Light bulb dream

I was in a forest, a New-England type of forest, with lots of tall trees, most of the trunks were tiny, only a few inches across, and they were prettily close together. it was a hillside, fairly steep, crossed by a dirt path. This path was was a kind of road and it disappeared around the hillside in both directions. Where I was standing, there was a smaller path going down a few yards to a small, ramshackle, house. There was a kind of railing along the path, made of random bits of mismatched wood, sloppily put together, braced between the trees and looking very flimsy. The weather was gray, damp and very cold. The ground was covered with years of leaves, except for the paths, which were black and muddy.

I was standing on the main path, at the intersection with the small path. Right there, there was a kind of wood construction that I took to be like the collections of mailboxes that you see in rural areas at the end of private roads. it was not very large, attached to various trees, and also poorly made and very worn. Inside this construction there were some glowing lights, shining down. They were not very bright. I don’t know the purpose of the lights, but they were important, somehow.

Then I had a flashback, and saw myself in some workshop, constructing a new type of light. I was placing a tiny, faintly-glowing blue sphere inside a tiny glass cylinder. The blue sphere was about the size of the head of a pin and the glass cylindrical envelope wasn’t much larger around, maybe as long as the tip of your little finger.

I was carefully placing the blue sphere inside the glass with some kind of tweezers. It was very delicate work. It had to be done in a pure atmosphere, and then the glass sealed by melting the end. There was also some wiring involved. Then I remember testing it, and watching the blue sphere quickly grow brighter and then put out a tremendous about of brilliant white light. I was very excited. There was a feeling of “They told me it couldn’t be done!”

This was very important because I had discovered some new kind of energy, but, in order to use it, I needed this new type of bulb. And we really needed this new type of energy and light.

Then I was back at the intersection in the forest. The new light was installed in the mailbox thing. It was working fine and I felt a certain sense of satisfaction about that. Then it happened. I was looking at my new bulb and, although it wasn’t turned on, it started to glow and shine amazingly brightly, and then went poof! I was thinking, contamination! But I was also devastated, partly for myself but mostly because we needed this so badly and it failed.

Right about that time, I head a very strange sound. The best description i can come up with is that it sounded like the dying call of a very weak and hoarse crow. That sound woke me up, and I laid in bed, thinking about the dream, for a while before I noticed that it wasn’t my bedroom and, therefore, I must not really be awake. Then I awoke fully and was back in my real room.

That was sometime around 2 am, and I just could not be back to sleep. A while later I heard a loud knocking on the wall, in a distinct pattern. It was creepy and all I can guess is that it was my daughter knocking on the wall in here sleep. Maybe, it still was a bit unnerving. A little while after that I heard something I could understand: the door of my daughters room rattling. That, I knew, was the sound the cat makes when she’s trapped in the room and trying to get out. So I let her out and went back to bed. I spend the rest of the night (It’s now 6 am) sleeping fitfully, constantly waking every half hour or so. I kept resisting getting up and writing this down. Now that I have, maybe I can get some rest, though I now have less than a hour before I need to get up.

Bedtime Reading

He knelt beside the bed to read. He didn't have time much for reading anymore. Funny, he though, how voraciously he had read as a child, carting basketfuls of books back and forth to the library each week during the summer and as often as he could during the school year. Reading every spare moment, before school and after, even between classes when he could. He had lived in other people's stories. In later years the habit waned until he only read books occasionally when he had the time or was especially depressed or lonely.

Tonight was unusual in that he wasn't either depressed or lonely, he just had this book. He'd acquired it a while back, stumbled across it really, and thought it looked interesting. Still, it was several weeks before he actually got around to opening the cover.

How quickly the old habits come back, he thought as he settled in, once he starts reading he can't stop and other obligations go begging. In the back of his mind he notes that this is why he doesn't read much anymore-it's just too addicting.

Tonight he has other things to do, but the book calls to him to get lost in its pages and let the world slip away. The house is quiet. It's still early but the late autumn sun has already slipped away and the windows are black. As he settles down to read, the light directly above the bed shines down on the yellowing pages of the old paperback. One of the things that make him feel old is seeing the books from his youth looking like ancient parchment. No matter. He starts to read and the room fades away.

Sometime later he is slowly drawn back by the growing awareness that he is not alone. He has no idea how much time has passed, the night is still dark and still. As he slowly disengages from the book, he suddenly realizes who it is and he snaps back to the world with an almost physical thunk.

He feels a momentary flash of annoyance. She is there, kneeling by the bed next to him. He didn't move. He didn't take his eyes off the pages, not even for a moment. There is no need, he can see her clearly in his minds eye: head propped on one hand, her face in three-quarters profile as she peers impishly at him with her hair falling halfway across her face. He can feel the warmth of her presence along his side, on his cheek, his arm. But he can not look. He knows he must not, no matter how much longs to. For he knows she isn't there, and attempting to see her would only break the spell that much sooner. So he keeps his eyes on the pages, seeing words but not reading.

