09-27-2012, 12:01 AM
9/21-22/12
Way Down South
I picked the first dream I experienced I thought I would want to remember. Even asleep I thought I only have time for one. I had many, at least 4, complete narratives after this one, all interesting and good in their own ways, and I recalled them enough to compare them against the one I had tagged earlier. I never woke myself to write the other ones, just the one I had selected, but weather I wake or not, I come to the pause points where i can either wake of at least move my body to record them. I chose not too, and even before and after I woke I recapped all of my dreaming, but by the time I woke, they were all gone except the one I had earlier decided on. That in and of itself was an interesting exercise in both self control, and states of awareness I thought. I am paying more attention the places between dreams, where I exist ins elf reflection, and can see my body etc. Pivot points or gates that seem to come naturally every few hours, or more if I force them.
I am with my mother and my sister. We are driving along an interstate highway, I see a road sign its interstate ten. It seems several days into a long road trip. Its in the new vehicle so its quite spacious My sister is listening to satellite radio..one of the 80's new wave stations. I am enjoying tears for fears “everybody wants to rule the world”. I am reading on my ipad, and glancing up looking at cypress with hanging moss. I can see the ocean, I think we are in Louisiana
We stop in a motel in a small town. Its set a bit back into some pine woods. I have a room and my sister and mom share one. I go in my room as the sun is setting, there are lots of buzzing insects and maybe cicades making that creepy clicking sound. Something happened that night. I was laying on the hard motel bed, looking at some water stain in the corner of the ceiling. A big buzz and then a ball of light enters the door like its not there. Flashes of the swamp etc. The next morning, im on the bed, and there is dried mud on the bottom of my shoes. I remember flashes like a dream. I seem to be alright, other then confused.
We leave the main highway, and are curving around the coast on another road. The landscape doesn’t look correct to me...lots of sand bu the vegetation is sparse. This area had been devastated by Katrina it seems. We pass a closed bar, a building that was never rebuilt in a small town. It has my last name. I know this was a place, because I found it after Katrina, owned by a distant relative. So again, I know the general area we are in now. I am using the cars connection to look things up on the internet via the ipad. The scenes from outside the window, and from the device, and my own perception, which has started becoming defuse, sorta form a cloud. Im no longer in the dream in the same way. I see a story, that stretches in time. Its not exactly the same place, but its similar environment. A group of people settled on one end of a bay. In time their city grew, from steam trains to modern era. I watched it like a slow time lapse, populated by ghosts. There was an island, first connected by a ferry boat, and in later times a two lane bridge. An old plantation on a low island at the edge of the sea. In time, the island got longer, and shorter, as storms and time ate at it. But it was a power spot, and somehow the manor house, even when abandoned, continued to stand. It is near modern times. A small group of people transfer to the outer barrier island, and live in the manor, and start growing some sort of plant. The island is full of ghosts. Only special people can live on the island...it is strange. I return to my focus in the car, and I see, as we pass, the bridge tot hat island...just another quiet abandoned road in this outer blasted area.
Latter in the day, we find a highly recommended restaurant to eat dinner at. The parking lot is under more pine trees, and the soil is sandy like a drained swamp or silty soil. Blacktop as pored around trees, so its an interesting place to park. We go into a fine dining establishment. We order, but nothing on the menu is exactly what I want to eat. The food seems more french then southern. As we eat, the chef comes to speak to us. He is a strange creole man with a heavy french creole Arcadian accent. His food, although it has local flavors, is more old heavy french cuisine, lots of cream sauces. He ask me if I enjoyed my meal. I say yes...but answer honestly this is not the type of food I wanted. He says “What dat for you wanted made he-ear” I say I don’t know. Opossum. Squirrel, crayfish, Gator, stuff like that. He says “mon ami, you want etuffee (something like this) of the bay-oo”. Gots to go on dat swamps for what you want. He finds this funny for some reason. Latter, my mom and sister are talking to this head chef, in the kitchen. There is a strange man like a little goblin or gnome. Singing in french. Has an interesting energy. He is cooking in a big pot, throwing handfuls of things in. there are 12 small bowls like Tibetan singing bowls. Each has a bit of flavor food to add tot he main dish (bacon, olives, chicken livers etc) One of the bowels...smells so good. Before i know it, if put my finger sin it and eaten the contents. It looked like clams, in a mellow buttery sauce...tangy. Then I freeze, my gosh, I just ate out of the prep bowl, in the kitchen, stole essentially. He stops singing and reaches for the bowl. Look confused seeing its tasty contents were gone (was like the canned fish but much better) he says...to fe? Something like this. I have to squelch my reaction. But once i do I see the bowl refilled, and him haply humming again. As we leave the restaurant, i ask my mom and sister if we can find a swamp place for the food I want. They say “no” not going of the {established} roads. My sister says Louisianian is like a Haiti with more money. Not a place for outsiders to go wandering under the full moon in the bayou.
