Crowmen.

This is a dream I had before I moved from Rugby to Kelso.

I'm inside my terraced house, i feel i need to get out for a while so i leave through the front door, which isn't a door, but just a curtain! I step out onto the ladder which leads down to the path, a white path that sparkles in the sunlight.

It's a beautiful day, but dark clouds are looming, forming clear edged shapes, they are moving through the sky as in fast forward. Around the corner, the big terraced houses, tall and proud, ascend the gradient, as if holding each other up, trying not to slide. Each house has a doorway sure enough, but we are led to them by uneven steps, underground, is if trying to hide from us.

I am aware of how busy the street is today, i look up to the rooftops, where work is being carried out at a frantic pace. There are workmen alright, but shrouded in huge black wings, rising and falling rhythmically with the motion of their bodies. Tiles are being laid, quickly, but with perfect precision, red in colour and in circular form. Each crowman has their own guardian watching over them, a crow, hovering diligently, it's feathers sparkling like ebony. They communicate with each other, an unspoken bond, a tie that binds.

I know they are aware of my presence, but seem unfazed, contented for me to watch the flow of their progress. It strikes me, as in a moment of clarity, there are no people in this scene that unfolds before me, well, apart from me and the unconventional workmen, and all the time the perfect clouds still spin across the sky, bringing darkness, to fall like a velvet curtain, marking the end of the final scene.

Transformation.

I'm in an apartment with three others. One is a dubious young man, who claims to be my boyfriend, but i do not recall this alliance being mutual, i see him as more of an acquaintance.

The others, a girl and another young man, both of similar character to the first.

The place is dingy, damp, and quite frankly falling apart. Stained carpets and floorboards, a battered old rug thrown down in a vain attempt to add a little home comfort.

The room is filled with the intoxicating smoke born from substances purchased from the back streets of the city, my three acquaintances enjoying the delights of their ill-gotten gains.

I'm offered a taste many times, but refuse the gift, suspecting an ulterior motive for this generosity.

Then, what i can only describe as dishwater tea, is offered to me. In politeness, and thinking to myself, how harmful can it be, the taste might just offend my taste buds, i graciously accept the beverage, sipping it nervously, waiting for a reaction.

The room is spinning, faces leer and close in on me, a torrent of lascivious grinning lips and teeth loom and retreat, like the motion of a carousel.

I awake, motionless, restrained at the neck, wrists, ankles and waist. "It's over now", a psychotic voice creeps out of the darkness, "Surgery is over my love!"

Panic courses through my veins, sinews and mind, what the hell is going on, what surgery?

"How beautiful you look, a beautiful freak for all the world to see!"

I'm released from my torture table, steel and leather caressed with my blood, and i stand before a mirror cloaked in a silken sheet. These three crazed butchers, ready to reveal my countenance.

With the spontaneous release of grimy hands, the sheet slips down the mirrors edge and I am presented with an image of myself, alien and disgusting to my eyes.

The left half of me is just like Bungle the bear, and the right a replica of the Smash Robot from the 1970's, and all of me smeared with the blood of naivety.

The Teeth Stealers.

This is another of my recurring dreams.

I'm at a fair/carnival. Rides and stalls galore, all set up on a lovely green field.

The fortune teller's tent has a queue building, the golden fringing on her doorway sparkles in the sunlight. Kids are screaming, being thrown around on the different rides, their voices ring out across the crowds.

As I wander around, taking in all the delights, I begin to notice, dotted about between the throngs of people, unusual looking men. They have no hair, and in the middle of their foreheads, teeth are embedded, as if stuck into plasticine! Their staring eyes all seem to be watching me, as if I have something that they want.

Then it clicks, I put my hand up to my mouth, and my teeth have started to disappear, one at a time, as if these men have looked at me and all of a sudden my teeth are their decorations. I can feel the colour draining from my face, the world starts to spin and all the images I see seem to blur into one.

Am I the only one who can see them?

Where did they come from?

Why teeth?

Alternative Ballroom Dancing.

This is beginning to become a theme of mine, zombies invading my dreams.

I'm in a building, stark, concrete and grey. Square in shape, and very oppressive. It's a prison.

I'm looking down on the exercise yard from high up on the boundary wall, which has ramparts and walkways. My children are playing below me, they are surrounded by decaying bodies, being ripped apart and eaten by zombies. They seem oblivious to this fact, almost in their own worlds, happy amusing themselves with sticks and twigs, stones and leaves that are lying at their feet.

Up on the ramparts, other zombies, with disturbingly inane grins, are awkwardly dragging people along on leads, maybe pets, maybe lunch for later.

One of the undead appears beside me, he's rather more compos mentis than his deranged kindred, speaking to me in a calm deep voice. "I want you to teach us to dance", he said "Ballroom dance". Inside my head i find this highly amusing, zombies, wearing sequins and silk, ballroom dancing, but i dare not laugh for fear of being devoured myself! "Ballroom dancing will save our souls", he cried, tears rolling down his shredded face, muscle and bone appearing in the gaps in his skin.

