I had one where I was in a bar full of vampires and my roommate was bitten while in the bathroom but he was so drunk he wouldn't let me drag him out of there. Then, when the patrons noticed that I had found them out, they all converged on me. The broken barstool leg that I ran them through with only helped for so long. It wasn't long before they got me.
Or the one where I lived in a massive, decrepit mansion and there was someone stuck beneath the floorboards crying out for help. So I took an axe and started breaking open the floor but every time I opened a new hole, all I would catch would be a glimpse of two pale legs getting dragged off to another part of the house.
There remain a fair few nocturnal neuro-narratives I can still remember from when I was a child, the memory of some having proven to be hard to shake. Some of these particular constructions of especially surreal imagery and especially heightened emotions have wound up burning themselves into the mind that created them for the purpose of forgetting them.
One such dream I can recall is this scene wherein I was sitting on the floor of a living room – mine, yours, anyone’s – while my mother and her friend from church were chatting, sitting in floral-printed armchairs, drinking tea or coffee or what-have-you. Everything was completely normal and banal and unremarkable except for the giant monstrous bee hovering above us all.
Only I could see it.
The adults kept talking, oblivious. I tried to warn them. Tried to open my mouth to speak, to shout, to scream, but my throat closed shut. I couldn’t say a word. Just frightened, impotent, rasping squeaks, all the while the drone of the buzz of the bee drowned out all other noise but itself.
The adults finally noticed me trying to alert them of the danger. They chuckled nonchalantly at my childish nonsense, even as the bee readied its gleaming talon of a stinger directly at my mother’s friend, and went in for the— SMASH CUT TO: Me waking up with a jolt. Startled. Confused. Recalibrating for reality. Sighing with relief.
The earliest dream I remember. I was walking along a long pink corridor with a door at the end, and I see an opening in the left wall ahead of me, with a crowd of people looking through the opening. The opening was a cross-section of a child's bedroom, with a bed in the centre, surrounded by boxes of toys and rocking horses and storybooks. One of the crowd tells me, "To get through the door at the end, you have to get the key by her bedside." He points to the child in the bed, fast asleep, "But you can't look at her or she'll wake up and squeeze you to death."
So, I walked cautiously into them. I got to the key, took it, and went for the corridor. But, as I was about to leave the room, I heard a noise from the bed and turned to see. My eyes met the sleeping girl as hers opened wide. She jumped out of bed and ran towards me. Before I had time to react, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed the air out of my lungs.
I woke up, gasping for air.
I call it an Orpheus Dream.
the dream came to me at a time in which my family life was tumultuous. my mother was an alcoholic and recently divorced from my step father. I had no place to live, and had washed up on her couch. I dreamed that there was a circus. In this circus was a long tight rope. I and my mother and had climbed the ladder to the top of it, and as I was hesitant to go across, my mother was drunken and unafraid. She said “watch this!” with the sort of giggle of a child. I watched her take four steps, and then fall to her death, and I saw very vividly her body smash onto the cement and her blood and guts scattered everywhere. My father, step father, and uncle, were all down below applauding. I woke up screaming with a Charlie horse in my leg and was wounded by the experience for a week. It’s been a few years since then, and my mother has since been to rehab, is more than a year sober, at peace with my step father, and has no foreseeable future as a trapeze artist.