We stop at another Hotel. This time I sleep without being disturbed, but my dreams are strange. I have this weird dream of me writing my life like it was a dream, and getting certain parts right, and some wrong in a comical way. And then posting them on the internet like it was interesting. What a silly dream! Then I realized...ohhh...yea. I laughed. D'oh.
We have left Louisiana, and are going to upstate Alabama. But its still close to a river. That evening, we stop in a strange town. There is a river valley, a very deep one. Before the road goes down the valley, we turn off on a scenic overlook and I stare. Its a picturesque town, stately, a university, a Georgian revival government or county hall building. Columned manors, old houses, large stately trees. Also compact? Like its separate from the next dream valley over, its own world somehow. There is a stranger thing. It is a deep valley, a a road continues on the ridge...soaring over one end of the town, is a bridge...but it only goes half way. An ancient bridge...the end is wood planks...that drops off...eagles soar around it. It is magical seeming.
We go into town, and find a hotel...a fancy one this time no cheap places here. I want to go onto the half sky bridge. No one will take me, the city people will not allow it. Its reserved for them. The town has a strange energy. The university is elite...all the students are divided into cliques like fraternities and sororities. Its...clannish place. Aristocratic in a old mid size town way. It snot “open” beyond a point. In the parkinglott, I find shifty looking man, who says he can take tourists up there. He has a old green van...windows are shuttered. For 40$. I don’t agree, but I go to over watch to see. He takes them like a human smuggler, to the end of the stone part of the bridge. I see unsure people walk to the end of the wood plank part. Some don’t come back, some do but seem strange. Some fall...my eyes see bones in an overgrown field of those that fell. But the man doesn’t kill them...a leap of faith? Indianan Jones and the last crusade scene comes to mind. I come back to myself and decline the clandestine tour as I am missing something key.
It is another? Full moon. We were out late. We are in the parkinglott of the nice hotel, an old pre civil war converted manor. Everything is so real...moonlight, shadows, fireflys. And silent. I am helping my mom out of the vehicle, have my hand out for her. A lone figure comes out of the woods...moves strange...we freeze, thinking to jump back in the car. It circles the car and us not quite correct movements. Then it leaps for us. My mom in particular. Its like a starving, or very slender, werewolf. With a small jaw...female. It bites a chunk out of my moms ear, like it is going to eat her head. I instantly jump on its back...and knock it to the ground. Its stronger then it looks, but I have more weight to pin her down...i hold the head in my arm like choke hold, but im not applying preassure to harm it. Im putting it all into keeping it still. My sister frantically calls 911 on her cellphone. It seems to take forever, it takes allot to hold the thing still...gradually, it shifts to a human. A think women of 50, with hair that is white, then black, then white like it was treated like that. The ends of the hair are braded, with a few beads, and feathers. Smells like the damp forest. She says something I say im just holding you for the sheriff, ain’t going to be no fighting, which makes her calm down and not speak anymore.
In time the sheriff, in a decrepit old sheriffs car...like one from the mid 1980's, pulls up. Wearing his sunglasses at night, chew-en on tobacco, his gut is pretty big. He walks up to me, and looks at my mom, who is holding her ear...looks like a bit of her earlobe skin got nicked off is all. His deputy gets out of the other side of the patrol car. They are...odd. “now, what sort of commotion made you folks caaaall? He asks in drawl, looking at the scene. I say “Ahh this one attacked as a wolf..bit my mother a bit more yonder on the ear, was insane acting” I wondered why I was matching the speech pattern. I think to communicate better? “well hell, martin, get old Abigail into the car.” He gives my mom a bandage from his pocket, gauze, to stop the bleeding. Says “m'am” and turns to the figure i had let get up. “now Abigail, you know you cant go a-biten and a-claw'n folks going about supporting the local e-conomy” “come on old girl, back to the home with ya...” He then turns to us and says...I hope you folks don’t let this un-fortunate occurrence sour your impression of these parts...Why don’t y’all stop by the reception desk and tell em I said to treat you folks right” My sister says “thats it? She attacked, my mom is bit...and shes a werewolf!” He turns to her and says “Well now mam, no use making a big scuffle over a bit of noth'n.” You folks have a nice evening.
