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.

old woman, trespassers and snake

I was at once visiting an old woman and I was the woman. She/I lived in a terrace house in the suburbs. We were lying down, sleeping, on an enclosed verandah that jutted out into the front garden. From there, with eyes half-closed, we could see the passers by. Drowsily I noticed that someone was walking down the driveway and going through the garage to the back yard. A few more people, all carrying things, followed. At first I assumed that they were coming to tend the yard, but as more and more people arrived, I began to grow anxious. With difficulty, I roused myself from slumber and asked a few of the young people what they were doing. Were they using my property as a short-cut to somewhere else? No, they answered. They were here to have a party and, it seemed, that they had a party in my yard on a regular basis. I realised that the old woman had lacked the energy to prevent it. She was far too tired, far too old to protect herself. Now that I was awake, I became angry. I marched through the garage and into the backyard, to see a horde of people setting up speakers, making fires, putting bottles on ice. I scanned the crowd and could see that there was one young woman who appeared to have the most authority among them. She was setting up a table at the entrance to the yard. I confronted her, telling her that they were no longer welcome here, that they were not to party here any longer. I had moved in and now owned the house. She seemed to care very little and I could see that it was going to take more than my word to evict the trespassers from our home. For this night, we resigned ourselves to the circumstances and went upstairs. I looked around the rooms, as though I had never been there before, though I now lived there. The house needed work. The walls, the furniture, everything needed some care. I sat with the woman and toyed with a few things that were lying on the table; among them, a sock stuffed with something, and, sewn onto the sock, a face. I stroked the sock for a moment, as though it was a pet. The thing inside the sock moved and hissed. The woman off-handedly remarked that perhaps I should not have done that as inside the sock was a snake. Sure enough, a short, purple snake emerged from the sock and eyed me, hissing. It slid over and tucked itself in the crook of my arm. I told the woman I was not particularly good with snakes and asked her to remove it. She did, and the snake disappeared under the table. I was edgy, thinking that the snake would dart out from somewhere and bite me. Instead, the snake appeared, pushing a branch bearing flowers, which it left at my feet. It looked up at me, retreated, and again came back with another gift. I was still tentative and the snake left to get something else. When it returned, it had transformed into a creature, still purple, that was more similar in shape and size to a goanna. I was somewhat relieved.

warning

B and I were living in a house directly opposite the New Farm shopping centre in an old cottage that was in need of structural repair. It was night and we were sitting in the lounge room, watching television. B was waiting for someone to arrive with some important documents, so I was attentive to any sounds of visitors at the front of the house. Someone knocked at the door and I ran through the house, opened the door that divided the lounge room from the entrance, and called out, asking who it was. A male voice answered that he was the secretary and, without checking further, I opened the front door. A man of about fifty, balding with grey hair around the sides of his head and with a grey beard, wearing a dirty white t-shirt, stood at the door with a group of others lurking behind. He said he wanted a cup of coffee. I hesitated as I didn't want to let him in, but another man stepped forward and produced a cheap plastic stanley knife with the blade fully drawn. He threatened me with it and I could think of no way of preventing them from entering. Knowing I had no milk in the house, thinking that just maybe this might deter them, I asked how he liked his coffee and he answered 'black'. They walked forward - the two men and about three other people behind them - backing me through the house. B had heard them coming and was in the kitchen, putting the jug on. She too asked - urgently - how he wanted his coffee and again the man answered 'black'. It was, of course, a ruse to enter the house and I knew that B would be trying to think of a way to protect us. The man wielding the knife had me cornered, and I could do nothing.
I woke briefly and went back to sleep.
I was in a house where many people lived. Again it was an old house in need of repair. While the others were busy with their own business, I ventured out the back of the house and around to the side gate. The afternoon was darkening and I retreated, through the back yard which stretched out into the vacant block next door, with no fence to divide the two properties. On the vacant block I could see a woman who I knew was with the group that had entered our house in the dream earlier. I knew too that it had been a dream and now I recalled it like a warning. I hurried to the back door, but was cut off by the same man from the previous dream who had threatened me with the knife. Again he held a cheap plastic stanley knife with the blade fully drawn and he toyed with it, placing it to my throat and pretending to slash the skin on my arms. Again he wanted to come in.
The dream skipped forward and I was inside the house, safe from harm, but quite upset. I found two friends who were also living in the house. They were both friends from my school days and I knew they knew me well. I need to tell them about the experience. I explained the first dream as though it had been a harbinger, and then told them, in great detail, about the second occurrence.I felt that had I listened to the message of the first dream, that I wouldn't have been faced with the danger twice.