As I said in my last post, there's too much creepiness in Dream Land to make a single post. This post is about The Dead Dreams, as I call them. The real dreams that feature the Land of the Dead in some form or fashion. The previous post in this series is Dreams Part 1. I consider these to be real because of the feeling, which I talk about in my previous post. It feels completely different to dreams created by my subconscious. They feel like I've either gone somewhere or something has invaded my subconscious. Just like with the previous post, these are not all of the dreams I have ever had, but they are the one's that I still remember vividly, plus we can't write novellas here. The first one that comes to mind, but probably isn't the first, happened when I was about fourteen. My paternal grandfather had died about a year before. I was busily dreaming whatever it was that I'd been dreaming. Then within seconds black clouds rolled across my vision and everything was solidly black. Out from this, my dead for a year paternal grandfather shot up out of that darkness with light around him looking extremely disapproving. He was saddened and ashamed of me. He was real. It wasn't something real pretending to be him, it was really him. After about 30 seconds to a minute of him just looking at me, he disappeared, the black clouds rolled away, a new normal dream started, but I woke myself up and cried. I'm not certain why he was upset with me, but it could be lots of things. I was angry that he had died and was super pissed at God and hated him. I was grieving hard and was not nice to be around. I wasn't nice to my dad, his son. I probably stole something from one of my parents. Was it that I didn't keep my room clean? It was the only time in waking life that he was saddened by my behavior when he was alive; my messy room. This one I still call a Dead Dream, but really it was Astral Projection or something like that. I was fourteen or fifteen and dreaming a rather ordinary dream and then all of a sudden I'm in this blue tinted landscape. There's mountains to the right and an ocean to the left and there's a bridge gapping a road and another bridge below. There are no buildings and no people walking around. One or two cars drive by. It was like I was hovering above the scene and could come down to the level to see it like I was standing at it. It only lasted maybe five minutes and the TV channel was switched back to a normal dream. I didn't think much of it, though it certainly felt different from a normal dream, until I visited my sister when she lived in LA. "I'll take you to Ventura, you'll love it!", so we're driving and I don't really know if we were on the way to Ventura or were already there, I just remember thinking it felt really familiar. Once we hit a certain spot, I screamed, "STOP!", which she did, and she was pissed, because we were on the highway, though just like in my dream, it was not busy at all. There was no one there. Two cars did drive by down below though, just like in my dream. I screamed stop at about the exact place where I had appeared in Dream Land some months before. It was exactly the same and I had the same feeling as well as the feeling of being here before. I'd never seen a photo of that particular spot before and my sister hadn't written about it. It was a pretty unremarkable spot really. I was probably about fifteen and I was dreaming some bland or weird dream when all of a sudden I was in this weird stilt city. I was really high up in the clouds and these structures were on stilts. The "roads" were planks of wood that didn't look all that safe. The "city" was really small and in a square. Three sides had little shack huts with doorways leading into darkness. There were probably four or five houses on each of these three sides. The fourth side, where I was, was just plank "road". I felt like the place was larger, but this was all I could see. This dream was real. This was a dead dream. I was dreaming a real dream and just as if someone had switched the channel on a TV, I was on all fours on this plank "road" high up in the sky. The colours were a subdued and murky mustard yellow and tan, the openings in those houses were black as night. As soon as I got there I was thinking, "Now this isn't right. What the hell is this?" I had a feeling of intense foreboding, like whatever lived in those houses, shouldn't be woken up. I should not step on the plank "roads" in front of these houses, nor should I peer inside or go inside them. I didn't know what to do, because I felt that if I moved or stood up, it would awaken the horrible things inside. I was lingering too long, but I didn't know what to do. It felt like I would be caught at any moment; that the things inside those small huts were starting to sense that I was there. Then a voice from I don't know where said in hushed, panicked tones, "You're not supposed to be here. How did you get here?" I was thinking to answer when the voice said, "Go, go now! Run!" and I got up to run and the channel changed and I was back in a boring dream, but my sleeping self was still scared inside this new dream. Also, when the voice spoke, I don't know who it was, but the feeling was of an ancestor, someone I'm related to, but someone I've never met. A female. Probably dead for at least 200 years. That was the feeling I got from her voice. That dead dream still freaks me out because where the hell did I go? I dreamt about a house with a lot of windows. It was small, and even the doors had lots of windows, like French doors. There was rain falling outside, the windows were drizzly with rain and you couldn't see out. I enter into one room and there is my brother. He was in his teenage form and laying on a gurney (though that was the only thing medical looking about this dream - no sheets even, just the simple metal frame and blue padding). There was something wrong with him, but nothing bad. It was either a broken leg, or a broken arm, perhaps both. He was alive and well by all accounts, but he felt diminished. Like he was dying of a disease or something was very, very wrong with him. I started sobbing in the dream by his side and without speaking he said, "It's OK, you can't save me, but I'll be fine." I woke up after that sobbing uncontrollably. So