7/4/2010
Dream logs yay.
Everything started out fine, just a normal send-off dinner at the school. (A couple friends and I were heading out to a coast somewhere in Washington or Canada, I believe, and we weren't coming back for whatever reason. It was never stated in the dream; maybe it was college?) Mind you, by normal, I mean that it was completely out of the ordinary for the school. There were these big buffet booths brought up from SOMEWHERE, and in the many slots and baskets was any type of food you could imagine. I stuck with my usual, a Thanksgiving medley in a dish mixed together for the full effect of the conglomerate of flavours. As I was heading towards the car (I'm assuming it was a car) a couple people I didn't recognize poked their heads through the crowd, staring fixedly at me. I didn't think to much of it and hopped in the car with my mother (who had turned from someone who looks pretty much like me plus forty years to a tall, dark-haired, frightful-looking woman similar to the woman from The Shining, only not so terrified.) We drove and drove and drove and drove and at one point, I woke up (it was about 11 AM at this point) but I soon fell back to sleep and back into the dream. When I woke up, my dream-mother was shaking my shoulder and smiling, saying "we're here!" in a really sweet tone. By this time it was already pitch black outside and the house was only dimly lit, the headlights of the truck reflecting hard off the windows of the house. I rolled out of the car as I so gracefully do after being woke up and, when my feet hit the ground, they sunk into mud that swallowed me up to my knees. I struggled and flopped and flailed and finally managed to pull myself up and out, though I somehow managed to lose one of my boots. I sighed and grabbed my backpack, rifling through for a sketchbook, and upon finding it, I clomped to the new house, muddy prints leading from the mysterious hole to the front door. The new house was spacious and open, almost all sides of the house except for one made entirely of windows. It wasn't so cold outside, even though it was already early fall, but inside, it was the sort of pleasantly cool that makes you feel like you're settling in for a nap under the shade of a tree in summertime. Mom scolded me for getting so muddy, but I told her that she was the one who parked me in the mud pit. She laughed and brought me a towel and I stripped off the muddy pants and socks, wiping myself down with the towel after. I looked down at the towel, and for some reason, instead of the usual muddy brown colour you expect from mud, there were tinges of red in the mixture, as if someone had been bleeding. Freaking out a bit, I checked my own legs for cuts or scrapes I might have missed (maybe I had cut my leg on a stick or a shard of something when I sunk into the muckhole?) but, to my puzzlement, there was no sign of any sort of cut. I threw my mucky clothes into a basket by the door, slinging it onto one hip as I walked through the house, admiring the new dwelling.
Everything was really modern, as if the house had been dropped in from a designer catalog, and needless to say I was in awe. The only room I couldn't see was the kitchen because, for some reason, the pendant lights hanging from the ceiling were so bright and the surfaces of the kitchen appliances so reflective that I couldn't bear to look in the direction of the kitchen without my whole field of vision turning white (I made the mistake of doing that once and woke up at about 1145 AM, though I did go back to sleep.) I took my clothes back to the washroom and grabbed a pair from a hanger on the back of the door (the washroom was in the back of the house on the side where there were no windows. Like, zippo, nada, zilch, NONE. Very creepy,) and then walked out into the living room, which was surprisingly rustic when compared to the rest of the kitchen. There was all this furniture made of knicked-up logs and twine, as if nails and glue hadn't been invented yet. Even the chairs were made this way, though I do admit the cushions on them were very comfortable. I tested each out and then plopped onto a rich red leather sofa next to mom, who was curled up with a cup of something hot and staring at the television. I turned my head away from the daily drivel of the newscasters and had a bit of a freakout. From where I was sitting, it looked as if the world plunged into darkness beyond our window. I scrambled up and pressed my face to the window (at this point, I switched perspectives from first person to third person so I got a chance to see my lovely mug all distorted by the glass frame.) Turns out the house was built on a really steep valley that ended in a crashing river that looked as if it was uncrossable. Instead of a calm nighttime black, the water was roaring gray and white, spits of foam lunging into the night air before being soothed to a brief black calm, returning to the chaos as gravity pulls them back into the chaos. I was honestly more interested in the thousands of dots of light that seemed to flicker like a mantle of fireflies spread out over the hill. I didn't know anyone here, so I figured that getting to know people was a priority for tomorrow. I kissed mom goodnight and wandered to my room. It was situated in the corner of the house, meaning that one of my walls was made entirely of windows. I believe it was the west wall, 'cause mom knew better than to put me in a room where I'd have to rise with the sun. The room was dark, and since I was still so tired, I just threw myself onto the bed and passed out.
