Disclaimers: I’m creating a new category to be used as a dream journal. Based on historical evidence, it won’t get updated often because I don’t remember my dreams very often. I thought it would be nice to share the ones I do have as a nice diversion. Viewer discretion is advised. Proceed with caution. Not kidding about that. My dreams are often violent.
Anytime you see “Note:” along with an explanation in italics, it is me pausing the narrative to interject information that could help with context. Skip the notes, read them, whatever works for you.
Last Saturday night I had a dream. Lots of people dream so you may think this isn’t all that surprising. The surprising thing is that I remember the dream vividly and didn’t wake from it drenched in sweat with pillows and sheets everywhere like a bomb went off in the middle of my bed. I suffer from night terrors, you see. Not remembering my dreams is usually a blessing. This was a weird dream though. It wasn’t a night terror. I remember each scene of the dream in so much detail even though every event in the dream wouldn’t take more than 10-15 minutes to play out in linear time. Ready to take this journey with me? Let’s go!
When the dream starts, I’m lying on my back in a white-ish room. It might be light grey. There’s a window to the right of the bed and one at the foot of the bed. I can see the full moon through the blinds covering the window to my right. A tree is silhouetted just outside. The bedroom door is to my left on the same wall as the headboard of the bed. The sheets on the bed are also a light color…possibly a slightly darker grey than the walls, but only just slightly. It is just an ordinary bedroom in an ordinary apartment. The events of this dream are occurring a few years in the future…maybe 2024 or 2025. I just know it isn’t present day just like I also know I’m not in the United States although I couldn’t tell you where I am.
Slowly, I become aware of the fact that I’m not alone in the bed. Turning my head to the left, I see a man. He has broad shoulders, pale skin, and hair that has been buzzed ¼” to 3/8” short on the sides and in back. I know his hair is a light ginger and golden honey color despite the room being washed in the blue-ish light of the moon. This man is wearing pajama bottoms. The top of them can be seen just peeking from under the sheet. They are a dark blue and green plaid.
Turning to my left, I reach out and run the back of my fingers on my right hand up the back of his hair. It feels like puppy fur. This makes me smile. I allow my fingers to run from the nape of his neck, across his lightly freckled shoulder and down his right arm. As my fingers are retracing my path up the back of his arm, I hear a sound somewhere between a snort and a giggle. Turning his head slightly to the right, I can see who this man is. Seeing Kit’s face simultaneously feels like the most natural thing in the world and still surprises me even though we haven’t spent many nights apart over the last three months.
Note: I know what you are thinking. You need to stop. This is a dream, and not that kind of a dream. Yes, the man beside me is Kit Connor. Kit Connor being there is in no way meant to imply anything about him, his sexuality, what I think about his sexuality, or the prospects for our future. This is a dream. Since it is my dream, it does say a lot about my sexuality and what I find attractive. I’d also like to point out that this is not Nick Nelson which comes as even a surprise to me since “finding my own Nick” has occupied many of my waking moments ever since I learned about Heartstopper. I know this person in the dream is Kit Connor the actor just like I also know he’s currently doing a theatre production (in the dream) which has offered a bit of stability to our relationship since he’s home each night.
Kit lifts his right arm, reaches back with his left hand, and captures my right one. I adore his hands. They’re soft with sand paper like calluses at the tips of his fingers. He has long fingers and OMG the freckles. Kit may have a a bit of a love/hate relationship with his freckles, but I don’t share those feelings. I like tracing patterns on him by connecting the dots. His hair may have been the first thing I noticed about him, but it was his hands that had me itching to touch him when we first met. Pulling me forward, he wraps my arm around his chest and sleepily mumbles, “Stop. That tickles.”. This is said in a way that I can hear the smile in his voice, so I know he isn’t upset.
I run my nose up the back of his head feeling that puppy fur sensation again, and remember thinking, “This is nice. He’s always so warm. His skin smells sweet. Definitely a plus as far as cuddling is concerned.” My eyes close and I drift off to sleep feeling his chest rise and fall.
I’m outside now dressed in jeans, tan sneakers, and a dark blue Henley style shirt made of a waffle like material. I also have on a tan coat made of canvas or something…very reminiscent of the Carhart brand. Aside from the shoes, I don’t own any of these clothes in real life. The weather is cool with a grey, cloudy sky. Any trees I can see have lost their leaves. This makes me think it must be winter. It isn’t clear to me if this is the next day or just some day in the future.