sad. The dream was real. It felt like my brother had really visited me in my dreams, or else I'd ventured into his. A few months later he died of a diabetic coma. I couldn't save him. No one could save him. It still kind of haunts me. I used to have recurring nightmares of my maternal grandmothers house. It would start out as a weird dream, escalating to bad, turning into a nightmare. Fourty times I dreamt of this house in much the same way, only two times were real. The nightmare, non-real dreams, started outside. Sometimes there were aspects of that house that were accurate from waking life, most of the time not, but I knew it was that house. The kitchen was always derelict with rotten floors, peeling paint, and roaches. There was always a slightly spooky or creepy vibe almost from the get-go. Sometimes the house looked like a grand house from the early 20th century, which the house was, but this was a different look, other times like a grand antebellum house. The rooms were huge with double pocket doors and some rooms had creepier feelings than others. Feelings of being watched, feelings of old memories of things that had happened before; some rooms I couldn't even force myself to enter. Once I made it to the grand stair case it would rise several stories in height and blue lights would flicker and blue phantoms would float off to the sides of the stair case up in the air, or on the stair case itself. Reminded me very much of a much creepier version of the ballroom scene area in the Disney ride, The Haunted Mansion. If I made it upstairs (because sometimes I'd wake up before then), I'd enter a room from the 1940s. The lights would flicker on and off and sometimes I'd get trapped there with the doors slamming shut before waking up. That's basically the nightmare. Now, my maternal grandmother had moved from that house in 1985, ten - fifteen years before I started having those recurring nightmares, and that was twenty years before she died. So, she dies, and several, several months afterwards (six, seven months?) I had two real dreams of that house. It would start out much the same with me outside, and it was weird and then a bad dream. I'd enter through the kitchen and it was the same, but the tint of the room was this light green and there was black water on the floor, about ankle height. It was creepy and more derelict than the other nightmares. It also felt weird, but I couldn't put my finger on it at first. My sleeping self was like, "Wait... this isn't the right dream. Something's not right here." I'd go out into the hall off the kitchen and there was still more black water on the floor and not really much light. The grand staircase wasn't all that grand. It was in the correct place for the recurring dreams, but not correct for the house in waking life. But, it did look more like the stair case in waking life, even if it was in the wrong place and didn't curve, but just went straight up. It also only went to the second floor and didn't tower up five or ten stories up in the air. It was pitch black on the second floor in this dream. Then the real fireplace from the dining room (of the house in waking life) was there in the hallway, but there was a flickering electric green and pukey yellow light above it. I would look into the mirror and behind me in the mirror was my grandmother and it made me jump because she was so scary. Her hair, which was normally in a tight and perfect French Twist, was all disheveled and coming down in whisps. Her cheeks were very sunken in. Her eyes were milky white and she was blind. She seemed calm when I turned to meet her, but also had an air of harassment about her, like she'd been being terrorized and was frazzled. I followed her to the end of the hallway through the double pocket doors and into a huge room covered entirely in dark wood and dimly lit windows on the other side and a sweeping, curved staircase directly to the right of the doorway. The stairs wound up to a door illuminated by light behind it. In waking life the hallway would lead to double pocket doors into a double front sitting area, but all of it was white with the front door and the curved, sweeping staircase to the far left. I would find out after these dreams that originally this front double parlor area was all dark wood and my grandmother had painted it white (and continued the paint upkeep) in the fifties, but I didn't know that during this or the second dream. Also in the dream it wasn't separated and there was no front door. It was just huge and dark. She wanted to go up the stairs, but couldn't. She wanted me to help her. She never spoke with words, I just knew. I was going to help her, she became scared by something else that was in the dream and I woke up. I could feel the energy of whatever that thing was and though it seemed familiar, it is not a thing (or one of the things) that has plagued me in my nightmares during my life. That house was creepy though and there were things in it, so perhaps this was a thing associated with that house, which I would have felt as a kid, but hadn't felt in a very, very long time. Then my brother died, about a year after our grandmother. Several months after his death (six or seven months), I had the dream again. Exactly the same with being outside, coming into the super creepy green kitchen with black water on the floor, going out into the hallway and looking in the dining room fireplace mirror with it's creepy and garish flickering neon light. My creepy looking grandmother I saw behind me while looking in the mirror and turned around to see her and followed her into that all wood, dark expanse of a front room with the wooden staircase leading up to that door. She wanted me to help her get to that door. I was going to. This time there was no creepy thing somewhere in the house that she or I could sense. She stepped up onto the first step and then the second, my milky eyed blind dead grandmother, she gained a few more steps. I reached out to touch the banister and put my foot on the bottom step and I was blocked. I was registering feet on the second stairs now, which were facing me and my brothers voice saying, "Don't touch the stairs." I looked up and there was my brother facing me. He seemed sad. There was a lot of feeling surrounding