Dream Spores - 12. Killer, Dust, Castle, Moths

I had such an adventurous dream. Dreams. Plural.

Serial Killer

There was a perverted serial killer/rapist guy we needed to both find and evade. He was very good at trapping people in rooms, you see, and using their habits against them after observing them through hidden cameras, so that was something we had to avoid. There was old footage of a girl he... abducted? Murdered? Attacked? In the 90s or early 2000s. A young American actress who studied in Münster. It was a strange video recording. Everyone in it acted strange. First, in order to go out with her friends in that university town, the actress had to sneak out of her dorm with a rope dangling from her window, as if she lived in a 50s-nunnery or something. Then when she and her friends noticed that she was being watched acted so weirdly helpless. The girl herself quickly hid behid the door of an ancient, derelict house, but her friends kept standing around on the pavement, looking about like mentally challenged sheep.

Dusty Room

There was also a little scene where I was in a room that was nearly empty of furniture. The only notable piece in there was a very long, tall and filled case of bookshelves, and the fact that the parquet floor was covered in a pretty even layer of dust bunnies. Not just a blanket of dust, but rather even-sized little bundles of it.

At first I wanted to set about sweeping it all up, but then something kept me from it. I mean I decided I shouldn't do it. I don't know why, really. I have no idea.

I didn't want to disturb the dust for some reason. And so I sat down in the corner furthest from the door, leaned my back against the side of the bookshelf, and when my mother came into the room and looked around the floor, I made myself cry on purpose. I have no bloody clue what that was about.

Backyard Castle

Another bit of dream was pretty brilliant. Something that recurs in my dreams is picturesque settings. They usually have the general similarity of being nice cityscapes with old architecture and an opening to some vegetation somewhere.

This one here was an old city again. I was going to point a group of people to the little district with the quaint little shops in the inner city, around a little plaza of cobbled stone that was always wet with rain, and under some colonnades that were always lit with little colourful dots of light like a carnival or a christmas market. So when I sort of ushered them there and moved in roughly the right direction, I myself floated further, beyond that little square with the small shops, to a quarter that was just as old and picturesque, but far more stately, grander, and not so quaint. Here the old houses had belonged to nobles, banks and guilds. Now they probably still were courtrooms or something, but this part of town seemed too quiet and undisrupted by anything modern to be actually used in everyday life. There were little alleys with narrow steps leading up into overgrown, wild gardens behind the villes and mansions, a labyrinth of them on different height levels, with little old wells in them, small statues with lichen on them and withered old benches. And the trees were all gnarly and growing through fences, dipping their branches into ponds were frogs and rare little ducks sat around, there was the odd little paved area with a pond in the middle, a few benches, and some pillars arranged aroung the sitting area. All cracked and overgrown and left alone.

This time I only caught a little glimpse of all that, because an old, dark brown wooden structure caught my eye. It looked like a tiny castle. The authentic kind, you know. Not the fairytale kind. It looked like part of what an actual early medieval castle in the country might have looked like or a watchtower maybe. It was just very, very small, like a construction in a playground. Curiosity drew me closer and informed me that it was as genuine as could be - not an actually leftover castle, but a very authentic replica, right down to the treatment of the wood. A companion I somehow had and myself proceeded to climb up the staircase into the tower and were faced with impossibly small openings we were supposed to fit through. It was impossible for a grown human. I wondered exactly HOW small people around here might have been in ancient and medieval times, but dismissed that train of thought quickly again. They couldn't have been THIS small. We found a way of climbing up by making shortcuts and climbing over railings before we got to the bottleneck doors.

After that it became more fantastical.

Moth Mother

I don't remember how it began...

I was with a group of friends or just people with the same goal, and we were strategising, I think.

I think we looked at maps and lists.

And I recall some sense of battle in midair in some other dimenson or something, but the only thing I can remember clearly is the ending that was somehow tinged with the moods of whatever it was that took place before: In the end there were two gods. A mostly absent male father type of god, who sort of dropped into pale passivity in the white Nothing where we all ended up - by "we all" I mean my group and those two gods - and a female mother goddess who had a speciality for flying insects, most notably a large, friendly and fairly pretty type of moth. She had a huge armada of those that had died, but in the white Nothing where we floated in the end, there all those dead flakes that had been things before turned into tiny black larvae that started settling on things, mostly her own skin, and she told us and everyone who happened to float near her - we were also falling rapidly for some reason - that they would all grow back into moths and make everything right. I imagined them mounting a counter-attack into the real world or something.

It was a bit like the scene in the Neverending story were the empress shows Bastian that little leftover bit of Fantasia to grow it back from. It had that mood.