Lex says, "Man, what a weird dream.."
It was morning, or early afternoon. The overcast daylight filtered in from outside, and I could see the outlines of the hills through the window, even though I was under the sheets of the bed. I had been here before, and felt that it was an amalgam of all of the places that I'd lived - although in reality, I knew it to be an attic room at Torrs Park. Somewhere far above my head, clouds drifted and thunder rumbled in the heat of a brewing storm.
The house was haunted, and always had been; it made me feel weary to know that every house that I lived in was this way, and that no-one else could sense it: I was the only one to be able to feel it, and to call it. Somehow, it was attracted to me. I carried it always - a constant companion, a familiar. It lived outside, under the stairs, in the shadows and the recesses of the house that you could hear creaking at night. In the darkness, the house talked and the shadows walked, marching like giant birds with leathery wings that cast waves of dust into the air, when they moved.
Under the covers, I could hear a whistling sound, and I knew it to be me. I couldn't stop myself: I was calling it - I had to. If I let it come to me, we would be together again, and I could stop it wandering in the darkness, and causing mayhem. If I brought it back, the storm would pass and I would wake. I was compelled to do this - the more that I tried to be quiet, the louder the sound became. As I whistled, the air crackled with electricity and I could feel the hairs on my neck bristling. Sparks began to fill the room, jumping around the shrouded furniture, under their dusty sheets. I couldn't see it, but I knew that it was close. The thunder shook the house again, and it was there: I could feel its soft spidery legs upon me, touching my face.
I woke up.
Lex says, "It's not very good.."
Lex says, "It's rather rough around the edges, but that's a good approximation of the dream."
Lex says, "Too many commas."
Lex says, ".. and I don't like 'the shadows walked' etc."
Lex says, "I took that from somewhere. It doesn't fit."
Lex says, "The dream is a typical 'old hag' dream, similar to the ones that I had when I was a child. Sometimes I can see the 'monster', and sometimes not - usually, it's worse not to see it, than to have its hideous nature revealed (or to find out that it's just a plush toy that your grandmother bought you, many years ago). The feeling of it drawing closer and being unable to move: that's the scary bit. This time, although I was hiding under the sheets, I could see the room, lit in bluish monochrome, like the flickering light of an old television set."
Lex says, "Now it's starting to resemble Poltergeist."
Lex says, "When I was shaving, I almost broke into laughter as I considered that the spider may have been inspired by the things that lurk up my nostrils. I was looking at my nostrils yesterday, and they looked like hideous caverns of hair, covered in dead, dry snot. My teeth are like yellowed, mouldy, crumbling gravestones - blackened pillars guarding the entrances to tombs. Good grief.. I need a cuppa."
Lex says, "I think that I might put that on the website."
(Note to self: get some teeth-whitener and nose-hair clippers - if such a thing exists. This is a problem known to plague middle-aged men, such as myself)