One of my primary pet peeves is being forced to listen to someone recount their prior night’s dream. So it would sure be rather hypocritical if I were to recount my own prior night’s dream, wouldn’t it? Or even worse, write a whole series of posts about my dreams. Which is just what I decided to do.
Well, more specifically, to write about the nightmares.
I get those sometimes, and they’re awesome. In fact, I used to get nightmares more frequently, but I fear I’ve become just too damn laid back nowadays, and my subconscious really struggles to find stupid things to get aggro about in the dreamworld.
So here I am with only the second installment of my Nightmare Journal since I kicked it off back in February: The Doll Men. I assure you, it is not worth the wait. It’s simply me recalling a stupid scary dream. Enjoy.
Oh here’s the first one, if you missed it: The Basement.
I’m sitting in a booth at a cafe or an old school soda fountain or maybe even one of those diners that shares a space with a gas station convenience store on the side of the highway, where you simply walk past the aisles of candy and chips and combs and cardboard car scent cactuses and suddenly you’re in a diner complete with booths and a server and a line cook… Yeah, if memory serves, I was in that last one.
Come to think of it, gas station diners are weird enough even in real life that they end up sticking in your brain more like a dream than a memory. The separation between the convenience store and diner is just too subtle. They should really paint a yellow line between them so you know which one you’re in.
Anyway, I’m in one of those, on the diner side, with my friends or some random dudes or something, and we must be about 30 years younger than I am now, because the guys are full of piss and vinegar and have decided to start a fight with another group of young dudes at the other booth. I don’t think there was any reason to fight, other than my subconscious wanting to do a gas station diner version of the Sharks and Jets, I guess. I’m scared to participate in this fight, or I’m scared to piss off the staff of such a comfy diner, or probably both, and I’m protesting to my group, and they’re belittling me.
That part was not scary. Just frustrating. Sucks to get your balls busted by your group of friends whom you’re not sure if you even know, and especially before you’ve had a chance to glance at the gas station diner menu.
The diner brawl doesn’t happen, or if it does, it happens without me, because suddenly I’m outside in a field and, oddly enough, now I’m pissed and ready to throw down. At a new enemy, though.
There are about 4 others outside with me, and they’re weird as hell. They’re adults, but they’re about 3 or 4 feet tall, with glassy, chubby faces like a doll’s – shiny red cheeks and pouty lips and all that. They’re all dolled up in nice Sunday clothes – button-up shirts tucked tightly into pleated blue pants high up on their waist – like how a parent would dress a toddler for church. But I know these are not toddlers. They’re adults. Adults that look like dolls.
And I hate the Doll Men.
They’re running around like idiots, yipping out a weird half human/half dog sound: “Hi! Hi! Hi! HI HI HI! Hi! Hi! Hi!” And they’re darting forward towards me, then ducking back, toying with me. A pack of young coyotes playing with what will shortly be their dinner.
Their antics have me raging mad. I’ve got my fists out in front of me, my leg in pre-karate kick posture. I want blood.
It occurs to me now, here in the post-dream world, that I was probably feeling dream shame for my cowardice during the gas station diner dust up pre-game, and so I must have created a new enemy that would be physically less imposing than the bros at the adjacent booth. But I bungled it, big time. The Doll Men may be smaller than the diner bros, but they are far more freaky.
Hi! Hi! Hi! HI HI! Hi! Hi! Hi!
One comes zipping in at me, and I swing a fist at him, whiffing in the air as he dodges and then starts to run wide circles around me.
Hi! HI HI HI! HI!
Another pops in at me, and I try to kick him in the face. I miss, and he joins his buddy, circling me, moving in and out, testing me. Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!
Soon all four of them are racing around me, yipping, taking little nips in my direction, coyotes tiring out their prey.
And I’m punching and I’m kicking and now I’m screaming at them. Screaming madly. But I can barely hear my screams over all the noise they’re making…
HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI!
HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI!
HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI!
HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI! HI!
Screaming, punching, kicking…
A hand touches my chest, bringing me back to the post-dream world again. It’s Sab. I’m not sure if I was tossing around in the bed, or if I was just doing my weird moan that I do when I’m nightmaring something fierce in the dreamworld, but I guess I woke her up and so she deux ex machina’d my ass right out of that skirmish with those goddamn Doll Men.
As I lay there in bed, trying to cool down from that stupid ass dream, I realized, “Oh hell yes. That was a nightmare. A new one! Finally! Remember the Doll Men!”
Remember the Doll Men, indeed.
I’ll see you again, you weird little bastards, and I’ll be bringing the nightmare to you next time. You just wait. Nightmare Boy is back, Doll Men.
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