Oleander

In the deep, velvet folds of night, where shadows stretch and coil like serpents around our psyche, lies a realm unseen by waking eyes. It is a place where reality slips its chains, and the mind unfurls its wings to traverse the ethereal tapestry of dreams. Different cultures view dreams as spiritual messages, divine communications, or reflections of the unconscious mind, each interpretation adding to their enigmatic allure. Carl Jung believed dreams tapped into the collective unconscious, a vast reservoir of shared human experiences and archetypes, guiding us towards psychological growth. Dreams have fascinated me in this way, and so I began writing them down since the age of thirteen. Here, in the silken embrace of slumber, my consciousness drifts into a world, both familiar and strange—a haunting landscape that calls to me night after night. This particular event of dreams haunted me for the course of about a month or two. As always, I made sure to scribble these dreams down as soon as I woke up - edited later for you, dear reader, to better discern.

Dream 1

I fell asleep on the fold-out couch in the living room one evening when a loud, repetitive banging noise roused me from my slumber. The sound echoed through the walls, sending a flash through my mind that jolted me awake with a rhythmic call to attention. Compelled to investigate, I followed the noise into the laundry room, the source of the disturbance. There, bathed in a spectral blue static haze, was a ghostly girl with messy long dark hair perched atop the washing machine. She violently rocked it back and forth, her movements deliberate and demanding. Once our eyes met, she ceased her rocking and vanished, leaving only the lingering echo of her presence that once again shuttered through my body to its core.I woke to find the washing machine still banging, as if the dream had seeped into reality.

Dream 2

Standing on my back patio, I gazed across the yard, the air thick with an ominous sense, as though time was moving through water. Even the breeze moved the trees like seaweed beneath the waves. Something in the distance compelled me to walk toward the far end, the grass cool and soft beneath my feet. As I took my first steps, I looked down and saw the same girl walking next to me, now solid and human, silently holding my hand. Together, we moved spellbound towards the other side of the yard. With each step, I felt myself aging, my youth slipping away. By the time we reached our destination, I had shriveled into an old woman. The girl slowly pointed to the ground, her trance-like gaze fixed on what lay at our feet: the earth spiraled beneath a rapidly winding clock embedded in the ground.

I couldn't stop thinking of the dream. Later that day, I went to the same spot in my backyard and found a patch of dead grass, exactly the size of the spiral from my dream.

Dream 3

I was walking down the street in front of my house towards the dead end, the evening shadows lengthening like grasping fingers. Halfway there, the girl appeared before me, a specter materializing between the trees and twilight. For the first time, I saw her in detail: she looked about ten years old, with black hair cascading past her shoulders and hazel-brown eyes that seemed to hold centuries of words unspoken. She was pale, dressed in a simple Victorian-era school dress, her presence hauntingly anachronistic. She didn’t speak, save for perhaps her name—Oleander. That name has echoed in my mind ever since, like the scent of a flower that blooms only in darkness.

Time went by, and the haunting dreams, much like the flower still, became a memory that began to fade. I was able to relax a bit again. If only I had known it was the calm before the storm.

Dream 4

The sun deserted me as I ran down a dirt road, pursued by an angry mob. Desperation drove me to the top of a hill to a decrepit Victorian house, which seemed forgotten by my pursuers. Torch lights drew closer, so I dashed inside, seeking refuge. The house, bathed in twilight, seemed frozen in time, as if its inhabitants had vanished abruptly along with the world I had just escaped outside. Standing in the doorway, I surveyed the hall that stretched before me. To my right was a dimly lit living room, and to the left, a room lost to memory. Drapes covered the furniture, save for a piano. A golden hue cast itself through the dust filled rooms from the spaces between the window curtains, barely allowing enough light to see. A staircase ascended from the right side of the hallway, leading to more unknown.

I climbed the creaking stairs and found a strange L-shaped hallway to my left. The aged wallpaper clung what was left of itself for life to the walls. At the far end was a small square window, where a terrifying creature lurked— A grotesque figure crawled, its limbs twisted with insectoid grace. Bent backward like a grasshopper’s, its knees jutted grotesquely. Pale, watery skin clung to its skeletal frame, reminiscent of a drowned corpse. Stringy black hair framed a gaunt, hollow-eyed face, sharp teeth glinting with malevolent intent.

It hissed, a sound that slithered through my skin, and charged with a frantic, scuttling movement, an abomination of predatory speed and primal hunger. The very ground seemed to shudder beneath its touch, recoiling from the nightmarish creature.

In a terror, I fled to a nearby bedroom where an oil lamp flickered feebly in the corner. The room, oddly comforting, seemed to welcome me as if it were meant for me. On the bed lay a rag doll, its button eyes staring blankly. As I picked it up, a chill ran down my spine—a presence loomed behind me.

A tall, slender figure in a cowboy hat stood menacingly silent. His silhouette mirrored the apparition I had seen one night in a cemetery with friends, a spectral figure that vanished as soon as we acknowledged it. But here, he was different, unmoving. Suddenly, I was a girl, confused and disoriented.

Before I could comprehend, the man lunged. The room dissolved into a chaotic frenzy, the distant cry of an infant adding to the madness. In the struggle, a knife found its way into my hand. I stabbed him, and he crumpled to the floor. Escaping the room, I returned to my present self, leaving the nightmare behind.

Avoiding the creature, I hid in a coat closet. Behind the coats, I discovered a door handle and opened it, revealing a staircase that led to an attic. The attic was a circular room with boarded-up windows casting a blue hue over the old circular rug in the center. Toys were scattered about, and a red tricycle stood by a chest of toys. In this lonely, dusty room, the girl emerged from behind an armoire. I knelt to her level as she approached. Though I couldn’t remember her words, I felt she was revealing her past to me.

Before I could understand, I found myself floating above the house, seeing the property in daylight. I was on the dirt road again, where the sun shone brightly, and birds sang. When I woke, the dream felt so real that I hesitated to open my eyes. I didn’t see her again for a long time.

Dream 5

I was in the house again, now inhabited by present-day people. The girl silently gestured for me to follow her through the halls, which were adorned with indoor trees and framed pictures. I descended to the kitchen, where a woman in a black dress sat at the table, mourning. A tall, heavyset man stood nearby. As I approached, I realized I was a little girl again, possibly the ghostly girl herself. The woman’s tears and silent words filled the air, and on the table lay a small coffin fit for a baby. The knife I had used in the previous dream was also there.

The man moved towards me, and I ran, escaping the kitchen and the house. I fled down the road towards a town and railroad tracks. In my panic, I ran through an intersection and was struck by a buggy or motorcycle. At that moment, I jolted awake, feeling the weight of the dream’s reality.

I haven’t dreamed of the girl or the house since then, but I can’t shake the feeling that she was more than a figment of my imagination. Perhaps she was a spirit, desperate to share her story and find peace. I may never know for sure, but her presence lingers in the corners of my mind.