from its chosen tomb seemed more a consequence than taking action. Besides, how could anything possibly be in the closet? I had checked the locks on the doors and windows only hours earlier.
I readied myself in front of the closet doors and grasped the two small knobs on either side; I would yank them open simultaneously and surprise whatever was hiding inside, waiting for me. With a deep breathe, I pulled open the doors, and immediately saw a dark gap between clothing that had been spread apart. Within the gap, the outline of a face, two bulging eyes glaring at me hatefully, frozen in a mannequin-like state.
I jumped back, nearly tripping over my own feet, and rushed to the other side of the room. I dared another look, and saw nothing. I heard only the quiet hum of the computer. For several minutes I stood indecisive, yet fully aware that I would have to again investigate.
As I moved past the bed, I imagined an arm reaching out, a large, hairy hand grasping my ankle; the thing under the bed would surely pull me under for whatever ghastly purpose. Apparently, that particular creature was not at home, for I passed safely to the closet, which was now yawning wide open.
I dared an arm inside and slowly slid clothing back and forth - in the end, my efforts revealed nothing. Releaved, but still harboring a racing heart, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the darkness of the closet. What strange thing had taken up space inside, and for what reason had it chosen me?
I finally came to a conclusion - once the thing saw me, it must have realized it had chosen the wrong person altogether. The real intended victim was you.
Take your time. It will wait. Simply work your way to the closet and try to get a jump on the thing. And I shall try to imagine the look on your face when you first lay eyes on the thing in your closet...

Hello, and welcome....

The Dream: World Surreal

The other night I found myself lost in a place in which I was part of a somewhat familiar, yet alien landscape. The surroundings, the people, all in black and white. At some point, I heard a knocking emanating from nowhere and everywhere, and as it grew more discernable, I discovered I was awakening to someone knocking on my door. I had just exited a most bizarre and mysterious realm that still puzzles even the brightest of minds to this day: The dream.

While the dream is one of the most mysterious of experiences, the vast majority of us visit the world surreal regularly. It is an accepted part of the human condition, the subject of study, stories, and simple conversation; and the more we delve into the subject, the more we realize that dreams are much more than what we theorized in the beginning.

Depending on the person, dreams can play a significant role in one’s life. I cite myself as an example: I have been plagued with nightmares from an early age, following seeing several horror films as a child. In the dreams of youth, gargantuan monsters walked the landscape freely – they were the product of a child’s imagination. In adulthood, the monsters are people.

In the conscious world, I see strangers daily, and have no fear. After all, strangers populate the entire globe, milling around every time I go out in public. However, in the world of the dream, strangers take on a whole dimension. They are alien, and I am frightened. I gaze around, and do not know where I am - treachery and trickery are everywhere. Keep in mind that this is only one man’s experience, and perhaps a few others, but we are all different from the start, and our dreams seem to differ based a person’s experiences. Nevertheless, we all share one element, though controversial with the mainstream public, and that is the prophetic dream.

I learned of this quite a while back, after having several odd experiences involving dreams and the conscious world. I found that amidst the usual stream of rapid images and nightmares (nightmares involving people – they really are the scariest things in the world), I would have the occasional dream that was, let us say, off kilter.

For instance, in one dream, I was in a hospital viewing tiny babies wrapped in newspapers. Newspapers! And to make it even more bizarre, I saw animals in the hallways, most notably a gray cobra slithering like liquid across a white tiled floor. All of the elements in the dream just did not match, but seemed significant.

The next day, while talking with my mother on the telephone, she exclaimed, “That baby is playing with a cobra!” She had been watching television, and the program was showing a baby playing with the dreaded thing. I really had no idea what she was talking about, but I explained my dream to her, and she merely replied, “Oh, I’ve dreamt about snakes before.” Regardless, I had the a most unsettling feeling upon hearing about it.

To top it off, a few days later, while watching television, I chanced upon a police drama in which an officer had to deliver a baby in an abandoned house. Upon delivery, he looked to and fro for something, anything to wrap the child in; and what do you think he found? Newspapers. He snatched up some newspaper and wrapped up the newborn. I immediately made a connection. More experiences would follow, and I learned how to spot a “significant dream.” I believe I am not alone in my conclusion that prophetic dreams are real.

I think the most widely recognized aspect of the dream is symbolism. Dream symbolism has been studied for many years, books have been written, and we now know many dream icons symbolizing the different aspects of our lives. The literature is endless in regards to the hidden meanings behind dreaming about everything from sex to spiders to flying. One object may signify a persons fears or anxieties, while another may be amplifying ones’ hidden desires.

Overall, dreams are trying to tell us something in their own sublime and oftentimes grotesque ways. Dreams will always be the subject of conjecture and debate. I choose to embrace dreams, for without them, sleep would be dull, would it not?

Some Thoughts..

Good afternoon and welcome. It is always nice to share thoughts with friends, and I have lacked a lot of extra time lately - I wanted to at least least folk know I am still alive and kicking (though I am not too sure about the kicking).
As some writers suffer through short periods of writer's block, I actually have too many projects I am currently juggling around in my mind and on paper - and to be honest, I am at best a horrible juggler. It is difficult to create a schedule of what to do when, because when characters and story suddenly speak, it is a good idea to follow their lead.
Right now, I find it unimportant to list all my accomplishments, all I plan to do - suffice it to say, that eventually you shall see the fruits of my labors.
The best way for me to communicate with you is with words. I am an introvert, no stranger to solitude, and for me it is the best way to keep in sync with my thoughts.
I do not claim to be the most profound writer, the most well liked among the public's scrutinizing eye. This I accepted long ago. It is simply impossible to please everyone. Nevertheless, there is always one simple truth. No matter who dislikes you or what you write, there are those who most surely like you and your writing. I stopped worrying long ago about critics and such - after all, it is their job to criticise. Just as it is a publisher's job to reject what they deem unsuitable to their needs. Always remember that publishers must see samples of works from thousands of writers every year, and while we do not always agree with their decisions, we must accept it as a normal part of writing.
Putting that aside, whether I am writing a novel, short story, or blog, I must write something because the satisfaction of conveying thought to written word is an accomplishment unparalleled.
I am sure most writers will agree with me.
This being said, I must say I have the utmost respect for all writers - be it the ten-year-old who has written a small poem, to the teenager in the throes of a confused and ever-changing life whose only true way to explain his or her feelings is on paper, to the more serious writer (novice or professional) who has set out to tell a story in hopes that one day someone will read it and say, "Wow, that's pretty good!"
Cheers to all who have accomplished these goals.