Fever Dreams on Psycho Themes

You know what the worst part about being sick is? Well, besides the headaches, nausea, fevers, dizzy spells, backaches, joint pains, and diminished energy? To me, it’s the weirdo dreams you get.

Here are the four I got during this last illness that I’m just now getting over:

1 – I was involved in some type of battle, where the position I took while sleeping in bed somehow correlated to my defense against the enemy attacks. For example, if I were to lay on my back like I normally do, the enemy would not be able to attack me from a certain direction. However, if they decided to come at me from the side, I had to shift my position (say, curled up on my left side) to counter their attack. So I spent the entire night twisting my superficially-sleeping body into various Tetris shapes.

I wish I could be more descriptive than that – it was a pretty surreal dream. I remember that, somehow, I was both commanding the battle from the trenches in army fatigues AND lying in bed in my pajamas. Not only that, but whenever I got up during the night and went back to bed, the EXACT SAME DREAM picked up right where it left off. And that happened about six or seven times (it was a bad night).

The weirdest part, though, is that I had the exact same dream the LAST time I got sick way back in April. I haven’t the faintest idea what it means, but I think somebody ought to notify Nintendo that Tetris Wars would be a pretty awesome game.

2 – I had to fight off a demon that had somehow taken up residence in my apartment. When I say “demon,” I’m not referring to a Legion-type swine-possessor, but rather a Doom-3 monstrosity, with skin the color of bad teeth and the face of Gilbert Gottfried. This particular demon made dolls out of people’s heads. I saw three heads just lying in the gutter outside my apartment, and, instead of being horrified, I idly wondered why the demon decided not to make dolls out of THOSE.

Anyway, for some reason, my shotgun didn’t hurt the demon at all (also, I had a shotgun). I retreated until I was able to locate a weapon better suited for combat, which I eventually found: a plastic pitchfork, the kind you use for your six-year-old boy’s devil costume. I found the pitchfork in a dumpster. In fact, I actually passed over three or four other pitchforks, because they weren’t sufficiently “cool.”

End of dream (I don’t actually know if the plastic pitchfork hurt the monster). On to number 3.

3 – My parents invited The Jesters Royale, the improv comedy team I’m a member of, to perform in the street in front of their house. I created a character for one scene named “Chunk-a-lunk.” He was supposed to be a caveman, but, for some reason, I was wearing a costume consisting of blue overalls with bright, colorful patches on the knees and (ahem) posterior and a yellow shirt.

Now that I’m awake, I realize that the outfit I wore in the dream was actually a costume I had to use during my high school’s production of the musical Li’l Abner, wherein I played a very unhygienic hillbilly… which is almost like a caveman.

4 - I've just woken up, and I'm washing my face in the bathroom sink as I'm getting ready for work. When I pull my hands away from my face, I'm actually holding bits of my face in my hands. I have two eyes in my hands, completely hollow (and blue, even though my eyes are brown), and also my upper lip, and bits of hair from the top of my head and from my moustache.

When I look up at the mirror, I see that I still have eyes in my head, but the hair from my face actually came all the way off. There's still a little bit of hair left on my upper lip, but there's very little of it, and it's all long, like mouse whiskers. And the hair from my head didn't come off from the lowest part but, about an inch above my hairline, I know have a perfect crescent-moon bald spot, slightly fough, like what happens a few hours after your shave.


So, on the one hand, these dreams have me TOTALLY freaked out (except for "Chunk-a-lunk." I may actually decide to pull that character out for an improv show one day - I'll find a better outfit). On the other hand, though, I think I might have some potential as a horror writer. In your stupid face, Clive Barker!