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Last night, sinking into sleep, straight into a cold, cold dream. Standing on the table-flat top of a snow-swept mesa (geologically illogical, but this is a dream) alone in the cold wind and the thought comes suddenly: somebody's here's with you. Coalescing with the thought, he is, on this small tabletop of bare stone isolated in whirling, freezing air. Dark figure in the gloom, the whirling snow. Indistinct, terrifying. Struggle up out of the dream and he still is, abject and threatening, something heavier and darker in the heavy dark of my narrow room. The noises of the house assault me, as I spread out checking for anything out of place, curling my cold feet up under me. A drip, a click, a car-door slamming outside. Nothing. And yet the sense of a presence persisted, heavy, unwelcome, unpleasant. Insistent. I put on a pair of socks, huddled down, dark, late, time to ignore the stupid things the subconscious insists on against all external evidence. Somebody's here. Yeah? Give him my love.


( 1 worm — Feed the birds )
24th Feb, 2006 12:21 (UTC)
Well Scary...
Ohhh, Whoooo, Brrrrr!

PS: It was Frankenstein's monster, who is, of course, still alive in the Arctic Wastes...
( 1 worm — Feed the birds )