I don’t have nightmares very often. I’m talking about the bizarre kind of nightmare where I find myself screaming in the dream because of some horror that is being witnessed – or endured. But I just woke up from a doozy.
In the dream, I was riding in the passenger seat of a car being driven by someone I didn’t know – I think there were other people in the car with me, because there was conversation and dialogue going on. We drove down a country road and suddenly encountered police lights and the scene of what appeared to be a terrible car accident.
The driver of the vehicle I was in sped through the scene without slowing, much to my shock and dismay. I yelled at the driver (I have no idea who it was) to slow down, at which point everyone else in the car bailed out – just opened their doors and jumped out of the moving vehicle. I, in the passenger seat, suddenly had a steering wheel in my hands, but no pedals to operate brakes or gas.
I frantically tried to steer the vehicle safely but could not slow it down, and at one point I passed police officers who took note that I was the sole occupant of a vehicle. In my dream, I remember thinking “I’m going to be arrested for driving on the wrong side of the car”, which was strange because the violation was clearly speeding through the scene of an accident.
Then I’m parked in front of a barn (you know how time jumps around in dreams with little regard for logical segues) and the former occupants of the vehicle who abandoned me were with me once more. We were being questioned by the police, who had caught up with us. It became clear to me very quickly that the police officer who was interrogating us was a demon dressed as a policeman. Something about his eyes, claws, and tail gave him away.
The group of us — there were five of us total — were in a reality show of some sort, complete with cameras and sound equipment. The demon had abandoned his police officer getup and was no longer concealing his appearance. He was dark and red and slippery-looking, and for some bizarre reason, he had a wife – and in the dream, his wife was the real horror. There was nothing scary about her appearance, she looked just like an average, everyday housewife, but there was just something sinister about her. She was playing host of this reality show we were in, and it was some sort of elimination round where one contestant is sent home (well, sent home if he’s lucky). The details of this dream are evaporating as I type this so I’m trying to get it all down while I remember it, and I don’t remember why I was eliminated — probably for no other reason than it was my dream so of course I’m going to be the focus.
But instead of getting a handshake and a video confession where I talk about what a great time I had and how I was just glad to make it as far as I did, I was taken inside the barn we had parked in front of, which had been converted into a cross between a medieval torture chamber and an industrial kitchen.
In my dream I felt instant dread at the sight of this room, and in another of those magic segues, I was strapped in to some sort of device on a conveyor belt. Then the conveyor belt was being fed into this giant machine, the opening of which featured plates of spikes that pressed down against the surface of the belt that I was rolling on — I was going to be punctured by dozens of giant metal spears. I began to scream.
The belt carried me through and I was pressed flat by the spiky plates, screaming the whole time. Next I was fed through a section that had a huge metal roller that crushed me as the belt carried me through. As I emerged from that dark section (still screaming) I saw the fiery oven ahead. I was vaguely aware of the reality TV crew filming as I approached the opening of the inferno.
I suddenly realized that I was being baked into bread.
My screaming and struggling did no good and into the oven I went, where despite the fire, all went dark. I remember tears coming down my face and immediately turning to steam in the heat, and I knew this was the end – I was going to die.
Segue. I was seated in a living room with the demon and his wife. He was at a desk doing some form of paperwork, and she was sitting in a rocking chair watching television. She wore an apron. I looked down and saw that the bottom half of my body resembled a baguette. Around the room were all sorts of collectible items that looked like they’d been found at garage sales or eBay. One was a little child’s chair; another a wall hanging that was sewn by hand; a table and lamp; a large doll; a wall clock shaped like a cat, the tail wagging off the seconds.
The demon’s wife was talking to these items. Whenever she would address one, it would take the form of the person it had been before it had been changed – she would speak to the chair, and when it responded it became a person, briefly, and then became a chair again. The wall hanging — a person — then a wall hanging again.
She spoke to me. “That wasn’t really so bad after all, now, was it?” she asked me. I answered something in reply – I don’t know what I said because I was distracted by my lower baguette body changing back into legs and feet as I said it. Then after I spoke — bread again.
The demon got up and said he had to go check the mail. His wife continued to watch television. I knew that I was meant to spend eternity as bread in their living room.
When the mice came to feed on the crumbs from my bread legs, I woke up.
I used to have nightmares as a kid – of course we all did, having so many fears as we do when we’re little. But the nightmares I’ve had in adulthood have always centered on loss of loved ones, maybe searching for something I can’t find… I can’t recall having a dream as horrifyingly bizarre as this one was. I’m tempted to analyze it, or at least question what part of my subconscious stirred up this nasty mental movie. I’ve certainly spent my time in hell and have encountered demons along the way — all of it resulting of my own self-inflicted mind abuse — and this week I purged a lot of hatred and anger. Maybe the dream was caused by residual psychic energy from that hatred I’d harbored for so long.
Or, maybe it was the result of too much Del Taco last night.