(Female, 30′s) My friend Mike was in trouble with the cops. I didn’t know what he’d done, but Mike told me they were going to arrest him and kill him.
The cops came to get him, but they had a problem: somehow the chief had been turned into a baby. There were hints that it was done by magic. The cops weren’t sure yet how to reverse the situation, but as soon as they did, they would be taking Mike away.
Meanwhile, another cop handed me the baby cop– who looked just like a regular baby of about 9 months old– too young to walk, but sturdy enough to sit up. He was dressed like a baby, not a cop, in case you are wondering. He asked me to look after the chief for a few minutes, so I held him on my hip with my arm around him, like you do with a baby that size.
As soon as he was out of ear-shot, Mike whispered to me to kill the baby.
“What? Are you serious?” I asked him.
“Dead serious,” he replied. “It’s my life we’re talking about.”
I looked at the baby cop. He really looked like a baby– harmless and not murderous. Still, Mike is a really good friend.
So when the cops weren’t looking, I tried to smother the baby I was holding. I felt just terrible. It wasn’t easy to do however. His face was kind of like a doll’s face, that hard plastic that doesn’t move. I was trying to pinch his nose closed and hold his mouth shut, but the baby was resisting, trying to twist his head away from me and turning bright pink. It was awful. I had to stop. The baby was gasping and wheezing, but Mike wasn’t ready to give up.
“Come on,” he said. “Just kill him. It’s a cop, not a baby.” Mike was watching me and looking really desperate.
Maybe I could feed it something that it would choke on. I looked around. I saw a rubber clown mask sitting on the table that I guess hadn’t been put away from Halloween yet. I handed it to the baby, who started putting it in its mouth and chewing on it, the way babies do. It kinda bit off a piece, so I waited for him to choke. No luck. I glanced over at Mike. I looked back at the baby, and the mask was gone. He’d swallowed the whole thing, coughing a little, but he was fine.
On the table was a bowl of peanuts. I grabbed a handful and held them out to the baby, who took one and put it in its mouth, then another, then another. The baby cop was just downing the peanuts, dozens of them, one right after the other.
The other cop came back and held out his hands to take the baby, just as the baby cop started to cough. “I’ll take the chief now,” he said. Mike was standing behind the cop, shaking his head no.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind watching him,” I said. “Leave him here with me.”
Then the baby started to shake, and then threw up on the ground, enormous puddle of vomit including a bunch of peanuts and a clown mask.
“I guess he’s not feeling so good,” said the cop, shaking his head.
I tried to nudge the clown mask out of the way, hoping that the cop didn’t notice it because it seemed pretty obvious that I was trying to hurt the baby cop, but the other cop seemed pretty distracted by the baby cop and the chaos going on.
“Come on,” he said. “Give me the chief. We gotta go.”
Mike looked at me accusingly. I could have saved his life, but I’d failed.
One of my belongings was a this doll, like a ventriloquist’s dummy, and
come on– those are always creepy under the best circumstances. It made
sense that I had it because I had a lot of dolls when I was a child,
although never one like this. I don’t think it was a full-size dummy, more
like a half size or smaller. It stood about 15 inches tall– baby-doll
size– but it was proportioned more like an adult body.
And I say stood because the darned thing suddenly came to life.
And it’s main reason for being was to kill me.
I knew I had to watch it all the time. I couldn’t take my eyes off it,
even as it was frantically running around the room and looking for
something sharp with which to stab me.
It found a pocket knife and came at me with it. I knocked the knife out of
its hand, and then I easily pulled its arms behind its back. It kept
thrashing and snarling. It was a tough little bugger, but so much smaller
than me that I could restrain it fairly easily– I just couldn’t let it go.
I knew I had to tie it up securely. I found some zip ties and was using
those to wrap around its legs, when it leaned forward and grabbed a
corkscrew. It brandished the corkscrew over its head at me, thrusting
about wildly. It wasn’t made out of doll material after all, but it had
skin and muscles, just small.
So I picked it up and started smashing it on the ground, trying to knock it
out. It was a doll, but it also was bleeding. I kept beating at it, but
it wouldn’t stop trying to hurt me.