We passed the reception desk, dd not stop. My sister was a bit upset. My mom seemed dazed. We put her on the bed and I cleaned the ear, and held her hand talking to her a bit and my sister and I put her to bed, and then went to my own room. We were on the third floor, and I had a verenda door onto the balcony that ran at the top of the columned porch. I had the windows pen, and the old muslin curtains reminded me strongly of the hanging tree moss blowing in the wind. The moon came in the open window, and fell right across me, a big beam of moonlight was the only illumination.
I went into over watch, and (flew) out the window like a bird...i was...something with wings. I hung in the sky too see, in the moonlight. Everyone here, none of them were people. Werewolf, sprites, hags and goblins, good and bad mythological beings. In the town under the half bridge, in this odd valley. I dispersed again, and then reformed on a residential street. I did not know...cold we even leave? My momma is bit. Ive always been weird like these folks but I can keep it on the down low. Can my mom? Can we safely return, or will it be pitchfork and burning torch time back in Cali? So I decide to scout for real estate. Can I just buy a home here and stay? We may have too. No empty homes for sale here. I walk to an intersection, 4 way, and turn up another street, a street I like the feel of. Its a bit after midnight. There is an empty field...maybe we can camp and squat here i think, so I walk into it, the moon illuminates a center circle. I walk into the center circle and it gets weird I kinda loose focus
the sheriffs voice brings me out. : “...son, now what what can be so in-tresting to make ya walk around a city street scaring the good folks of burglary?” The light of the moon is almost blinding, its light and dark at the same time. I am surrounded by a ring of people...but they aren’t people, each one looks like some creature, inversely luminous to the moonlight, I see eyes and claws, teeth and manes.
The sheriff says “Now we are a hospitable bunch of honest, small town folk. Ho-spitable. We welcome folk passing through, staying to the SAFE ROADS as they go from there to yonder, cross are fine municipality. Son, why you off the highway? I think you better tell me, right quick. I don’t respond, I curl a bit, and then I burst like they are. I see myself reflected. Im...like a satyr. I have a flute or lute, something on my back. Deer legs not goat, some gnarly curved horns. Im a satyr? I think cant be a roman one with wine and debauchery, that snot my nature. Must be something deeper. But then, the lady wasn’t really a werewolf. In my dispersed human sheath, the creatures see everything. Why i was out here, because i was afraid my mom wouldn’t fit in back home now, looking for a house, etc. A cloud covers the moon, and all the other creatures are gone. Its just me and the sheriff. “Well, hell boy, why didn’t you say so from the beginning. I would be proud, as the leader of this here mu-nicipality, to put on my real estate agent hat. Come Ooon! Lets walk.”
And we do. So many fine houses. He doesn’t know about prices and money as im asking. He just says “ahh hell” and “mightsbe” allot. And “that ain’t no good” Somewhat frustrating actually. As we walk, I see a house I REALLY like. Kinda brown stone, made of masonry, not brick or concrete. Old. Nice columned porch. And unlike the others, this one has a sign 200$. Wow, I can afford that...whats the catch. I stop and walk up, and the sheriff puts his hands in his belt and sucks in air with a whistle sound. “old man wallapes place”. “Now, he was a right bastard”. I ask about the price... he says “well, let me show you something” He points to a pamphlet sitting on a porch swing. I sit and open it. It folds out and floats in the air in energy. I move my gaze from left to right, and the images and energy in it are alive like a holographic TV. Its...an infomercial. And a scroll. My eyes see the pitch, and all the bits that come if you act now. Two books, a spirit (thing) access to the exclusive community. IF you call in the next 30 minutes, its all yours for 200$. I see what is being sold...its not half bad, just 40% bad. The sheriffs voice brings me back to focus. “Old man wallape, he was a right bastard. A great sorcerer, he made this **** to sell to folks on late night TV, trying to be im-mortal. He weren’t no spirit, he was a man.