At the drop of his first tear, as if a telepathic message had been transmitted through the ether, each and every zombie ceased whatever they were doing, heads raised towards their master, and started to cry uncontrollably.

This, i thought, was my, no, our cue for escape. I take a flying leap down into the yard, where my children are now watching, taking in this bizarre turn of events. Unbelievable, no broken bones or twisted ankles, I'm relieved. I grab the kids and we run, not looking back, to a ladder i hadn't noticed before, secreted in the corner, curtained by shadows. "Quickly", i shout, "Up, up, up"!

We reach the top. "Jump", i tell them, "To the other side", not thinking what lies in wait, or how far the drop is, somehow i know it's safe. Then me, I'm on the edge, looking down, i cannot see what lies below, but i jump anyway, now I'm falling through the air, the wind rushing past my skin.

Then, jolt, I'm back in the room, so the hypnotists say.

I'm remarkably calm considering the content of my dream.

The Outside, In.

We're sitting in our living room, watching the television. Familiar, but unfamiliar surroundings, the carpet is grass, we're sitting on a park bench, and the TV is perched upon a tree stump.

The air is fresh and has that smell of the outdoors after the rain. A butterfly glides past, then lands upon the TV, where it stays to rest.

The programme we are watching is about a mother and her daughter, the daughter only about 6 years old and small for her age. The mother is obsessed with health and fitnesss. She wears a brown, velour track suit.

The little girl is kneeling on the floor, she may be drawing a picture, but we cannot see as she has her back to us. Her mother pedals furiously on an old exercise bike, the motion of her legs causing a draft that gently ruffles her daughters hair and clothes.

Then all motion ceases, the power's down. Screaming, shouting, the mother is filled with rage, so obsessed is she with her regime, woe betide anything that comes between her and her exercise bike. Her face is now pressed up against the TV screen, looking out at us, contorted and twisted beyond recognition, tears of frustration rolling down her cheeks.

Then the TV has a split screen view, one side shows a workman, agitated in his manner, the sweat of fear collecting on his brow. He's frantically working to fix a contraption that provides the house with power. The other side show's the mother, and her passive child. The mother has removed her track suit to reveal plain white shorts and t-shirt, but what causes us to gasp are her painfully thin arms and legs, bones visible through the papery skin. The velour track suit served it's purpose to disguise this fact, the mother's shield from the outside world, but now she is exposed, her insecurities laid bare for all to see.

She climbs aboard the bicycle again, knowing full well there is no power, we puzzled viewers wondering why you would need power for an exercise bike anyway. She starts to pedal again, furiously, as the workman is still trying to fix the contraption. Her pedaling causes such vibrations, the walls and floor begin to shake, then a cracking sound, and her little girl is swallowed up by a gaping hole in the floor, the crack running from this hole towards the mother, oblivious of her daughter's plight, then she is swallowed up by another gaping hole in the floor.

The dust filled air swirls, a crow appears and lands between the two holes in the floor, the sound of it"s voice ringing through the air.

Vampire Trio.

Night, why are most of my dreams in a night time setting? Maybe it's where I'm supposed to be.

Anyway, I'm drifting along, surrounded by trees, in my own little world, as if in a trance. A clearing up ahead, then I'm in the centre of it, surrounded by three vampires, all as different as can be.

One has blond hair, clothed in green velvet, with deep green eyes. One has red hair, a deep red, he's clothed in red velvet, with deep brown eyes. The last has black hair, clothed in blue velvet, with brilliant blue eyes. They start to circle me, as in a dance, mesmerizing me to dizziness. The world is spinning, then suddenly, I'm flying, flying free alongside this band of brothers. Above the treetops, above lakes and rivers, fields and houses. I feel breathless with exhilaration, my cares and worries all left behind.

We start to dive, hurtling downwards , spiraling at break neck speed, to just above the ground where we skim the earth, then come to rest, exactly where we took off, in the moonlit clearing.

I'm on the ground now, three beautiful vampires singing gracefully with such hypnotism, they're circling me once more, each in turn comes to me to kiss my dewy skin.

As i lay there, deep in a trance, but fully aware of my surroundings, they descend to lay beside me, dazzling in their rich attire. They each in turn begin to undress me, leaving me naked beneath the glorious moonlight. Tender kisses i feel over my skin, and BAM!!, again, the all to familiar situation, I'm sitting bolt upright in my bed, dazed, and soaked in perspiration.

This dream recurred, every night, for months and months, vivid in my memory, unchanging, exact in every detail. To this day it still amazes and delights me that the human subconscious can be a very powerful thing.

Blind panic.

I'm inside my cottage, but it's not my cottage. The familiar situation we all find inside our dreams, things are never as they seem. Glimpses of an unidentifiable form dart across my vision through the open window, calling my curiosity from the heavy darkness.

Instead of going through the front door, i find myself climbing through the window, and launching myself into the unknown world that beckons me, all caution thrown to the wind, until it's just too late.