Around that time, my husband and some friends came in the room. They
watched me rather scornfully. They seemed to think I was overreacting. It
was just a little doll after all.
I knew it would kill me if I didn’t kill it first– I just didn’t know
(Male, 40′s) My wife and I were staying at this cheap motel and late at night, we got hungry so we went to the coin operated restaurant they had on the roof. It felt like a real restaurant with booths and menus even but there was no staff working there. Everything was a vending machine.
The place was hopping. I don’t know if the town was really dead for night spots or what but there were lots of “kids” and I’ll use that term to mean people in their early 20′s.
They were honky-tonk punks. That’s the best definition. They wore country western style clothes but all dolled up like they’d read about Elvis in history class. One guy had a big blond pompadour. The other wore a black shirt with silver shirt points and a bolo tie. The girl had a kerchief and boots. They were exuberant and dangerous.
They dropped a bunch of quarters in the jukebox and selected songs with a boom-chicka-boom chicka-boom rhythmn and a loud thundering bass. Rockabilly. They were up to no good, trying their best to kick up some shenanigans but they looked so gosh darned cute. I couldn’t keep my eyes off them.
The kid with the pompadour came over as my wife and I were leaving. We had words. I said something to the effect of “I like your style, kid.”
He snapped back, “You’re a dead man, old man.” He said it all syncopated, like he was a hipster hepcat or something.
“I’ve got a little living left but you’re right. You probably have more joys ahead of you than I do. But when I was young I remember not having much money. Let me pay for your time here.”
“Oh you’ll pay, Pops.”
He approached me and and flicked out a long stiletto knife. Like the rest of his get-up, it was more show than threat but it was still pretty dangerous looking.
By this time, I’d taken out my money clip. He moved in to grab me. For some reason I knew he wasn’t going to stab me outright, that he just wanted to take me hostage and torture me a bit to show off in front of his gang. As he grabbed me, I bent my arm up so I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and the edge of my money clip was right at the side of his throat.
He started in listing all the things a bored stupid thug could come up with to terrorize an out of towner, when I pointed out to him that with a flick of my wrist, I could sever an important artery to his head. Sure he could stab me but the blade would likely go into fat without hitting any organs. He’d be dead before he hit the ground.
The punk didn’t release me. I don’t think I convinced him. I was going to have to kill him, this silly small town would-be thug. At that stand off, the dream ended.
(Male, 30′s) Before I start I feel like I have to say that my relationship with my father, now dearly departed, was always friendly and never came to attempted murder and bloodshed.
So imagine my surprise with this nightmare. My wife and I were visiting my father at what must have been his apartment. It was the first floor of a house on a quiet residential street. We were sitting down to have tea and some kind of cake in the dining room. There was a bay window with many tiny panes of glass. My wife sat down in her chair, took a couple sips of tea and abruptly passed out. “It was a long drive to get here,” I tried to explain to my father. He encouraged me to have some of the tea as well while he stood over the tea cake, brandishing a huge chef’s knife. He seemed agitated and was quite insistent. I mimed sipping some tea. He relaxed his grip on the knife but he didn’t drink any tea. Clearly it was poisoned. He cut me a piece of cake which I tasted, then he put the knife down on the table.
I leaped up from my chair and grabbed the knife. But I was already feeling dizzy. Evidently the cake had been poisoned too! I took the knife and I plunged it into my father’s belly. The blade only penetrated an inch or so, hardly enough to get past the belly fat and damage any essential organs. I dropped the knife and ran… actually I stumbled away. I considered trying to use his telephone… and as I write this down, I realize that it was one of those old style rotary phones like we had when I was a kid. I figured he could cut the phone’s cord before the call went through. I continued making my way toward the front door. I braced myself against furniture that crashed down behind me. Fortunately, the wreckage of furniture slowed my father’s pursuit. I had nearly reached the front door when I woke up.