Onrey old cus....afraid to take the bridge.” The longer i wait, the lower the price goes on the sigh...soon its offering me 200$ to by it. weird.
All that aside i liked the building. “you want to go in? You’ll see. Old cuss ain’t never left. That house is not empty, its occ-upied. Ghosts. Old man and the spirits he kept. I said id take a look. The sheriff said “well, if yall want. Keys under the doormat. I ain’t going in there, Im the auth-ority I ain’t the adventuring type” So I stepped in. Just three steps. Its was gloomy, but surprisingly dust free. I loved it! It felt like...when I used to sit as a child, with a single burning log, and read books by the light by the fireplace. It just felt like that, kinda like moonlight. I saw...a stuffed raven on a pedestal. A old globe. Crystals glowing in a brazier. All sorts of neat sorcerer brick-a-brac. Nice furniture. And i was surrounded by a swarm of hungry ghosts, like swarm of bees. I listened to them, they couldn’t hide their thoughts. Friend...Food...Flesh to walk the bridge. Sad...laughter. Warmth. Cold. And then the old bastard himself. He saw my mom and sister in me somehow. So his reaction: “**** get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich” that kind of old bastard. I loved the house...id need to ditch the lingering spirits. Turned around and walked out.
Sheriff said “there ya are, ya came out” Wasn’t a sure thing. I asked him what he meant. “friend, there ain’t been nobody that ever stepped foot into that place...i wasn’t quite sure you would step back out...i warned ya”. I said well it don’t matter. This wont work for my mom. I could take it, not become insane, more insane. I think I could wrestle them out and away. The place feels right, without the swarm. Sheriff said “ I don’t know about no swarm, but I can guess...infomercials...lords sake!” Well lets keep looking, you mamma is bit, one will turn up. I don think this is no place for folks that have been in a family-way...mothers or children. Not now.” “Well, lets go on with walking” With that I started waking, even as I continued walking. The last thing from the dream was the sheriffs voice, and only his voice. It said “well, lets get on!” This is the one dream I decided to recall and go over in more detail, not a few paragraphs for each one. Fin.
Way Down South
I picked the first dream I experienced I thought I would want to remember. Even asleep I thought I only have time for one. I had many, at least 4, complete narratives after this one, all interesting and good in their own ways, and I recalled them enough to compare them against the one I had tagged earlier. I never woke myself to write the other ones, just the one I had selected, but weather I wake or not, I come to the pause points where i can either wake of at least move my body to record them. I chose not too, and even before and after I woke I recapped all of my dreaming, but by the time I woke, they were all gone except the one I had earlier decided on. That in and of itself was an interesting exercise in both self control, and states of awareness I thought. I am paying more attention the places between dreams, where I exist ins elf reflection, and can see my body etc. Pivot points or gates that seem to come naturally every few hours, or more if I force them.
I am with my mother and my sister. We are driving along an interstate highway, I see a road sign its interstate ten. It seems several days into a long road trip. Its in the new vehicle so its quite spacious My sister is listening to satellite radio..one of the 80's new wave stations. I am enjoying tears for fears “everybody wants to rule the world”. I am reading on my ipad, and glancing up looking at cypress with hanging moss. I can see the ocean, I think we are in Louisiana
We stop in a motel in a small town. Its set a bit back into some pine woods. I have a room and my sister and mom share one. I go in my room as the sun is setting, there are lots of buzzing insects and maybe cicades making that creepy clicking sound. Something happened that night. I was laying on the hard motel bed, looking at some water stain in the corner of the ceiling. A big buzz and then a ball of light enters the door like its not there. Flashes of the swamp etc. The next morning, im on the bed, and there is dried mud on the bottom of my shoes. I remember flashes like a dream. I seem to be alright, other then confused.
