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Friday, August 22, 2003

Recurring dream

I have had several recurring dreams in my life. Some good, some not so good. Thereís one in particular Iíve had about ten times where Iím being chased by a man with a gun.

But first, back to those love letters for just a moment. They were stored in a little shoe box with a lot of other boxes of all sizes in the attic. The attic was actually a little crawlspace between the upstairs bedrooms and the eves of the roof. To enter the attic you had to crawl through a small doorway in the back of a closet. An bare overhead lightbulb with a string for the switch provides enough light to read by. The crawlspace ran the length of the house. Turning a corner at the far end, there was standing room with a window that looked out over the backyard. Just outside the window was one of those old TV antennas that you could climb up and down. Beyond that space, the crawlspace picked up again on the other side of the house and ended with another door into another closet.

In the dream, Iím in their attic by myself reading the love letters. (In reality, I donít know how I got into their house, but presumably no one was home, and maybe the door was unlocked, so I just walked in.)

Engrossed in the letters, I hear a creak on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Alarmed that Iíve been caught, I reach up and pull the string to turn off the light. The air is filtered with dusty sunlight from the window at the end of the crawl space.

Straining to hear approaching footsteps, I realize my heart is pounding so hard that my ears are filled with the sound of blood rushing through my head. Being careful to make no noise, I crawl towards the light. Someone is rustling around in my friendís bedroom. For a split second I weigh the consequences of opening the window and climbing down the antenna. I decide that itís the fastest way out. The window slides up effortlessly. One problem though, thereís a storm window which makes a very loud screech when I raise it. My heart leaps into my throat. I put my hand on my chest to keep my heart from bursting.

I glance back down the crawlspace I just came from in time to see the head of a man emerge from the little doorway. For reasons I donít know, I decide to enter the crawlspace on the other side of the house. I can hear the man lumbering through the crawlspace on the opposite side and realize that any noise I make wonít be heard because heís making too much noise as it is.

I make it to the end of the crawlspace and exit the attic through another closet. Three long strides and Iím at the top of the staircase. I can see the front door. At this point, speed is more important than silence, and I go stomping down the stairs three at a time.

I run through the front door, down the porch steps, to the driveway. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man coming around the corner at the back of the house. He spots me. He is running towards me pointing a gun at me. My legs are petrified. I canít move. My voice is gone. I canít scream. I force myself to wake up. My heart is still pounding.

Posted by Marie at August 22, 2003 12:51 AM

Comments

Wow, Marie. You really have a penchant for writing. Do you write any fiction at all (I do remember reading the "beginning" of a possible short story in your blog once)?? If you don't, you should consider it.

I know you were just recounting a dream, but you have a great grasp of the language, and it made for a great read! Thanks for sharing.

Oh, and my wife has dreams like this all the time! How scary...

Posted by: Jeff at August 23, 2003 10:41 AM

Wow! Thanks, Jeff. That is really nice to hear. I've been thinking about that story. I'm working on a couple of spin-offs in my head. Maybe I'll get around to posting them in the near future.

Posted by: Marie at August 23, 2003 12:06 PM