A feature I am working on right now is a how-to for teen authors. Sort of. Well, my blog in a much more detailed manner without the pictures. Here is a dream sequence I put in. This is an actual dream I had a long time ago. It is a nightmare I hope to never experience again.
I was still a toddler and on my back. Strapping me to the smelly grey carpet was one of the traps the hunters used to subdue the Tyrannosaurus Rex in The Lost World. All I could move was my head; the small baby-like head with a huge mop of curly Qs. My neck felt strained. I peered down brown carpeted stairs and into the basement.
From my position I could see the computer desk with an old Microsoft from IBM. A talking macaw program was alight down there in the darkness. Three quarters of the windows were actually underground, what was left were covered by thick bushes. The macaw didn’t care. It squawked in a horrific undertone of a werewolf’s howl. Morphed by a robotic, high pitched drone the macaw went on. Calling to its master; come out, come out, come out now!
The master answered soon after. A hunched, gangly creature stepped from the short corridor leading to the back door. Uncle Ted from Bad Moon had nothing on this one. Every movement of the slavering muzzle and muscles below coarse fur was smooth. Animatronics helped the original one to open its mouth only enough to “bite” its victim before the screen cut off.
It looked to the ceiling and howled, cutting the mocking macaw short. Black talons swiped at that boxy computer. Screeching, the macaw exploded with its nest in a portly blast of sparks. The keyboard fell to the floor and shattered all sorts of keys on the concrete moldy concrete. Our old mouse hung over the edge of the desk by a newly naked wire. Without pause though and uncaring to damage the werewolf turned to me. I was screaming silently by this point. All I could hear were hissing electronics, a broken record macaw, and the endless growling of the beast.
What frightened me and inspired me the most for the future were those eyes. They were almost entirely devoid of color. A murky sapphire glared into my soul with no pupils. Unfortunately they weren’t glowing like a Blue Eyes White Dragon from Yugi-Oh! No I wasn’t spared from this creature’s dull orbs. Too give me superior terror my dream offset those eyes with an almost holy, blindingly white fur.
However those ever approaching fangs seemed to be made from the substance of diamond but drenched in not yellow or grey; but scarlet blood. No other color but the blackness of its gaping throat was revealed to me.
Each languid, purposeful step it took made no noise on the floor. Smoke began to lift around the thick ankles. Were its feet aflame? I believe they were. Maybe this was something much worse than a werewolf. Sure werewolf on the outside but in disguise was a demon. By that time I had only heard vague descriptions of Hell, the Devil, and his minions.
I could see the footprints. Hideously long and marred by a blackened substance. Sticky, tar like strings snapped away by its next step. When it reached the Asian carpeting actual flames arose. Dragon’s fire engulfed the entirety of the carpet and climbed up the stairs. I felt the heat on my skin. It burned but my flesh didn’t blacken. Nor did the second-skin fur of the werewolf char as I had hoped.
With a pleased grin it actually watched the flames take over. I could see the hexagonal-shaped mushroom puzzle a little to my right. Arms reach away and missing the exact center piece. Melting away and spurring the arsonist on. The werewolf spread both clawed hands out to its side like a crucified man with long ears. Half of its arms were in the flames but it took no notice.
The werewolf was just a few steps away. It towered above me in that narrow room of flame. A parody of The Inferno I could only guess. However at the time I couldn’t care less. Sniffing the air in a chortle of snot, the werewolf reached towards me.
I believe the nightmares are more of a curse. However one of the points of life is turning a curse into a gift. I have the gift of storytelling. I control my nightmares.