This is based on a recurring dream I used to have whenever I was very
young.
The dream started in a swamp. I
was being rowed through a mucky swamp in the middle of the night. I can’t
remember a face or a figure, but someone was rowing, steadily and consistent. I
don't remember asking where we were heading, and he didn't seem interested in
telling me. I suppose it was none of his business; at least that's what I got
from him.
The swamp was curiously absent
of the moon and her light, and had solid blackness that would be more fitting
for the abyss. The only light was an dim and eerie glow from the amber stained
gothic bay windows, which cut through the choking void of blackness like a
heavy knife. I could see that the structure was formed over the swamp, while
the windows hung over the water which was still as ice, aside from the
splitting wake from the small rowboat. I could see the water now that we were
in the light. It was dreadful water that I didn’t want to meet. I felt as if it
wanted to swallow me. I kept in the boat. How I arrived into the room is such a
blur now, like it was so long ago, years ago. There was some kind of exchange,
with me and tall, lanky looking men; if they were men at all. I could not
remember their expressions, but perhaps that is because they had none; at least
not obviously, or in the way that we might express it. But I could feel an
impending hatred from them.
I’ll recall to a moment a little
further where my memory is more intact. I had arrived in the room; the one with
the amber stained bay windows. Yes, the bay windows. Set up all around the
windows were a few dozen candles, which reflected the amber into the room,
giving it an eerie amber glow. The room looked as if it hadn’t been refurnished
in a hundred years. The entire room was carpeted, and the carpet seemed to
stick to my feet. It had an old record player up against the left wall when
facing the windows. Along the walls were bookshelves and desks, with various
things scattered around them. In the center, nearest to me was a cheap wooden
table with lots of contractions that I couldn’t understand. Farther into the
room, facing the bay windows, there were two fancy comfort chairs. In between
them was a fashioned liquor table with a few half empty glasses of liquor and whiskey.
As I was pushed into the sight
of the two armchairs, I quickly realized that they were not vacant. I looked up
at them, terrified. One man I did not recognize at all, but he appeared to
recognize me. The other man was vaguely familiar. My grandfather? I have no
idea what he was doing here. I had never seen him as a child (as far as I can
remember), and I had no affiliation with him. He frowned at me with
displeasure, and the other figure had some kind of expression I didn't
understand. As was most of this; a grand illusion of confusion. This is all I
can remember of this terrifying event. I can't even pinpoint what was so
terrifying. It was as if terror itself was building up from inside of me.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