We leave the main highway, and are curving around the coast on another road. The landscape doesn’t look correct to me...lots of sand bu the vegetation is sparse. This area had been devastated by Katrina it seems. We pass a closed bar, a building that was never rebuilt in a small town. It has my last name. I know this was a place, because I found it after Katrina, owned by a distant relative. So again, I know the general area we are in now. I am using the cars connection to look things up on the internet via the ipad. The scenes from outside the window, and from the device, and my own perception, which has started becoming defuse, sorta form a cloud. Im no longer in the dream in the same way. I see a story, that stretches in time. Its not exactly the same place, but its similar environment. A group of people settled on one end of a bay. In time their city grew, from steam trains to modern era. I watched it like a slow time lapse, populated by ghosts. There was an island, first connected by a ferry boat, and in later times a two lane bridge. An old plantation on a low island at the edge of the sea. In time, the island got longer, and shorter, as storms and time ate at it. But it was a power spot, and somehow the manor house, even when abandoned, continued to stand. It is near modern times. A small group of people transfer to the outer barrier island, and live in the manor, and start growing some sort of plant. The island is full of ghosts. Only special people can live on the island...it is strange. I return to my focus in the car, and I see, as we pass, the bridge tot hat island...just another quiet abandoned road in this outer blasted area.
Latter in the day, we find a highly recommended restaurant to eat dinner at. The parking lot is under more pine trees, and the soil is sandy like a drained swamp or silty soil. Blacktop as pored around trees, so its an interesting place to park. We go into a fine dining establishment. We order, but nothing on the menu is exactly what I want to eat. The food seems more french then southern. As we eat, the chef comes to speak to us. He is a strange creole man with a heavy french creole Arcadian accent. His food, although it has local flavors, is more old heavy french cuisine, lots of cream sauces. He ask me if I enjoyed my meal. I say yes...but answer honestly this is not the type of food I wanted. He says “What dat for you wanted made he-ear” I say I don’t know. Opossum. Squirrel, crayfish, Gator, stuff like that. He says “mon ami, you want etuffee (something like this) of the bay-oo”. Gots to go on dat swamps for what you want. He finds this funny for some reason. Latter, my mom and sister are talking to this head chef, in the kitchen. There is a strange man like a little goblin or gnome. Singing in french. Has an interesting energy. He is cooking in a big pot, throwing handfuls of things in. there are 12 small bowls like Tibetan singing bowls. Each has a bit of flavor food to add tot he main dish (bacon, olives, chicken livers etc) One of the bowels...smells so good. Before i know it, if put my finger sin it and eaten the contents. It looked like clams, in a mellow buttery sauce...tangy. Then I freeze, my gosh, I just ate out of the prep bowl, in the kitchen, stole essentially. He stops singing and reaches for the bowl. Look confused seeing its tasty contents were gone (was like the canned fish but much better) he says...to fe? Something like this. I have to squelch my reaction. But once i do I see the bowl refilled, and him haply humming again. As we leave the restaurant, i ask my mom and sister if we can find a swamp place for the food I want. They say “no” not going of the {established} roads. My sister says Louisianian is like a Haiti with more money. Not a place for outsiders to go wandering under the full moon in the bayou.
We stop at another Hotel. This time I sleep without being disturbed, but my dreams are strange. I have this weird dream of me writing my life like it was a dream, and getting certain parts right, and some wrong in a comical way. And then posting them on the internet like it was interesting. What a silly dream! Then I realized...ohhh...yea. I laughed. D'oh.
We have left Louisiana, and are going to upstate Alabama. But its still close to a river. That evening, we stop in a strange town. There is a river valley, a very deep one. Before the road goes down the valley, we turn off on a scenic overlook and I stare. Its a picturesque town, stately, a university, a Georgian revival government or county hall building. Columned manors, old houses, large stately trees. Also compact? Like its separate from the next dream valley over, its own world somehow. There is a stranger thing. It is a deep valley, a a road continues on the ridge...soaring over one end of the town, is a bridge...but it only goes half way. An ancient bridge...the end is wood planks...that drops off...eagles soar around it. It is magical seeming.
We go into town, and find a hotel...a fancy one this time no cheap places here. I want to go onto the half sky bridge. No one will take me, the city people will not allow it. Its reserved for them. The town has a strange energy. The university is elite...all the students are divided into cliques like fraternities and sororities. Its...clannish place. Aristocratic in a old mid size town way. It snot “open” beyond a point. In the parkinglott, I find shifty looking man, who says he can take tourists up there. He has a old green van...windows are shuttered. For 40$. I don’t agree, but I go to over watch to see. He takes them like a human smuggler, to the end of the stone part of the bridge. I see unsure people walk to the end of the wood plank part. Some don’t come back, some do but seem strange. Some fall...my eyes see bones in an overgrown field of those that fell. But the man doesn’t kill them...a leap of faith? Indianan Jones and the last crusade scene comes to mind. I come back to myself and decline the clandestine tour as I am missing something key.