him. The feeling that I shouldn't have been pulled into this, because I can't help our grandmother, the feeling that if I touched the stairs I'd enter the land of the dead and there was no coming back, the feeling that he wished he didn't have to be the one, but also that he was OK with being the one. The one who died to help out grandmother out of whatever prison she'd been unable to escape in death. "You can't take her up the stairs. I'm here now. I'll take her. Don't come back here. It's not safe for you." I watched him turn and slowly go up the stairs and then take our grandmothers arm and guide her the rest of the way. I never saw them reach the door, nor open it, as I had woken up. I cried a lot when I woke up from that one. I've also never dreamt of any fashion or form of that house since that dream. So now we have tie in dreams to this. The house that my grandmother moved to and was her last residence. I'd had creepy dreams about it since I was a teenager. They felt weird and wrong (but not real) and they were not nightmares like the other house dreams, just bad dreams. Lots of hidden spaces and doors leading to secret rooms. And it just felt all wrong, Like the feeling was of a creepy loneliness. But they still felt like just dreams. One time there was a secret room in the basement with lots of treasure! Before the real dreams I just talked about, I had one for this house. It was perhaps two weeks to a month after my grandmother died. I was driving up to see her and pulled up in front of this house. Everything about this house was accurate to the way it looked in waking life. I didn't even realize I was dreaming. Though I found it odd that I had no memory of getting in the car to drive up there, and when I was on the highway, I had no memory between that spot on the highway and me pulling up to a stop in front of the house. I brushed it aside and didn't think anything about it. My grandmother answered the door, though I had no memory of walking up the long walk to it nor of ringing the doorbell. She was smiling. She didn't speak. Her hair was perfect, her round glasses were on her face, she was wearing one of her usual nice, department store ladies T-shirts, this one a a white and navy horizontal striped paired with navy dress slacks. I followed her through the foyer, through the door and into the den. Everything looked so real and accurate to waking life (which has probably only happened once or twice in non real dreams and only the one time in this very real dream). Please note, that even during the non real dreams, I knew I was not awake. This one I really thought it was waking life, and that had never happened before or since this dream. We were walking in the open hallway to get to the living room I have no memory of finishing those steps to actually reach the large Persian carpet that demarcated the living room from the walking spaces, nor do I remember us reaching the marks where she was on the rug facing me and I was still on the parquet not yet having made footfalls on the rug. She was just standing there, looking at me and smiling. She wasn't creepy. There was a tea service on the coffee table beside her. I looked from her to the tea service and back to her again. Then I stepped away from the rug. "I can't be here. This can't be real. You died. There's no need for me to be at this house." She kept smiling but felt concerned. It felt like she either didn't know she was dead, or hadn't realized it wasn't a good thing to trick her granddaughter into the land of the dead. There was nothing malicious about it, but that's what was happening. Stepping onto the rug would have been bad, eating the food or drinking the tea would have been bad. For me. Good for her, because then I'd be dead like her and could probably help her. I just kept saying, "I can't be here." over and over again while backing way. Then I woke up and never dreamt of that house again, but incase you missed it was pulled into my grandmothers dead reality twice after that, just a different house. Well, I didn't dream of that house again. The accurate one where I didn't know I was dreaming. I went there once more, after the two dead dreams at the other house. I just appeared in the breakfast eating area. This wasn't the house I'd dreamt of previously in non real dreams, nor the dead dream house. This was a dead dream, just not the same. It was darker, but not spooky. There was a rickety wooden staircase outside leading from the bay windows to the downstairs patio. I didn't walk, but flew down the stairs and my brother was there. He was sketchy looking, like he was in between two worlds at the moment. He felt real and also not real, like half of him was really in this real dream world, but the other half of him was wherever he resides most of the time or back on Earth or something. Then I flew back up those stairs and back into the breakfast area and the kitchen didn't have walls and was open to the dining room. My grandmother was very much aware of where she was, but was muttering like she couldn't find something. She was wearing a flowered apron. My Aunt Jan was on the other side of this island bar in the kitchen. She turned and saw me and her eyes grew big and she shook her head no. I knew this to mean that I shouldn't talk or make my presence known to my grandmother. My aunt and grandmother were both really there, or I was really there where ever they were. When I woke up I was scared that my aunt had died, but going back over the feelings in the dream, she wasn't dead (and turns out she wasn't, because she's still alive and this dream was over ten years ago) I wasn't sure if my grandmother knew that my aunt was there or not, but for some reason my grandmother couldn't know that I was there. My aunt seemed very surprised to see me there. That was the last dream I ever had about my grandmother, my brother, or houses associated with either, whether a real dead dream or just a dream dream. There have been other Dead Dreams, but these were the one's that stuck out the most. Our final post is The Inbetween World.
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AuthorA girl from South Mississippi who finds herself in exploration. Archives
November 2019
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