nightmare

Night. The home of my youth. My family, gone. Stay very still. Hold my breath. Something unfolding. A woman and three men do something wrong, something unspeakable. They don't know I'm there. From another room, I spy them. They gather, look down at something out of my view. Pin something down. A squeal, blood and a satisfied smile on the woman's face. Something killed - an animal? I run. Into the dark, bare feet on the drive, loud steps follow. Search for my car. Gone. I'm not fast on foot. No choice but to hide. Run down a sharp-stoned lane into shadow. Scale a fence and creep under a neighbour's house, bury myself behind the foundations, disappear into the dark.

trapped

Early evening and the streets were in darkness. I was in an unfamiliar town, heading home, walking with three tall, burly, bearded mountain men. I liked them immensely, but I knew them little. We reached a narrow lane and the man started down it. I hesitated, scanning the crossroad, realising I had a choice: I could go with them, trust them, or walk back the way we had come and navigate the dark streets alone. Neither option seemed sensible. The men urged me to join them and appeared mystified as to my uncertainty. 'I don't know you,' I said. I looked again back down the road, a few people now milling under the street lights, and thought I'd go that way. Immediately, a gate closed across the lane entrance. A third time, I looked back down the road  and now the people were in turmoil: men hurting women, women hurting one another, gangs travelling up the road toward me. Violence, crime and torture. I ran at the gate, it opened and I fled down the lane, calling to others in the lane to run, run. A young girl started screaming and I clapped my hand over her mouth, running with her, anxious that we should escape unheard, unharmed. At the end of the lane, I emerged into a maze of streets, alone but for the three men. Finding my car, I jumped in and the men all helped to push the car into a secure position from which to climb the steep and alarmingly narrow road. I drove up and, upon reaching a huge step, poked my legs through the car floor and stepped up, dragging the car with me. At the top of the hill I looked back to see that the men had driven a different route and I wondered, had I gone the wrong way? I continued on foot, turned into a dark tunnel and climbed up the steep stairs inside. A crowd of people followed, all desperate to go home. At the top of the stairs, the tunnel opened to a lane that ran between tall buildings. I peeked out. Soldiers waited at one end of the lane to my left, and soldiers wearing a different uniform guarded the other end of the lane to my right. We could not go forward and, because the long, long line of people stretched all the way back down through the tunnel, we were unable to retreat. We were trapped. A soldier appeared at the doorway and was about to blow the whistle when he spied someone he knew, someone he once fancied, standing third in line. She, knowing the privileges of being in his favour, stepped outside but asked to bring one other person with her. She chose a young man from the front of the queue. I held two old women who leant against me for support, tears spilling onto my cheeks as I could see no rescue, no escape. There was no future for those of us trapped in the tunnel, the soldier about to uncover us.

black sea

B and I were wading in a tranquil sea in the dead of night. There was no moon and it was so dark we could barely see the water let alone what lay beneath. Though the water felt silky and nothing stirred, we grew fearful and decided to climb onto a large pile of sticks for a reprieve. We hauled ourselves up and, as we did, we realised that it was actually was a huge stack of oyster racks, piled one on top of the other. Standing on it, it gave way, the entire structure tipping sideways, plummeting into the water. We jumped out as far from it as we could, diving under the water and swimming as fast as possible away from the looming structure, afraid of being pinned beneath it. I knew that should one of us be trapped, it would mean almost certain death. It was far to dark to find one another under the water. Fortunately, we both out-swam the crashing racks; they collapsed into the water, smashing the sea, disturbing the stillness of the night. We resumed wading and, along the way, B told me that she had an old black dog called China.
Suddenly, I was back on shore, working in a dark office. I was trying to finish some work so that we could go out and join a group of others who were having a fire down by the river. It grew late and I had not finished. B went without me, hoping I would join her. I continued working until, finally, hours later, I realised that I needed to go. I changed into warm clothing and went to find her, wishing that I had not worked for so long. I didn't find her by the river. I went back to the sea where we had waded earlier, but much had changed. There was construction everywhere. Buildings being built, roads, trucks and ships, all in action although it was, by now, quite late at night. I waded into the sea once again and, on the way out, saved a scruffy ginger dog - a terrier - from drowning. I picked him up and carried him, looking for B. Finally I found her sitting in what appeared to be a kind of bus shelter, floating on the shallow water, far out from the shore. She seemed to be dazed. Around her sat a few old people; no one seemed to be very aware of their surroundings. I urged her to come with me, telling her it was time to leave this place. She didn't stir. I put the ginger dog in my basket, and grabbed B's hands, pulling her off the seat. 'Come on,' I said. 'Come on.' I asked her where China was, her old black dog, but we couldn't see him. We waded together, back through the water, calling out for China.

neglect and spiders

I am at my grandparents' home, in the suburb where I grew up. As in real life, they are no longer alive, and the house is run down. I am staying overnight, perhaps longer, and it is dark - time for bed. I am walking around the house, shutting windows and doors, somewhat afraid of what lies beyond the walls of the house. The house itself is in semi-darkness and each corner, each doorway poses a new ordeal: is there someone hiding in the shadows? I walk out onto the enclosed back verandah and notice that I have left the back door unlocked and the window leading into the bathroom gapes open - a black hole. I steel myself and pull the window sash firmly down. From here, I can also see that the laundry windows are open. I step toward the dark doorway, but find myself caught in spiders' webs. Ten or more spiders have built webs that drape over the entrance to the laundry, all non venomous species, but large and frightening just the same. Spiders clutch at my skin. I backtrack, extracting myself from the webs, shaking the last of the spiders free, shuddering at the memory of their touch. I close the back door and then notice Snuffy, my grandparents' dog, sitting inside on the verandah. She looks neglected, her hair bedraggled and wet, her countenance sad. I thought she was dead. I reopen the door to send her outside, down to her bed, but as I am closing the door, I see her plead with me, lifting one paw into the air. I cannot send her outside. I open the door and bend over to pet her. I feel her oldness and her vulnerability and I want to take care of her. It is too heartbreaking and I wake.