(Male, 30′s) All throughout my dreams last night, I kept coming across a murderer. He wasn’t always trying to kill me, though he was always threatening me – sometimes I saw him while he was either preparing to kill someone else, or disposing of the body. Once, I was at a funeral and at a certain point in the middle of a conversation with the mourners, I realized that this person must have been killed by the murderer. Another time, I came across him as he was speaking with someone who I later realized he was stalking. Another time I saw him driving a truck down a long winding mountain highway. He looked me right in the eyes and I was chilled to the core. He had another body with him and he was daring me to do something about it. I’d be next.
The most interesting thing about this dream is that it wasn’t primarily about the murderer. He was just a recurrent though highly disturbing character. And actually, if I had to physically describe the murderer, he looked different each time I saw him on a purely physical level. But he was in fact, the same guy, if not just the same malevolent force.
Eventually, he started stalking me. I was home in a house that isn’t actually my house. It was dark outside. A motion sensor light turned on in the back yard. I knew it was him. He was back there but I couldn’t see him. There were the reflective circles of a half dozen creatures out there, staring back at me – racoons, possum maybe. I couldn’t see their outlines, only their eyes. I knew that they could see me and see the murderer and they didn’t care if I was about to be murdered. I flipped on another light but couldn’t see him any better.
I was waiting for a bus. All the newspaper boxes had run out of local papers, which disturbed the other people waiting for the bus. I realized that I was standing in front of the factory where the murderer worked. I could confront him and turn the tables. It was a big brick building. I had to walk around it to find a door. I passed by a large window. Inside, I saw the murderer acting out his next murder. He held an absurdly large piece of glass as if it was an ax. He shouted “I’m going to kill you like this” and he waved the glass shard around and around like he was stabbing someone. Then the murderer saw me and he ran at the window. I stepped back, both the window and the glass shattered but I was unhurt. I pursued him around to a loading dock where there were other workers.
I finally got a good look at the murderer. His most disturbing feature was a poorly trimmed mustache. Half of it was cut extremely close while the other half was bushy. It looked like it had been hacked at with a knife. The workers were being called in for a staff meeting. I stretched my finger out at the murderer, accusingly. He was angry, viciously angry but he was broken, exhausted. I was extorting him to be good, to stop murdering people, to stop stalking me. He agreed.
(Female, 20′s) Last night I dreamt I killed someone, and then I did something worse. I lived in a tall house surrounded by farmland and someone had broken in. I fought with him at the top of a very tall circular staircase. Finally, I pushed him backward and he fell, over and over down the stairs, until he was dead.
“The dogs will know. The dogs will smell him and they’ll know.”
I was horrified by the thought I was now a murderer, that I had committed murder. I needed to get rid of the evidence so I dragged his heavy body to the bathroom and put him in the tub… where I proceeded to cut him up into pieces so I wouldn’t get blood everywhere — This gets a little grisly here — And then I figured that still there was too much blood left in these pieces so I put them in the oven, at least as much as would fit, and baked him until the pieces were dry. Then I sewed these parts into a scarecrow that I put out in the field, all the while thinking “The dogs will know. The dogs will smell him and they’ll know.” I still had to get rid of the rest of him. I figured I could take little pieces of him out to various parts of the farm and bury them where no one would ever find him.
(Male, mid 20′s) The wife of one of my wife’s friends shows up at our door. She says she has just left her husband and that she needs a place to hide. She’s afraid her husband might be violent. We let her in.
..She’s afraid her husband might be violent…
Before long her husband appears and he is angry. He tries to attack his wife but she runs away from him. Then he is angry at my wife and I for letting his wife hide in our house. He takes a poker from the fireplace and chases us around in a homicidal frenzy. Then he threatens my infant daughter — and without a thought I rip the weapon away from him and beat him over and over with it. Before I know it, this longtime friend of ours, someone who would eat dinner at our table, lies dead at my feet, bloody, broken, crushed by my hand. It was terrifying how easy it was.
(Female, teen) So maybe a lot of this comes from an episode of Alias I watched just before going to sleep but I still woke up too scared to roll over in bed. I was a spy on a mission. I was to go to somebody’s house and talk to a man who was involved with computers. When I rang the doorbell, the man’s wife and son came to the door and I met them first. The little boy went off to play and the wife showed me in to where the husband was. We talked for awhile about computers then I left.