I'm running, in blind panic, heavy, awkward footfalls behind me increasing their pace at an alarming rate. The trees ahead are a welcome safety net, but climbing up would prove the challenge. The dream world holds no bounds, and in an instant i am cloaked within the safety of it's leaves and branches, like a voyeur watching and waiting to discover what or who is chasing me. Into view a tall and wretched creature, long skinny legs and huge lumbering feet, a wide muscular torso and the head of a wolf, sniffs the air and bares it's teeth. Thick globular drool slides from it's jaw like sticky string, pooling onto it's torso, clinging to the matted hair that also covers the rest of it.

I try not to breath, please don't hear me, please don't smell me. It's ears are pricked, listening for the slightest sound, then, like a flash of lightning, it's gone, alerted by some distant sound, perhaps another poor soul for it to prey on.

I take my opportunity and leave my hiding place, again running in blind panic, hoping in all hope to find shelter, now in unfamiliar surroundings and disorientated with fear.

A building up ahead, strong concrete walls and a sturdy roof, perfect for a hiding place. Closeness reveals false hope, no doors, no windows, but still i go inside to seek salvation, or is it sanity.

It's like a shower block, troughs and water drainage channels, tiled floors and tiled walls, thick with the grime of decades of misuse.

Dragging sounds, more heavy footsteps, i hear them as clear as day, approaching steadily and surely, closer and closer to the beating of my heart.

They appear like a wall at the empty doorway, lumbering, lurching from side to side as they near my hiding place. Undead souls, their rotting flesh hanging from their bones like tattered ribbons.

I close my eyes, maybe if i stay as still as a statue they won't see me, they won't hear me. Closer and closer they approach me, the stench of them getting stronger and stronger, burning my nostrils and making me nauseous. I feel clothing touching my bare arm, in panic and with a faint glimmer of hope that this isn't really happening i open my eyes with a start, and nothing, they're gone, as if they were just a hallucination.

With a massive inhalation of breath, perspiration beading across my forehead, i'm sitting bolt upright in bed, dazed with the confusion of a vague and distant memory, just for a few seconds, and then it comes flooding back to me, this twisted nightmare tale, another dream that will stay with me for a while.

The Amy Winehouse Experience.

I was waiting in the waiting area at the airport for my flight to be called. Over the PA system came the dulcet tones of a rather inebriated Amy Winehouse, instructing the passengers of her flight to congregate outside, through the double glass doors.

I, and about ten others, filed out like sheep into what could only be described as a school playground, the familiar markings laid out in yellow paint.

As we waited, a small charter plain appeared from around the side of the building, taxiing wildly from side to side and into the centre of the playground.

There she was, hanging out of the plane's window, hair unravelling from the lobsided bee hive that perched atop her head, plastered in make-up and shouting at the top of her voice. The plane at this point was going round and round in circles in front of us, Amy screaming "WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" for all the world to hear.

Dubiously and with trepidation we all waited for the whirlwind plane to come to a halt, then climbed aboard to see what fate had in store for us.

Amy stood in the middle of the plane, welcoming us in her own unique way, and asked us all to put on our seat belts. I sat and stared at her for a few seconds, at which point she said "I really don't like wearing all this awful make-up, but a girl's got to keep up appearances!"

I reached for my seat belt but found that it was just a tangled mess, so i called to Amy expressing my concern. She looked at me, then the seat belt, and said "Oh, just use a pair of scissors", i looked down at my hand to find a rusty pair of scissors within my grip. "Go on then", she said, so i cut into the knotted mess, and low and behold, the seat belt was restored to working order. All the other passengers looked at me as if this occurrence was just an everyday normality, and carried on with their conversations.

The flight seemed to progress with no further bizarre encounters, until over the intercom came "Hold onto your hats my dears, we're going doooooowwwwwnnnnnnn!!"

My heart and stomach were in my mouth as the plane dove downwards at a rate of knots, the cabin filled with screaming and crying, all the while the sound of Amy Whooping and holering in excitement sending further confusion coursing through the air.

A sudden jolt, then the sound of screeching metal, we had landed, all but precariously, on the top of a mountain. "Oh dear", said Amy, as if she had only tripped over.

Then, from beyond the summit of the mountain, came our rescuing hero of the hour, my husband with a bottle of water in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

One of the many bizarre nocturnal encounters that stays in my memory for me to chuckle over from time to time.

Recurrency and the random.

Dreams. Nonsensical and bizarre, frightening and disturbing. We all have them, some of us remember them vividly, others are left with a vague recollection that lies dormant in the subconcious.

I belong to the category aforementioned, remembering in striking detail the nightly pleasures, and deviances, that take my hand each night and lead me through their world. It's almost like being inside a montage of hi definition films, one flowing into another, or walking through a living painting, and always i see every detail in full colour, and every sound is amplified.

With these images stored inside my head i am often inspired to paint, sketch, draw these nightly dalliances, and have now decided to pen each one and share my experiences with anyone who cares to listen.

Expect the nonsensical, expect the bizarre, expect the frightening and the disturbing. Who knows where they come from, but i will be bringing them to you, hoping they will bring a little entertainment into your life.