Dream entry from: June 21st 5:30 A.M.
I am in my home again, the walls and floors awash in a thick, nearly tangible, shadow. I feel a great sense of unrest, I know this is my home but it feels nothing like the place I have lived all of my life. I realize I am sealed inside, with no means to leave, no light filters in from the windows outside, there is no trace of the moon nor glint of stars. There is a sort of stillness that only seems to inhabit places long forgotten to the human world. I know I am not alone. I have known for some time I am not alone. I am aware that there are three other people aside from me in this house, they are all children. I encounter the first child in a crooked hallway stretching at the bottom of a staircase. He is blue, a dark unsettled shade that stains his skin and fingernails. The top of his body is cloaked in a tattered blanket the same shade of his skin, it covers his shoulders, neck, and face. As if the blanket did not obscure his face enough he wears a mask over the top. I cannot see the expression painted upon it, I can only glance the aged shimmer of cracked porcelain. Several more masks are tied at his wrists, some dangle and scrape across the hardwood floor. I feel the hairs on my arms raise as if a current of electricity had passed through me, I am almost certain he is crying. I watch, rooted where I stand, as he shuffles from the end of the hall, all the way to the back door, only to watch in abject horror as his image stutters, fades, then reappears back at the end of the hall. He begins to make his trek again, and again, and again, walking the same rout endlessly. I go back upstairs to the darkest part of the house. The hallway is milling with shadows, shadows that mimic human form. They sway and flicker like a candle flame stuttering in an unseen wind. They don’t move much more than that, and for some odd reason I am unafraid of them. A movement on the floor catches my eye, another child. A girl this time, her skin, teeth, eyes, every inch a dirty burgundy in color. She crawls, her belly pressed to the ground, the tiny click of her fingernails echoing as she scuttles across the floor. Without warning she lunges for a shadowed figure, latching onto its seemingly formless leg. Feral guttural sounds burble from her throat as she sinks her teeth into the thing, the shadow seems to vibrate but doesn’t make a sound, not so much as a whisper as the child savagely jerks her head. The shadow falls to the ground and the girl begins dragging the thing off like a massive jungle cat carrying away the carcase of a kill. I shudder, and realize that somehow I am now standing in my kitchen, my back to the wide double doors that lead out to our backyard. I am yet again aware that the space I occupy is not empty, there is another presence. I turn my head to look into my living room, the space so dark I feel as if I could reach out and get my fingers stuck in the thick cottony darkness. Again, there is a child. He is hard to make out, he crouches in the farthest corner, his face obscured by the darkness, as if someone had reached out and smudged away his distinguishing features. I can tell from where I stand that he is a moldy, mossy green color. Just as each other child I had seen before seemed stained by some unnatural shade. He does not move. He does not speak. I feel as if he is nothing but a statue. Feeling unnerved I turn and gaze out the back door. I now realize the darkness that surrounds the house is more unnatural than I first chanced to think. It’s a mist, a deathless churning thing that seems to writhe with unnatural life. Globs of congealed shadow float in the muck that seems to drool and undulate over every crack and surface. It is in that moment that I realize the children are afraid of it.
The dream ends here.