…The creature sort of looked human…
But I could still see inside the house. I could see the room where the kid was playing. All of a sudden, a creature came into the room. The creature sort of looked human except it was bald and extremely muscular. But the muscles didn’t look like real muscles rather more like tumors just underneath the skin. It had tumors on its face as well. One eye was swollen completely shut and it had bright red bloody lips. The creature stepped right up to the boy and effortlessly ripped his arm off. Then it ripped off the boy’s other arm and then both his legs. Finally the creature opened the child’s rib cage. The boy was dead. It had only taken a couple seconds.
The dad rushed into the room and the creature attacked him too. It ripped off the man’s arms. Just as the creature started attacking the man’s face, I woke up.
(Male, 44) I had this dream just last night so it’s still fresh in my mind. I’m still trying to get over it. I hope it’s not too extreme.
…I hope it’s not too extreme…
The situation is that there was sort of a Manson family sort of group holed up in this house. Except it was a real family, like they had kids too but they were also murderers who would invade someone’s house and butcher them. I saw the dream from several different perspectives, all pretty much at the same time, which was also weird.
From one perspective I’m one of the SWAT team who shows up to bring this group down. There are probably a dozen of us, each with a rifle and a site — a sniper’s set up — but what’s strange is that we’re right up by the porch of the house, probably 4 feet away from the family who’s just on the other side of some windows. It seems pretty clear to me at least that we are way too close to this situation for the weapons we’re carrying. In the dream this was my first time out as a SWAT member and I was crouching low, trying to get a good clear shot but there was too much reflection off the glass for me to risk anything.
Another perspective I had was inside the room with the mother and father and their kids. They had at least two kids, a boy and a girl, both probably 5 or 6. The place was a mess. They had ransacked the whole house and brought anything that looking interesting down to the living room and put it in a big pile. Also in that pile were bloody, lifeless arms and hands of the people they killed, thoughtlessly, casually. The mother and father knew that their bloody spree was up so the each pulled out a huge hunting knife. The father killed the son, just sliced into his throat so deeply he almost cut it off. Blood went everywhere. And almost immediately, the father threw up, a bright green vomit. (Did I mention this was pretty extreme?) And almost immediately, the mother did the exact thing to the daughter and then vomited as well. Somehow the vomiting meant that the parents loved their kids and regretted having to kill them.
And the third perspective was that I was a little kid, probably 5 or 6. I don’t think I was a member of the killer family; I think I was a member of the family whose house the killer family invaded. I was hiding. I had been hiding throughout most of what was happening. At the end, I found a telephone pole in the backyard and wrapped my arms and legs around it and sort of inchwormed my way to the very top so nobody would see me and I wouldn’t get killed accidentally or on purpose by anyone. I looked out over the neighborhood. The trees were a mass of leafless twigs sort of like steel wool. The house looked much bigger than it did on the ground. I just held onto the pole and waited. Eventually everything turned brown like in an old, sepia toned photograph which somehow meant that all the killing was over and that it was time for me to come down. It was time for the funeral for my family. Someone handed me a small silver tray that had six items on it. They were supposed to represent the other members of my family who I had lost. I started crying in the dream and the items started falling off the tray. When I woke up, I was still crying.
(Female, 40′s) Do you remember how, when you were a kid, you could rub a stick back and forth on the sidewalk until you sharpened it to a little point for war games and such? I’d forgotten about that until I had this dream.
In the dream, I was looking after a little girl. She was about 7 or 8, very solemn, with straight, long black hair, no one I know from real life. She was the heir of this farm property and it was my job to protect her. I followed her all over the property, into the barns, up and down ladders, while she played. Her uncle worked on the farm and it became obvious that he was extremely jealous that she had inherited the property and not him. He did the chores resentfully, casting angry glances at the little girl. She was in the way of his fortune; he wanted her dead so badly that he would kill her himself. Since I was supposed to take care of her, I knew what I had to do. I took a broomstick handle and began sharpening it on the cement sidewalk, rubbing it back and forth until I made a very dangerous point. I waited until he was asleep and then I pounded the stick through his temple, just like Jael in the Bible.
Does it count as a nightmare when you find yourself doing something really awful, like killing someone with a stick? I think so.