It is another? Full moon. We were out late. We are in the parkinglott of the nice hotel, an old pre civil war converted manor. Everything is so real...moonlight, shadows, fireflys. And silent. I am helping my mom out of the vehicle, have my hand out for her. A lone figure comes out of the woods...moves strange...we freeze, thinking to jump back in the car. It circles the car and us not quite correct movements. Then it leaps for us. My mom in particular. Its like a starving, or very slender, werewolf. With a small jaw...female. It bites a chunk out of my moms ear, like it is going to eat her head. I instantly jump on its back...and knock it to the ground. Its stronger then it looks, but I have more weight to pin her down...i hold the head in my arm like choke hold, but im not applying preassure to harm it. Im putting it all into keeping it still. My sister frantically calls 911 on her cellphone. It seems to take forever, it takes allot to hold the thing still...gradually, it shifts to a human. A think women of 50, with hair that is white, then black, then white like it was treated like that. The ends of the hair are braded, with a few beads, and feathers. Smells like the damp forest. She says something I say im just holding you for the sheriff, ain’t going to be no fighting, which makes her calm down and not speak anymore.
In time the sheriff, in a decrepit old sheriffs car...like one from the mid 1980's, pulls up. Wearing his sunglasses at night, chew-en on tobacco, his gut is pretty big. He walks up to me, and looks at my mom, who is holding her ear...looks like a bit of her earlobe skin got nicked off is all. His deputy gets out of the other side of the patrol car. They are...odd. “now, what sort of commotion made you folks caaaall? He asks in drawl, looking at the scene. I say “Ahh this one attacked as a wolf..bit my mother a bit more yonder on the ear, was insane acting” I wondered why I was matching the speech pattern. I think to communicate better? “well hell, martin, get old Abigail into the car.” He gives my mom a bandage from his pocket, gauze, to stop the bleeding. Says “m'am” and turns to the figure i had let get up. “now Abigail, you know you cant go a-biten and a-claw'n folks going about supporting the local e-conomy” “come on old girl, back to the home with ya...” He then turns to us and says...I hope you folks don’t let this un-fortunate occurrence sour your impression of these parts...Why don’t y’all stop by the reception desk and tell em I said to treat you folks right” My sister says “thats it? She attacked, my mom is bit...and shes a werewolf!” He turns to her and says “Well now mam, no use making a big scuffle over a bit of noth'n.” You folks have a nice evening.
We passed the reception desk, dd not stop. My sister was a bit upset. My mom seemed dazed. We put her on the bed and I cleaned the ear, and held her hand talking to her a bit and my sister and I put her to bed, and then went to my own room. We were on the third floor, and I had a verenda door onto the balcony that ran at the top of the columned porch. I had the windows pen, and the old muslin curtains reminded me strongly of the hanging tree moss blowing in the wind. The moon came in the open window, and fell right across me, a big beam of moonlight was the only illumination.
I went into over watch, and (flew) out the window like a bird...i was...something with wings. I hung in the sky too see, in the moonlight. Everyone here, none of them were people. Werewolf, sprites, hags and goblins, good and bad mythological beings. In the town under the half bridge, in this odd valley. I dispersed again, and then reformed on a residential street. I did not know...cold we even leave? My momma is bit. Ive always been weird like these folks but I can keep it on the down low. Can my mom? Can we safely return, or will it be pitchfork and burning torch time back in Cali? So I decide to scout for real estate. Can I just buy a home here and stay? We may have too. No empty homes for sale here. I walk to an intersection, 4 way, and turn up another street, a street I like the feel of. Its a bit after midnight. There is an empty field...maybe we can camp and squat here i think, so I walk into it, the moon illuminates a center circle. I walk into the center circle and it gets weird I kinda loose focus
the sheriffs voice brings me out. : “...son, now what what can be so in-tresting to make ya walk around a city street scaring the good folks of burglary?” The light of the moon is almost blinding, its light and dark at the same time. I am surrounded by a ring of people...but they aren’t people, each one looks like some creature, inversely luminous to the moonlight, I see eyes and claws, teeth and manes.
