The beach.

Note: This dream has haunted me for sometime.


It is dark. I look out to the ocean which reflects the midnight skies; speckled with the light of the distant stars against dark velvet. I step onto the beach and feel the cool dampness of the sand between my toes. In the distance I see him waiting for me again. This feels real but I know it's a nightmare. He looks over to me and a sense of loss fills me with dread. I walk towards him and he looks frightened.
"I want to come home," he whispers to me, "Why can't I come home?"
These words escape me: "You're dead."
"Why won't you take me home?" He's shaking.
"I want you to come home." I begin to sob, "We miss you."
"I can never come home. I'm sorry for what I did." He turns his face to the darkness and vanishes.

I gazed down into the glassy abyss. The water was thick with green algae which made the water shine like an emerald diamond. My toes pierced the calm surface but I withdrew quickly as I saw something stir in the deep. A voice whispered, enticing me into the pond that looked as deep as a lake. 

Ghost house

I stood outside of a house with white walls. This was my new home. I walked inside and I was immediately frightened of the darkness that was within. I didn’t have anything with me so I just wondered amongst the old furniture.

Then, I could hear a scratching coming from a closed door. I approached the door (but my mind was screaming for me to leave) and opened it. There was a corridor and I could not see the end of it for the darkness. I became aware that something lurked beyond the threshold so I walked down the corridor into the dark. I could not see anything but I could hear something awful- like a deep, rasping intake of breath. I found a box of matches in my pocket and struck a match. There, in the flickering light was a huge black dog. An omen. It’s deep brown-red eyes stared into me. I reached out to touch the dog but it faded into smoke. The fire from the match went out and I was left in the darkness.

Cowboy.

I was at the Conservative club near by where I grew up. There was a DJ but no one else was around. After a while of waiting a man walked through the door. He was wearing an expensive suit and his hair was neatly slicked back. He was lean, tanned and handsome. It dawned on me that this guy was Patrick Bateman. I needed to get out, so I climbed out of a window.
I was facing a beautiful, white American suburban house with a white picket fence. This house was grand, perfect and sinister. I walked into the empty house to look around. I knew that was a bad idea. I crept into the living area where to my utter horror (ironically) a dead boy was hanging from the light. I had to get out, escape. I ran for the front door but it was locked. As I struggled with the handle I heard a thud. The rope had snapped. I stood, locked to the spot in terror. Thud. He was after me.
I ran up the stairs. I needed to get to safety. Thud. All the rooms were either locked or empty. Thud. He was getting closer. Finally I broke into one of the rooms. This room was a boy's room, completely decorated in a western themed wallpaper and toys. I ran to the window to get out. Thud. I couldn't open the window. Thud. He's in the room. Thud. A horrible rattling, rasping breathing noise filled the room. Thud. I turned around. The child stood before me white and dead. I was terrified he'd take my soul.