obstacles

I was driving a VW Beetle along a remote road that, strangely, was thick with traffic. The long line of cars stuttered along, stopping and starting, held up by something unseen ahead. The car behind me persistently encroached on my space and, pressured, I too repeatedly braked too close to the car in front. Eventually, worried that I would collide, I swerved to the left, joining another lane, which, once there, turned out not to be a lane at all but a dwindling line of cars that had pulled over and was now attempting to rejoin the queue. I too indicated to move right, but the ground between the side of the road and the road opened, birthing a dirt ditch, just wide and deep enough to swallow a small car. The other cars crossed the ditch, merging with traffic, and the long line of cars drove into the distance, leaving me alone with my car pitched against a wall of dirt. Stepping out of the car, I took a look around. The road disappeared and I found myself in a canyon, rock walls stretching high and the ground now dirt and rocks. I could see quartz and other mineral rocks protruding from the cliff walls, buried but for their glittering tips. I skirted the walls, observing the rock formations, until I remembered the car. Returning to it, I could see that it too was now wedged into the dirt, buried up to the roof. I would need help to retrieve it. More alarmingly, however, there were two snakes dozing next to the car, effectively blocking my path. One snake, extremely long and pale green, coiled in a heap, although disquieting, appeared less threatening than the other. The second snake was much shorter, perhaps only a foot or two, with black and brown markings. I knew that this snake was venomous, dangerous. I moved away, pondering what to do, when the dark snake darted at me. Unable to outrun it, I faced it, seizing it just below the head, and threw it as far as I could away from me. It immediately returned, chasing me down, slithering quickly across the dirt, again lashing out at me. Again, I grabbed the snake and hurled it away. This time it struck the canyon wall and transformed upon impact into an animal like a raccoon, and ran into the scrub, hiding. Knowing that, contrary to its disguise, the creature was really a snake, I looked for an escape. A building wall and door appeared, so, rushing past the scrub and the still sleeping green snake, leaving behind my car, I quickly opened the door and closed it behind me, entering a man-made environment - a seemingly safer space. Turning around, I looked through an enormous screened window to the canyon on the other side. Sure enough, I watched as the 'raccoon' morphed back into its true snake form, and slithered out of the scrub. I noticed how the giant screen was built and secured into the window - with neater and better joinery than most, how it protected the inside from the outside so securely, and committed the design to memory.

buried alive

I was watching a television program about an abduction case. It was horrific, although the victim, a young woman, possibly still in her teens, had survived to tell the tale. The program flicked between interviews with the victim, reconstructed 'footage' of the happenings and interviews with the police who had investigated the crime. The perpetrator, a man of about sixty or older, had abducted the girl, and buried her alive in a vault beneath his house that was fitted with a bed, sparse furniture and even some decoration. In the interview, the young woman recollected how, sitting on the bed, which ran parallel to a wall under the low ceiling, with her back to the wall, she looked to her right and saw the cut-out pages of fairytales, particularly Red Riding Hood. The man had selected the most frightening of images of wolves and nightmarish characters to line the walls. She remembered how, in the dim light, she looked around, slowly realising by the strangeness of the air - its gradual depletion - that she had, indeed, been buried. The police talked of how they later found the skins of various reptiles in the man's possession as the camera panned over skin after skin of snakes and lizards. They mentioned that his mind had been affected by drug-use in the sixties. The program also showed a reconstruction of the man's wife and daughter arriving home on the day of the abduction, unaware of his harrowing deeds. They both went into his study, the room from which the underground chamber could be reached. I, somehow, went into the scene and slowly drank a glass of water in their kitchen, waiting for them to come out, knowing that they were about to discover that something was horribly wrong. They walked out of the study and into the kitchen area, stunned, and looked to me for help. I went with them, back into the study, to see the man lurching about. He had a bleeding cut on his forehead from where his wife had hit him with something, and he was ranting about spitting, saying that it was wrong to spit. He staggered toward me and, although frightened and repulsed, I grabbed his hands to steady him, hoping to calm him and sit him back down. He was clearly out of his mind. The worst and most sickening thing about it was that I recognised the man, though now he was disturbingly changed.