Within dreams, I often have dreams. In this particular dream's dream, I saw old-time newspaper clippings of "monster attacks" that had happened in the area. Pictures and drawings and testimonies, all saying that a giant monster had claimed the lives of three families in the area within a couple months of one another. The most disturbing bit was a supposed photo of the beast. All that was shown was a little white hump out in a lake, but the water that ran off the creature's back was red with blood and, in the water at the side of the beast, was a disembodied arm.
I woke up in the dream not too long after the last picture of the monster attack and the sun was already out. It looked to be about 12 or 1 on the clock (the damn numbers kept changing on me) so I rolled (literally) out of bed and fell onto the floor, then picked myself up and went through my morning rituals. Mom had left a note on the TV in the living room (which is odd because I'm not a TV person) saying that she'd gone out to meet the neighbors and that I should go west of the house to see if there were any potential friends there. I pulled on some jeans and a flannel shirt (how quickly I settle into local ways, eh?) and stomped on a new pair of boots that mom had brought from the store (she must've figured out I lost a shoe, 'cause on the top of the box she had written WHAT HAPPENED?!) Everything was crisp and clean outside, as if there had just been a cool rain. The sky was a bit cloudy, but the sun still shone through the clouds, its warmth barely penetrating the cool brightness. I could faintly hear the roar of the river below, so I poked my head over and, like some sort of restless white snake, the river twisted and lashed out at its banks, ripping rocks and trees and whatever else might be there to rip away from the bank and into the crush.
The houses were outside of town, meaning that in order to not seem like a door-to-door salesman, I would have to walk a good two miles to get to town. In my trusty new boots, I set out towards town, casting a glance to where the truck had been parked. Somehow, the muckhole I had fallen into was completely gone. I shrugged and picked up a stalk of straw growing out from a clump near the mailbox and chewed on it, suckling what little bits of sweet I could get from it (I'll do this in real life, too, much to the embarrassment of my too-cool-for-nature friends.) What should have taken close to an hour took only a few seconds thanks to dream time and before I knew it, I was standing in front of a convenience store with a deer head carved out of wood nailed above the door. I walked into the store, immediately blasted with a wave of rustic smells; polish, oils, straw, flannel, wool, all hitting me square in the nose. I coughed and waved a curtain of dust away, sparking a laugh from behind the counter which was covered in cans of Bag Balm and rolls of twine. I smiled and the source of the laugh, eyes not yet used to the dim light of the windowless building. Some really twangy country tune was playing over a scratchy set of speakers in the back of the store, which I came to notice only after the laughter ceased. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw that there was a woman leaning on the counter, staring at me with an amused twinkle in her eyes. I smiled and coughed and she let out a chuckle, then welcomed me to the town, my reaction more than enough to tell her I was new there. I smiled and thanked her, then asked her name, to which she replied "Millie Scotts" with a bit of a drawl. I nodded and gave her my name, then extended my hand in greeting. She stuck out her hand, big strong and calloused, and we shook, her hand completely eating up mine. We chatted for a few minutes about nonessential things and she gave me a pack of Bazooka bubblegum and a bottle of cream soda and I went on my way, nearly breaking my jaw on the gum. Just as I stepped out of the store, I looked down the road and saw a little fox darting across the road. It stopped, stared at me with its head cocked, then scurried off into the bushes on the other side of the road. I watched it as it left the road and, for a minute, it looked as if the little guy had three tails. I shook my head and took a swig of the soda then continued on my way down into town.