"It's been a while," he though.

She shrugged. "Perhaps you don't need me much anymore."

"Perhaps." The old feelings returned. Never really gone, they had nonetheless faded over the past months. Memories fade no matter how tightly we hang on to them.

She continued to watch him, eyes fixed on his face, waiting.

"Odd," he thought, "your hair seems longer than I remember." He didn't want to follow that thought any farther.

Her smile quickly grew into a silent laugh. Then she brushed her hair out of her face with that gesture he knew so well that it hurt to watch it. Her eyes dropped to the book and returned to his face with a question.

"Ah well," he thought, "you know me and books."

Her smile momentarily broadened, then a look of concern crossed her face.

"No," he replied, "not so much anymore." She seemed reassured.

For a while, he had retreated from the world into books, just as he had in his youth. It had not been pretty. But that period was now over and he had put his life back together. Her visits had seemed to help, but once he was back in the world she came less and less often. He had missed her.

Her eyes left his face and wandered around the room.

"Yes, there have been a lot of changes since you were last here," he thought. "Somewhat cleaner, some new furniture. I just couldn't take looking at some of the old stuff any more." She nodded in agreement. He chuckled a bit, it felt so good to talk to her again, then he stopped.

"It's still just me though." He waited.

Her eyes completed their scan of the room and returned to him. She appraised him with a mixture of disappointment and rebuke. That gaze made him feel like a child, one that didn't quite measure up. He began to squirm under her gaze, discomfort growing. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Hey," the thought came before he could stop it, "I don't need anyone, I have you..." The moment the words formed in his mind, he knew. The expression on her face slid from disappointment to sadness. His discomfort was instantly replaced by a pain in his chest, growing until he almost couldn't breathe.

"No!" Her eyes dropped. He couldn't stand it.

"Please...?" She still didn't look at him.

He desperately wanted to grab that thought and stuff it back where it came from. To seal it up so tight and bury it so deep that it would be as if it had never happened. But he knew it was no use.

He'd known this hour would come. The thought had been growing slowly, insistently, in the back of his mind. It would have to come, sooner or later. But he had tried so hard not to think about it, to push it away. But it had remained, a dark cloud hovering in the distance, looming over everything he had accomplished, everything he was.

Slowly her gaze returned to him. Her eyes studied him for a long time, the sadness on her face slowly fading. He waited, afraid to breathe, for what seemed a very long time. Eventually her eyes dropped again.

"Is it time?"

She gave a quick nod, still looking down. After a moment she looked up and, with a look of profound tenderness, raised her arm as if to touch his hair. But then she stopped and let her arm drop with a rueful smile. She sighed. Then she seemed to come to a decision and, with a mixture of affection and determination, leaned over as to kiss his hair or whisper something in his ear. But before she could be either, she was gone.

He continued to stare at the book for a long time, trying to read. But the words would not hold still. The world seemed so much more empty now than it was just a short while ago. Finally he closed the book with a sigh and set it aside. He closed his eyes, laid his head upon the covers and finally, at long last, began to weep.

The Master

A storified version of a dream I had some years ago:

“Shush, will you, you'll wake Billy,” this was a harsh whisper in the dark. Too late, I thought, I’m already awake. Even though the sky was still dressed for evening, dawn was not far away.

“What are you guys up to?” I asked.

“None of your business weirdo, just go back to sleep.”

That was my brother Mark. Just a couple of years older but he lived in a completely different world. A teenager.

I sat up and looked at them, two silhouettes in the dark, my brother and his best friend Tom. They were obviously up to something-and I thought I knew what.

“You're going to see the Master, aren't you,” I whispered accusingly.

“What if we are,” my brother shot back, “What's it to you?”

“You TOLD him!” Tom almost exploded.

“Shut up,” my brother said, “you'll wake my parents.”

“But you know what He said...” Tom started, somewhat more quietly.

“I didn't TELL him anything,” my brother continued, “the little snoop listens.” While they were talking, my brother had finished putting his shoes on and the both started out the window.

“I want to come too,” I said, in a rush, before it was too late.“Yah right!” my brother tossed over his shoulder, continuing to open the window.

“Yah,” sneered Tom, a bit of a weasel, “only those Invited can come.”

As if being Invited is anything special, I thought to myself. “I don't care.” I whined back, ” I can go if I want to.”

“Forget it,” my brother said, now halfway out the window.

“I'll tell,” I said, playing my trump card.