The sheriff says “Now we are a hospitable bunch of honest, small town folk. Ho-spitable. We welcome folk passing through, staying to the SAFE ROADS as they go from there to yonder, cross are fine municipality. Son, why you off the highway? I think you better tell me, right quick. I don’t respond, I curl a bit, and then I burst like they are. I see myself reflected. Im...like a satyr. I have a flute or lute, something on my back. Deer legs not goat, some gnarly curved horns. Im a satyr? I think cant be a roman one with wine and debauchery, that snot my nature. Must be something deeper. But then, the lady wasn’t really a werewolf. In my dispersed human sheath, the creatures see everything. Why i was out here, because i was afraid my mom wouldn’t fit in back home now, looking for a house, etc. A cloud covers the moon, and all the other creatures are gone. Its just me and the sheriff. “Well, hell boy, why didn’t you say so from the beginning. I would be proud, as the leader of this here mu-nicipality, to put on my real estate agent hat. Come Ooon! Lets walk.”
And we do. So many fine houses. He doesn’t know about prices and money as im asking. He just says “ahh hell” and “mightsbe” allot. And “that ain’t no good” Somewhat frustrating actually. As we walk, I see a house I REALLY like. Kinda brown stone, made of masonry, not brick or concrete. Old. Nice columned porch. And unlike the others, this one has a sign 200$. Wow, I can afford that...whats the catch. I stop and walk up, and the sheriff puts his hands in his belt and sucks in air with a whistle sound. “old man wallapes place”. “Now, he was a right bastard”. I ask about the price... he says “well, let me show you something” He points to a pamphlet sitting on a porch swing. I sit and open it. It folds out and floats in the air in energy. I move my gaze from left to right, and the images and energy in it are alive like a holographic TV. Its...an infomercial. And a scroll. My eyes see the pitch, and all the bits that come if you act now. Two books, a spirit (thing) access to the exclusive community. IF you call in the next 30 minutes, its all yours for 200$. I see what is being sold...its not half bad, just 40% bad. The sheriffs voice brings me back to focus. “Old man wallape, he was a right bastard. A great sorcerer, he made this **** to sell to folks on late night TV, trying to be im-mortal. He weren’t no spirit, he was a man.
Onrey old cus....afraid to take the bridge.” The longer i wait, the lower the price goes on the sigh...soon its offering me 200$ to by it. weird.
All that aside i liked the building. “you want to go in? You’ll see. Old cuss ain’t never left. That house is not empty, its occ-upied. Ghosts. Old man and the spirits he kept. I said id take a look. The sheriff said “well, if yall want. Keys under the doormat. I ain’t going in there, Im the auth-ority I ain’t the adventuring type” So I stepped in. Just three steps. Its was gloomy, but surprisingly dust free. I loved it! It felt like...when I used to sit as a child, with a single burning log, and read books by the light by the fireplace. It just felt like that, kinda like moonlight. I saw...a stuffed raven on a pedestal. A old globe. Crystals glowing in a brazier. All sorts of neat sorcerer brick-a-brac. Nice furniture. And i was surrounded by a swarm of hungry ghosts, like swarm of bees. I listened to them, they couldn’t hide their thoughts. Friend...Food...Flesh to walk the bridge. Sad...laughter. Warmth. Cold. And then the old bastard himself. He saw my mom and sister in me somehow. So his reaction: “**** get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich” that kind of old bastard. I loved the house...id need to ditch the lingering spirits. Turned around and walked out.
Sheriff said “there ya are, ya came out” Wasn’t a sure thing. I asked him what he meant. “friend, there ain’t been nobody that ever stepped foot into that place...i wasn’t quite sure you would step back out...i warned ya”. I said well it don’t matter. This wont work for my mom. I could take it, not become insane, more insane. I think I could wrestle them out and away. The place feels right, without the swarm. Sheriff said “ I don’t know about no swarm, but I can guess...infomercials...lords sake!” Well lets keep looking, you mamma is bit, one will turn up. I don think this is no place for folks that have been in a family-way...mothers or children. Not now.” “Well, lets go on with walking” With that I started waking, even as I continued walking. The last thing from the dream was the sheriffs voice, and only his voice. It said “well, lets get on!” This is the one dream I decided to recall and go over in more detail, not a few paragraphs for each one. Fin.