Dear Interwebz,

I know it might seem strange to some people, but I actually enjoy nightmares. I’ve been chased by inconceivable creatures, been killed by siblings, watched my whole family get murdered by Snoop Dogg, but somehow, I’ve found every eerie event pleasant in its own way. However, I believe that my strange addiction to traumatic nocturnal thoughts may have finally found a way to disturb me. My brain seems to have retooled itself and redefined what I would consider a nightmare.

A few days ago, I woke from one of the most interesting and unpleasant dreams I could’ve imagined. Bare with me because I’m trying to recall as many details as possible, but I can feel my grasp on the memory rapidly loosening.

My dream started with me standing in the middle of a wilderness. I was surrounded by woodlands and giant craggy cliff walls. It’s strange in a way. I could feel the cold air blowing around me. I could smell the foliage and mineral deposits of the rock walls, but something about the whole scene seemed artificial. The color scheme was off. Maybe it was too grey or too orange, maybe? And the lighting felt man made. For some reason, I was never able to look up at the sky, although I was aware that there was no canopy above me. The entire forest edge seemed like it was inside of a giant building or warehouse.

When I started to notice the intricate details of the artificial “nature,” the lighting began to fade as if the sun decided to shut down early. In my head, I immediately scared myself into thinking that a large lioness would find me if I didn’t seek shelter. I knew it made no sense for a lion to be in that setting, but it was the first fear that I could register, so I quickly started looking for shelter as the shadows of the trees began to climb the rock walls.

Although the woodland was fake, I was familiar with its layout as if I were one of its designers. I quickly found an old campsite complete with a generator, a fan, a tent, and a blanket. As I prepared to enter the tent, a small wolf cub scurried up to me howling in its high pitched voice, calling for whomever it reported to. I assumed other wolves because their howls echoed from the distance as if they had been alerted to the presence of delicious “me-meat.” I shoo’d the wolf cub away and climbed into the tent, quickly falling asleep.

It wasn’t long until the familiar scurry of paws was heard again. I grabbed my Gerber brand utility knife, readying myself to kill an alpha wolf and take leadership of its pack. I bursted out of the tent only to be met by my older brother…holding the wolf cub. I guess the little guy was alerting him to my location, not a pack of hungry Jae-eating canines.

The light was back, so the woodland had returned to its bright splendor. My brother told me it was time to go to our next destination so we left the artificial woods behind.

We arrived at what could only be described as a futuristic hotel lobby. The corridor was cyber, made up of marble, metal, and neon style lighting. The people were all wearing strange cybernetic accessories on top of traditional style clothing. My brother took me to the middle of the room and asked me to wait there while he kneeled down and opened a secret floor safe and removed an item I couldn’t see from it. He then went near the back of the lobby and met a beautiful woman stretched over a chaise lounge. I walked closer to hear their conversation, but they were speaking in a code of sorts. He was reciting what sounded like a poem. It wasn’t romantic, it was more like a call sign used to identify someone before a nefarious transaction was to occur. It was something about the silent trotting of horses atop the water of a dried lake.

I lost interest in the woman and my brother when a strange creature walked into the middle of the room. It was a duck, sort of, but at least eight times the size it should’ve been. It was featherless and skinless. In truth, it looked as if it was cooked, oven roasted, but it stood there in the middle of the room looking around with its oversized beak. A man walked up to it and pulled on its wing, stretching it as if he was grading the exposed meat. The duck didn’t seem to mine. It was like it understood it’s purpose. It’s soulless eyes made it seem like it wasn’t even aware of its own existence. It was just meat.

Finally, a short, yet very, very wide man walked into the room. His footsteps thundered through the corridor stealing the attention away from the duck. He stood a little over five and a half feet. He wore glasses with a trimmed down beard. His large black shirt went down the length of him, covering his thick tree trunk legs like a clergyman’s robe. He stopped and bellowed with a laugh as if he was entertained by a joke he secretly told himself. His mouth was heavily salivating. He looked over the duck in anticipation before reaching for a covered server tray that I hadn’t noticed before. He was preparing to feast.

At this point I’d like to warn you, the reader, that the graphic part of this story is coming.

When the server tray lifted, a loud whine came from the female baby that was lying on it. The large man grabbed the child by its foot and lifted it to his mouth as if he was going to consume it whole. He closed his eyes. His mouth was open. The pungent odor of noxious stomach acid seeped out of his exposed throat onto crying child. The man’s eyes popped back open in anger. The shrieks of the child were too much for him. He frantically looked around the room for something. His eyes met a far away corner, hidden behind the crowd of people. He rushed through them, knocking them to the floor and crushing those that were unfortunate enough to fall in front of him.

He stood in front of a serious of clear tubing. I was confused. The device was so simply in construction, it’s purpose was hard to discern. He placed the child into the tube and flipped the switch. The poor child was then sucked through a series of segments, each smaller than the last, crushing it’s little form into smaller and smaller bits. The baby began to liquify before my eyes, it’s wails never quieting until it was reduced to a puddle of nothing. The man then drank the liquid child, its essence spilling down the sides of his beard, onto his robe and the floor beneath.

I then awoke.

I’m not sure if dreams actually have meaning or what, but the image of the third act is still deeply seared into mind. I’m sorry if I ruined anyways day with this post, but it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a dream that frightened or disturbed me.

“A sleepy man’s eyes generally go to bed some time before he does.” — James Lendall Basford