My bother was now standing on the porch roof, his body bent at an angle because the edge of the roof was a little bit to right of the window. He paused, turned and looked at me, his eyes, visible despite the dark, caused a shiver to run down my spine. I though he was going to hit me.

“Whatever,” said Tom quickly, for he knew that look, “let the little snot come…if he can.” “You'd better keep up,” he said to me, “don't expect us to wait for you!”

“It doesn't matter anyway,” my brother muttered, still looking at me, “the Master will take care of him.” With that his head disappeared and Tom started out the window.

I think he might have been looking forward to seeing what the Master would do to me. That bothered me a little, but I pushed the thought from my mind and got up and threw on my clothes as fast as I could. In truth, I really had no idea what was going on. I had overheard just enough to know that something secret was up, and I wanted in.

I slipped out the window after they were both gone, pausing just long enough to see which direction they were heading. I had climbed out of our window before, but never in the this much hurry. I had no time to look around as I flung myself carelessly for the porch roof and scrabbled for the forward edge. The air was cool and smelled of dew and pine trees as I dropped quickly to the ground, slipping on the damp grass. I paid no attention to the scratches and scrapes I picked up in my haste. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted across the lawn. When I hit the sidewalk, I could see them a few houses down and pushed harder to catch up. I carved through the air like a racing sloop. The air flowed around me, lifting the back of my shirt, ruffling my hair and cooling my shoes, damp from dewy grass.

“We'd better move it,” Tom was saying as I caught up, “the sun's almost up. You know what he said...”

“Yeah, yeah. Dawn.” My brother cut him off. He didn't like anyone telling him anything. They both ignored me.

I didn’t even have a chance to catch my breath before they took off down the street toward the beach, jackets fluttering in the still air. Even though the big elms along the street were still in their full summer leaf, we could easily find our way through their shadows. Not that it mattered, we could find our way blindfolded. We had walked this way to the beach nearly every day during that summer.

No one spoke the rest of the way. The sun still wasn't up when we crossed the last street and stepped onto the sand. The mountains on the other side of the bay were hard black silhouettes that would release the sun at any moment. We were just in time.

Out across the glassy water we saw a five small boats, hooked together prow to stern and looking like a kiddy circus train from an amusement park. The lead boat was shinny black and shaped like an old-fashioned train engine in a cartoon. It was puffing smoke in stylized puffs, each one separate and fluffy and growing larger before it faded into the sky. Each of the boats were different, but all were brightly colored and cartoon shaped. They looked ridiculous and somehow sinister on a real bay, winding through real sailboats, heading for the shore.

Driving the lead boat was a figure that I took to be the Master. Cartoonish, like his train, thin and dressed in a shiny black coat and top hat. He had a large head, impossibly thin arms and legs and large hands and feet. He drove the train like an engineer, right up to the edge of the water as though he was pulling into a station. A part of my mind wondered about that, how any boat could come so close to the shore without grounding in the shallow water.

I just stared as the train pulled to a stop and Master stepped out onto the sand. He stood still for a moment, watching us, then he smiled and tipped his hat. Then I realized that my brother and Tom, who had kept on walking when I stopped, were a lot closer than I was and, with a shout, had started to run again. I was way behind.

I started to run across the soft sand, feet sinking in and sand flying off my shoes. I had to watch my feet to keep from stumbling over the uneven sand. That beach seemed a million miles wide, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to get any closer to the water. I began to get seriously worried when I looked up and saw my brother within a few steps of the train. I tried to speed up, but then something grabbed both feet and I fell face first into the sand.

I was sure it was the Master. He was holding my feet! I tried to kick and pull my legs free and spit sand out of my mouth at the same time. I kept my eyes closed to protect them from the sand as I thrashed around, unable to loosen my legs even a little. Finally I broke down and cried. “I want to go,” I whined to myself.

I opened my tear-filled eyes and turned my head around to plead with the Master. The whine died half-formed in my mouth when I saw my dad holding my feet. I stared for a moment then looked back in front of me again. No beach. I saw…grass, our front yard and the front of our house from the point of view of someone hanging head-first out my bedroom window.

I dimly heard shouting and crying as my dad pulled me inside. I was confused and out of touch, and my face hurt. Where was the beach? What happened? A weird dream? I became aware that my dad was saying something. “Where was Mark?” “How the heck do I know,” I thought, though it was too much effort to answer. I was numb with confusion and disappointment, and completely detached as I watched my parents. I was already too far gone to even try to understand them as they drifted further and further away and the blackness closed in.

When I woke up the next morning, things had calmed down a bit. But they were never the same, for that was the last time I saw my brother. I was the last time anyone saw my brother or Tom. No one knew what to make of my story, least of all me, but I think that Mark, like many teenagers, was trying to get away from his past and, unfortunately for him, he found a way.