How many people have dreams like a Japanese horror film? Near the end of my dream, it all kind of came together like The Ring; however, the rest was fascinatingly detailed and in its own little world.
The whole story line was relatively continuous from one dream sequence to the next. Somehow, I managed to meet new people in my dream- people I have never seen before- and have a dream “history” with them. It makes me wonder if I’ll see these people in my dreams ever again.
There were two guys that I had apparently gone to high school with. (It’s definitely been more than 5 years since I’ve been in high school too) Our latest school project involved writing a type of research paper. We were slackers, of course, and procrastinated until the very end to finish it. The paper ended up being hastily thrown together and we got a very poor grade for it. The same day, or some time in the very near future from that moment, our class started to watch a movie. It was in our curriculum to finish this movie, but not in class.
Therefor, I got together with my two male dream buddies (and a few other people who I presume were classmates) and we all ventured out to some old, grand hotel which, for some odd reason, was showing this film after the majority of the place was shut down for the night. Now that I think of it, however, the hotel seemed like it was abandoned entirely, and it reminded me of a more modern version of The Shining hotel. The place was rumored to be haunted, and the only evidence of this that I saw, if it was evidence at all, was an old man standing at the reception desk who may or may not have been a real person sent to monitor guests for the movie. He did look creepy though, with white hair and a deadpan face. My character in the dream was convinced that he was a ghost.
The dream then skips forward with no mention of the movie or its contents.
My dream buddies and I find ourselves on a trip to this tiny resort island in the middle of a large lake. We were to have a day trip with what seemed like the rest of our class. There were 20 or more people with us and some chaperones. We arrived on a rather large boat that was constructed in a very makeshift manner… it was a ferry, but the stairs to the upper deck were made out of loosely assembled planks, as though the stairways had JUST been taken out and someone had to replace them quickly for our ride. During this ride, my character had the odd compulsion to write a LOT of poetry. In being dissatisfied with it, I would tear it up in little shreds and throw the bits to the water. I suspect it may have been love poetry for one of my dream buddies- presumably the tall, thin, pale one with the wavy dark blonde hair and the bright blue/green eyes. I only remember his face more vividly than the other because my character was prone to inspecting it from time to time, which leads me to believe in the aforementioned crush.
In transit, our boat witnessed another boat with approx 5 passengers approaching our destination before us. (They were in a speed boat, and ferries are notoriously slow). It was a bright, sunny, beautiful day. It seemed like it was spring outside, perhaps a 75 degree temperature, and a bit windy. The island was moderately covered in a variety of deciduous trees, mainly pine, and the ground was covered in orange pine needles. When we finally docked our ferry and filed out onto the island, we all noticed that the people who came in before us left the majority of their belongings strewn near the landing. Instantly we knew something was wrong. Some of the braver people in our group (consisting mostly of girls) ventured forth to investigate. Having stepped foot only less than 5 minutes on the island, already we could sense the eery desertion of the place, aside from one little thing. One of the girls from our group- a tall, attractive girl with long brown legs and a kind face- runs into the bushes to retrieve a small terrified dog. It was a Chihuahua puppy, and it very fleetingly took comfort in the girl’s arms before his tiny body tensed again and started growling at a small, bright, unassuming clearing in the trees.
It was such a growl that one very rarely hears from such a small animal. Everyone froze in their place with terror. The next thing I saw was nothing that I could have ever expected. There was an explosion of displaced light- like droplets on a camera lens- only these were cubes. They were mostly transparent except where light reflected off the edges in soft hues of pink, blue, and purple. Nobody knew what to think. Nobody moved. A few of the people in front connected with these cubes, and when they did, the cubes attached themselves to the person and the edges turned a solid gold color. When this occurred, the person affected would turn a ghastly white and start hyperventilating and desperately search for something to write with/on. It was the oddest thing… these people were compelled to write after the cubes had adhered themselves to their bodies. Their faces changed too. They were white and twisted with fear; the shine in their eyes began fading quickly, and it looked as though this writing was the last thing they’d ever do.
This behavior threw the rest of the group in so much fear that we all abandoned our afflicted classmates and ran back to the boat. The small luminescent cubes floated after us like darts targeting their prey. Having been behind the adventuring group, I got back to the boat sooner and immediately climbed to the top of the rickety planked stairs (which now seemed several stories tall). From this vantage, I could see some of my classmates running out into the water to escape the cubes, and yet failing. Much like bubbles, the cubes could only hover so far off of the ground and it seemed like they steadily sank with progression. The ones caught in the water were the unluckiest of us all. When touched, they thrashed and wailed, and not being able to pen soon enough, they simply sank like rocks. It was as though a monster within the lake were taking them from beneath.
I was not completely safe, however. Some cubes had followed us into the boat, touched some of our mates, and left them scribbling on the walls. When their mysterious task was completed, the person would slump over lazily and stare with blank, dead eyes. My two dream buddies and I were still rushing to the top of the ferry when we all stopped. On the landing of the top deck, nearest to a few terrified chaperones, the explosion of light formed into a little girl about 6 years old. I was only about 8 feet away from her. She asked one of the men if she could use his phone.
He immediately gave it to her (and for some reason it was one of those really big early 90’s cell phones) and she called someone. It was her mother. She asked her mommy if she was coming home any time soon and why she didn’t want to come with daddy on their trip. I could tell that every word she said was full of measured anger. “Why wouldn’t you come with?” She said, “why?” These weren’t the words of an ignorant child. It was frightening to listen to her. Finally she screamed, “I hate you mommy!” and hung up on her. When she did, her head bowed, her arms fell to her sides, and she seemed to begin to cry.
It was then that something distracted me from behind. It was my two dream buddies. The cubes must have gotten them when I was watching the little girl and their feverish writing must have come to an end already. When I turned around, I saw the face of the blonde one and it horrified me. His once beautiful, sparkling eyes were now dead, cloudy and grey. It was as though the entire sky had turned instantly overcast and a huge storm was about to begin. He looked right at me. With a small grin, he pulled the gold cubes out of his side like a dagger and tossed them at me. When airborne, the cubes became completely translucent again. I swatted at the little reflections of light like a mad woman fending off visions, although I couldn’t really see them. The weather became cold and the air around me staled and became silent. Suddenly, my arm felt like it became a brick of ice, and the feeling spread like fire across my entire body. It stole all of my strength and covered my skin with a clammy dampness. I could hear my own heartbeat in my head. It had attached itself to me.
I could feel my life draining from me, and I began panicking just like the others. I stole a pen from the dead hands of one of my mates and discovered before me a large, white, beautiful wall in the stairwell. It was perfect for what I needed to do. I began drawing. Perhaps because I was different, or that my will was stronger than the others, instead of writing, I felt I needed to draw my own self portrait on that perfect wall. I could feel the girl trying to control me… she wanted me to instead draw a portrait of her. I was greatly conflicted, but I kept going. When I got lost in my work, time seemed to stand still and the draining appeared to pause, or at least work at a much slower rate. At the very end of the portrait, and as I was beginning to wake up in real life, and my dream life was waning into the grasp of the little girl, my dream self began panicking more. She turned with much pain to the little girl silently crying at the top of the stairs and held out her arms.
“Such rage!” I said to her. “Am I much different than you?”
The girl seemed stricken for a moment, and through the blur of my own eyes, I could see her moving her head to look at me with what I assumed was a touch of regret.
My character cried as she tried to force herself up the last few bits of stairs toward the girl. All I wanted to do was hold her and tell her that everything was going to be alright.
I never reached her.
Why is this necessary?