Dream #1
I walked down a city sidewalk, on the left side of the street. It was early morning, dark, with a deep blue sky overhead. I came up to a taped-off area of sidewalk. To my right, behind the tape, was a big, heavy tower of something like scaffold. I looked up and saw a heavy load of something like thick boards or thick, metal plates hanging from a cord, as if the top of this tower were a crane.
I was afraid that the load would fall on me. I didn't cross the tape. I walked into the street, past the tower, then back to the sidewalk. But now I saw that there was another tower before me. I was still afraid that the load behind me would fall and crush me. But now I was also afraid that the load before me would crush me.
I flew up into the air. I was now level with the loads. The towers around the loads were like makeshift floors of wooden boards. The place felt very much like an active construction area. I floated between the two towers. Both towers seemed, now, to be set flush against the face of the building. The second tower stood near the corner of the building.
A tall, strong, round-bodied, round-headed, black man wearing overalls (no shirt?) walked around the corner. When I saw him, I started yelling things at him, things that I thought would make me sound like a ghost or a demon. I thought that I was invisible, but that I could still be heard. I was trying to scare the man, as if to pay him back for his having scared me.
The man seemed either not to hear me or to hear me only slightly. He stopped and looked forward, as if trying to figure out whether he actually was hearing something.
I was now in a kind of small, slightly shabby bedroom. The room was lit somewhat brightly by incandescent light. I was with someone else, possibly a woman. We were shuffling through a loose scattering of papers and pamphlets which lay on the bed. We either stood before or sat on the bed.
The papers and pamphlets were all about grotesque events, probably all murders and serial murders, and possibly all about one woman who had committed these murders. I looked through a number of these pamphlets. The text and margins were blue or red and looked like Chinese take-out menus or old Christian pamphlets for witnessing.
I picked up one pamphlet. A photo on the front showed a dead person's face. The face was black with decay. The skin of the face was shrunken with decay, but it also seemed to be stuffed into the mouth of the face. The head had a few strands of almost colorless, but not pale, blondeish hair.
I turned through the pages. Another photo showed a bone that had been broken in half and placed into a clear, crystal glass of water. The glass had a thick base of cut, niched crystal. I either read or knew that the murderess would take the bones of her victims and put them in water to clean off all the flesh, which the woman possibly thought of as the only evidence of her guilt.
I turned to another photo. It was of the woman. She, too, stood over a bed. She looked like a woman from the early twentieth or late nineteenth century. Her dress was very plain, long-sleeved, tight around the woman's top, with the skirt curtaining slightly outward. The woman's hairstyle was close, but "bunned" outward. The woman had a pale, oval face and wide, pale, severe eyes.
The woman started talking and moving. She was pointing to something on the bed, possibly the dead body the face of which was the subject of the first photo. The woman yelled something about how I'd discovered her and how I wasn't supposed to discover her.
I was suddenly afraid. I felt like I was in the woman's house right now, and like she was now sneaking around to get ready to kill me. But I was also afraid that, since I had seen so much about the woman, that the murderous impulse would also infect me, and that I would soon be like her.
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