After I left the store, I walked around town and chatted with a bunch of the locals, young and old, lifelong residents and relative newcomers. The town, along with eight other towns in the area, was called Foxtail on account of the river that ran through each town. The towns were lined up in a semi-circle, and all the rivers that snaked through the towns led to one lake nestled in the cradle of the towns, Foxbelly Lake. North of Foxbelly Lake were two mountains that, no matter the season, always had a reddish hue to them except for the top which had been scarred by wildfires, and those two mountains were called the Foxears. There was a long-standing myth that the towns of Foxtail and all the surrounding geographical features were the result of the slaying of a giant nine-tailed fox in long ancient times. where the fox fell, it left an imprint of its body and, as a sign of power, the people who slayed the fox cut off and erected the ears of the fox, hence the naming of the rivers, lake, and mountains. To this day, there were said to be fox demons living in the towns of Foxtail, especially in First Foxtail, the northernmost town. One young woman told me that if a tourist boy that didn't suit my fancy made an approach on me, I could just tell him I lived in Foxtail and he would never be able to find me again due to the nine separate towns called Foxtail~
After my day of exploring, I went back to the convenience store to thank Millie for her gifts only to find that she wasn't in the store. An old man poking around some canned soup said that she had left for a few minutes and would be back shortly. As if summoned by magic, Millie appeared in the front of the store holding some small, lumpy thing in one hand, an impressive gun in the other. She was panting hard and she didn't move for a moment, the tip of her gun dipping to tap the floor. I backed away and hid behind a shelf as she shuffled in, slamming her bundle on the counter. "Another one, George." she mumbled, rubbing between her eyes with her free hand. "This one's diff'r'nt though." From the bundle, which I could now see was a burlap sack, she pulled a strange white animal and slammed it on the counter. I peeked over the counter and saw the tiny creature flopped gracelessly in a pool of its own blood, in awe at its odd colour. "White ones are bad luck." Millie said gruffly to George, who had inched his way up beside her. "What's that?" I asked, still cowering behind the shelf. Millie snapped around, eyes hard and steely. "It's the reason we're called what we are." she said, grabbing the animal by the scruff of its neck. It was then I could see the beady black eyes fixed open in death as well as the four tails that dangled down to Millie's hips. "Fox demon," she grunted before stuffing the fox back in the bag. "Gotta burn it, it's too far developed to just bury it."
After leaving the store, I ran back home in dreamseconds to find mom's truck parked in the driveway as well as the sun setting behind me. I came to the door, panting and doubled over with my hands on my knees. I heard a little rustling from the bushes near the road and I turned back, curious as to what the sounds were. A few moments later, a pair of tiny baby foxes tumbled out of the bushes. Like the dead one in the store, these too were snow white with shining black eyes, except these only had two tails each. I inched to the door, reaching behind me to grab at the handle, fingers finding it as the two foxes began to pad over to me. Terrified of the two little creatures, I flung open the door and rushed in, slamming it tight behind me. I peered out the window, searching for the two foxes, but there was no trace of them. I pressed my back into the door slid down it, gathering my head in my hands once I hit the floor. I sat like that for a few minutes before I wiped my face of sweat, then hoisted myself up to my feet, kicking my boots off onto the mat. I walked into the house, turning away from the still-too-bright kitchen, and made my way to the living room where mom was curled up on the couch watching videos about the towns of Foxtail that she had pulled from the library that was in another Foxtail. I sat down next to her and she looked to me, a horrified look on her face. Clueless, I asked her what was wrong and she said I had smears of blood all over my face. She threw me the towel from under the bowl of fruit in her lap and told me to clean up, holding the bowl as if it would protect her from whatever had bloodied me up. I wiped my face clean, staring at the blood that had appeared on the towel, then plodded off to the bathroom to toss the towel in the hamper. I looked at myself in the mirror and splashed some water in my face, hoping to clean myself up. When I wiped my eyes, I saw that my face had only become more bloodied and there were streaks of crimson pooling in the sink. I grabbed the towel and patted down my face again, checking in the mirror to make sure I didn't have a scab or bite that was bleeding. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I threw the towel back into the hamper. I started to walk out of the bathroom, whacking the wall to try to turn off the light switch. After a few seconds of groping the wall, I turned and looked for the lightswitch, which was by the since instead of on the wall where I was used to it being. What was on the wall, however, was a smear of blood where my hand has been, dots of fingerprints popping through the thin red smears. Horrified, I pulled my hand away and ran to the living room only to find it empty and the TV full of static. Mom's bowl of fruit had been smashed on the floor and there was a faint trail of wet leading out the screen door onto the balcony near the living room. I followed it, throwing open the screen and charging out, only to stop a few steps later. The balcony overlooked a twenty-foot drop into nothing and I nearly went tumbling (at this point, I could hardly breathe, yay near-death experiences) but I managed to pull myself back and fall onto the balcony (which still hurt.) I sat and cried for a moment, terrified by what was happening, careful to hold my hands away from me.
