I have strange dreams.
Very strange dreams.
I have two more to add to that collection. Not including the dream where I was living with a family of giants in an inflatable pool, and I ran away to join the YMCA with a job of vodka and squash.
I had a dream the other night. A dream so creepy and scary it belongs in a freaking horror movie.
My sister and I were staying in a hotel. I really classy hotel. On the 26th floor. I dunno why we were there. But we were, and we were living it up. And my sister met a guy while we were in the elevator. I met him too, but he and my sister clicked. He was tall, very broad across the shoulders. Muscly but with a layer of squish over the top. He seemed mildly retarded, but very nice.
I didn't like him. This might have something to do with the fact that he was kissing my sister as someone got out of the elevator. And he didn't notice that his head was caught in the door. All I could do was watch in horror as the elevator descended, with him still stuck. First his glasses shattered, and then the skin on the back of his meaty head was simply scraped away. And he didn't notice anything. The guy could feel no pain.
He seemed clingy and a bit slow. But we always seemed to run into him. We ended up going to the basement/car park and walking past his car, a shitty old white corolla. Which had a bloodied mallet hanging out the window. My sister was too absorbed in talking to him for her to see, but I realised he was the serial killer that had been striking girls in the area.
He'd kidnap a single girl for a few days. Then he'd give her a phone to call her parents to come pick her up. And while she was calling her parents to come pick her up, he'd bludgeon her to death, with them listening to her screams and pleas for mercy.
Well, when I figured it out, this guy knew. And I knew that he knew. He refused to let me out of his sight. I tried to warn my sister, but he wouldn't leave me. I put her in an elevator and told her to go up to her room and just wait there for me. I wandered over to the front desk and asked them for a key to an empty room. I needed to lock myself away while I called the police. But I didn't want him to know where I was. So I'm walking the corridors trying to get out of his sight long enough so I could hide somewhere, where he wouldn't find me, to make the call.
I couldn't. So I left the hotel and walked down the street. I managed to lose him as it got dark, and I ran out into suburbia. I knew he was still following me. By some strange sixth sense he knew where I was. I found a quiet little place, number 94. It had a few cats in the yard. Very large ones too, I might add. I hesitated with my hand on the gate. Go in, or keep running?
I heard him shouting a long way off, so I undid the latch and quietly slipped through the gate. I knocked on the door and the grey haired woman let me in. I told her I needed to hide somewhere, and she installed me in her kitchen and gave me her landline. I asked her to lock the doors and she left.
I rang the emergency number, and ducked down behind a bench while I talked to the operator. I told her I knew who the serial killer was, and that he was after me. I told her I was at number 94, but I didn't know the street or the suburb.
Then I heard the sound of wood scraping wood. I looked up at the window and saw a hand protruding through the gap. I shrank down a bit more below the bench and whispered 'he's at the window,' down the phone.
And then I woke up.
I may never sleep again.