I've got some different thoughts on dreams than the average person does. At least I think I do. I like to believe that when you dream, you're tapping into another universe or another reality for a little bit. There's a bunch of you's all across different dimensions and dreaming is a way to kind of see what they're up to. Hopefully this is not true, because the dreams I have a lot of times would suggest that those other me's are living rough lives. My disturbing dreams range from kidnapping to murder to committing crimes. Fortunately, these aren't the only things I dream about, but they are still unsettling and this one was no different.
This dream was of the kidnapping variety, but I wasn't doing the kidnapping. To start, I was in an old house. From the outside, the house was small and looked run-down. The bricks were chipping, the shutters were falling off, and there were boards on some of the windows. There was an old green pickup truck in the unpaved driveway. The inside looked worse. There were four small rooms, each of them with a single mattress on the floor, one light, one small window not big enough to jump out of, and chains coming from each wall. Each room was humid and smelled like a mixture of sour milk and body odor.
Each room had a single tenant in it. I didn't know what two of the captives looked like, but I did see one because he tried to escape and was brutally beaten across the back and face and drug back to his room. He was about 5'10 with brown hair, and the most dead eyes you've ever seen. But can you blame him? Our kidnapper was a schizophrenic man who like to call himself "Grandma". He was small and round and vicious. His stomach poked out far enough to where the dirty pink dress he wore couldn't hide it. He had hairy arms but hair only on the sides of his head. His perpetual scowl was only magnified by his thick horn rimmed glass. He made his voice sound like a grandma's, but we never heard him talk much except to tell us it was time to eat and to give grandma a kiss. He was a strange guy and had strange mannerisms, but he had somehow convinced the very few neighbors he had that he was the sheriff of the "small town" and that anybody trying to escape his house needed to be killed.
Grandma wasn't the biggest issue. It was Hank. Hank was the enforcer. He had long dark hair and a rugged face. He was much younger than he looked and although he sustained a leg injury years prior and walked with a severe limp, he was still plenty strong and plenty handy with his shotgun. I almost found this out first hand. I tried to escape once. I made it out the house and hid in a ditch and covered myself with some of the unkept greenery around the yard. As I lay there trying to control my breathing, I could hear the alarm and Hank yelling for me. "You better get back here because if I find you it's over!" His footsteps got closer and closer and then I didn't hear them anymore all of a sudden. Had he gone back? Had he given up the search? Was I free? I removed some of the branches and leaves that were covering me, just to be eye to eye with two barrels of the shotgun. At this point I was ready for him to end it. Death is better than captivity. I think he knew that too. He hit me over the head with the gun. Lights out.
When I woke up, I had a severe headache and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was chained still and I heard the door open. It was Grandma. I was hurting so bad physically that I knew I couldn't fight back if he wanted to reprimand me for trying to leave. The only thing I could do now was lie. I told Grandma that I was sorry and that the reason I hid in the ditch instead of running more was because deep down I loved being there and under Grandma's care. He cried tears of joy and hugged me. I wanted to vomit. He told me that I was now the number one grandchild and that I would get more freedom. That new freedom was just being able to walk around the house and feed other grandchildren. When I opened the door to feed the guy from earlier who got beat, he attacked grandma. He sprung from all fours like a cat and pounced on Grandma. Grandma squeezed the man and said, "you are only acting out because you haven't had enough skin to skin contact with me." He squeezed the man so hard against his chest that I heard a pop. It was his skull fracturing. Grandma killed him with his bare hands while I just watched.
Hank heard all the commotion and busted in the front door. He instructed me to come with him so that we could get materials to dispose of the body. As we walked towards the truck, I knew this was my chance to escape again. I tackled Hank's bad leg from behind and he dropped his shotgun. I picked it up and ran. Somehow, Hank chased me and was catching up quickly. I knew I had to try to shoot him. I turned around, back pedaled, and shot. Miss. I back pedaled some more and shot. Miss. He was probably thirty feet from me now. He yelled, "stop being so rebellious! This is the way! Grandma knows all and she loves you the most!" I took a knee and squared him up. His stomach was only a few inches from the barrel of the shotgun when I pulled the trigger.
My eyes shot open and I heard Hank's final yell reverberating through the room as I lay in the darkness. I looked around the room, took a deep breath, and turned over to go back to sleep. Thank goodness I got out of that universe huh?