The phone rang suddenly and I darted inside, grabbing the phone and screaming into the receiver. The caller, Millie, was shocked by my outburst, then introduced herself and asked if everything was alright. Apparently, Millie lived next door and she heard a huge commotion so she called to make sure everything was alright. I broke down crying again and I heard a click on the other end. Seconds later, I heard a hard thump on the door and Millie came storming in with her gun ready to fire. I screamed and squeezed my eyes shut as I shuffled into the brightness of the kitchen, huddling up like a turtle to protect myself. I felt a strong hand yank me up by the collar and throw me into the opposite wall, all brightness disappearing from view.
I woke up the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings; instead of my bed, I was laying half-on a worn green leather couch (I guess everyone in the boonies has a leather couch?) with a thin blanket overtop me. I rolled over onto the floor and stood up, only to be met by the double barrel of a gun. I fell back to the couch, petrified. "What do you want here, demon?!" screamed Millie, shoving the gun into the bridge of my nose with a sound crack. I yelped and clutched my nose, blood pouring down the front of me. As I lay there sobbing and bleeding, Millie stood over me, gun waving dangerously close to my face. With my mind too fuzzy to think, I lay there with my hands clutching my nose. "What do you want here, demon?" she asked again, tone calmer. I looked up at her, the briefest flash of pity appearing in her eyes before it was replaced with rage. "W-what are you talking about?" I stammer out between goopy sobs.
Millie goes on to explain that my mother was taken by the fox demons as evident by the scratches on the floor near where my mother sat. Somehow, the demons had got into the house and gotten a taste of the blood within (meaning the blood of me or my mom) and become hungry for more. I held out my hands in front of me, deep puncture wounds now visible in them. I shrieked and showed her one of my hands. Her gun clattered to the floor and she sunk onto the coffee table, head in her hands. She shook her head and looked to me, tears in her eyes. "This has happened before..." she stammered. "There was a girl who had her mother stolen by the foxes...she reappeared a year after her disappearance carrying a small baby with fox ears and a single stubby tail. A child of the foxes, the highest and most powerful manifestation of their power. It seems they've taken a liking to you, and they're trying to create another child of the foxes using your mother."
There was more conversation after that, but I don't really remember it. Next I remember, I'm standing on the balcony of Millie's house, staring down at the river which has calmed itself to a black snake. On the water's surface, in the delicate foam, I see the outline of my mother tied up and shrieking, words floating across the surface. "Come to the womb tomorrow at dawn, we'll see who wins this battle," the words say. Millie steps out onto the balcony behind me and sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder. I stand there for an hour, watching the water paint its cruel picture of my mother suffering, images of the monstrous killings popping back into view.
Long night is long, I think I slept until an hour before sunrise when Millie woke me up and we hopped in her car to drive to the womb, Foxbelly Lake. Lots of the people from my Foxtail had seen the writing in the water, so there were throngs of people gathered on the shore of Foxbelly, all of them pointing out to the center where a small white thing keeps surfacing.
The next parts get really jumpy and crazy, so do forgive me for that.
All I remember next is a giant fox leaping from the water, eight tails whipping around, teeth and fang lunging for me. Millie slips me a knife and I manage to drive it down the back of the beast's throat, not before it manages to nearly sever my right arm, killing it instantly, and then I begin to hack its head off, much to the horror of the townspeople. Once the head is severed, I cradle it in my arms as best I can. It hisses and sputters at me in this made-up language, then the head silences and the eyes glass over. I throw the head into the water and watch as it slowly sinks down, the body sinking into the ground as well.
Next, a pod of oddly-shaped tablets pops up from the ground and I'm instructed to read them all, only the words are in this made-up language that I can somehow understand. Reading in a dream is hard enough, but to read this stuff in a language I can barely understand? Gimme a breaaaaaaak.
The very last thing I remember is seeing this gorgeous fox girl rise up from the water, nine fox tails writhing around behind her. She smiles, and then I wake up for good at 1PM.
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