I’m walking down the sidewalk with two people on my left. Both are taller than me. They are both very skinny and appear to be in their late 20’s or early 30’s. One has dark greasy hair. He looks to be about 6’ or 6’1” tall. The hair isn’t long or unkempt. It is just greasy. He makes me think of someone who could be descended from Severus Snape as he is described in the Harry Potter books. He has pale olive colored skin with a long, straight nose. The nose looks out of place because it looks regal whereas he does not. The only other thing of note about him is his eyes. They are pale green almost like jade. He’s dressed in black jeans, a green shirt, a dark gray oil skin jacket, dirty sneakers that used to be white and has a leather cord supporting a metal hoop forming a necklace that bounces mid-chest each time he walks. I remember thinking, “I hope that isn’t a cock ring.” His name is Charles Bracken.
The other man has a tan, ruddy complexion. Think the golden sun kissed skin of a California surfer crossed with the slightly dirty look of someone who probably doesn’t bathe often. He’s a couple inches shorter than Charles making him around 5’11”. The sour smell coming off him doesn’t do anything to dispute my hypothesis regarding his bathing frequency. He’s wearing brown corduroy pants, a dingy white t-shirt under a tan denim jacket and no shoes. From the dirty appearance of his feet, he may not even know how to spell shoes let alone know to wear them. His hair is dark blonde and very curly. This man has a cute nose that make me think of a bunny. The cute effect is lost due to the fact that his irises are so dark they appear black. Everything about this second man screams “just here…not living…just existing…leave me alone”. I don’t know his name. He’s just here with Charles.
Note: See what I mean about weird? All of this detail coupled with the way I just know all of these things as if I had lived them. Remembering details about my dreams, when I remember them, is not new. Knowing all of this other information that I didn’t see happen directly in the dream is not the norm. If the events from here forward make you ask, “Why are you with Charles in the first place?”, you would need to understand that I know this person in the dream. Charles isn’t a real person mind, but in the dream we have a past. We were never friends, but we weren’t enemies. The two of them showed up and it was either make a fuss which would cause Kit to ask questions or try to make the best of it and hope they leave quickly. Since Charles is banking on the fact that I don’t want Kit asking questions, he’s using that to his advantage.
We continue walking, and as we do, it stands out to me that Charles’ right shoulder is always touching the blonde guy’s left one like the contact is needed for support. The blonde’s head is always down with his eyes focused on his feet. It seems like one of those niggling little details that you know you should question, but don’t.
Up ahead, I see Kit come out of a store. I hadn’t expected to run into him which makes this a pleasant surprise. He turns left, sees us coming, and breaks into a grin which I reciprocate. He’s wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, black drawstring pants, and what look to be dark grey or blue running shoes. The thought, “He should have a jacket.” crosses my mind quickly followed by, “He’s always warm anyway. It isn’t like he needs a jacket.” He’s wearing two rings. Both are on his right hand. One is on his index finger and the other on his pinky. A third thought flits through my mind when I see the rings. In what I hope is a reminder, I think, “You keep forgetting to ask him what that pinky ring means to him. You should do that.”
He just waits by the door of the shop holding this opaque, cyan blue, plastic bag. It looks like something you might use to carry a large greeting card or a Blu-ray disc. The bag is literally the brightest thing in the whole scene. When we reach Kit, Charles and the other guy walk a few paces on and stop to give us privacy. I playfully ask, “Whatcha got in the bag?”
He glances at the bag in his right hand and grins even more broadly before saying, “People, holograms, and wire.”
Note: Seriously? WTF kind of answer is that? He’d better be glad he’s cute. At least he said it with an accent.
It is later that same day. I’m back in that bedroom from the first scene laying fully dressed on top of the bedspread. I’ve taken up residence on the left side of the mattress this time because having my head on Kit’s pillow comforts me. The window is to my back since I’m on my left side turned toward the door. Kit and I have had a disagreement. We fought about Charles and that other man staying overnight in our apartment. I was against it because my intuition told me it was a mistake. Kit thought it was the decent thing to do since it was late.
Kit walks into the room stopping by the door. He’s now in those same pajama bottoms with a white long-sleeved t-shirt and white socks. Grinning that silly, impish grin that he knows I’m helpless to resist he asks, “Am I allowed in here?”
I think to myself, “How did I get this lucky? He’s actually kind, handsome, smells nice, and THAT voice. YAY!”, but what comes out of my mouth is, “Of course. You are always welcome wherever we are.” Immediately, I tense up realizing “we” came out of my mouth rather than “I”, and I curse myself for the slip up. Kit doesn’t seem to notice.
The shirt comes off and is tossed in the corner. He walks around to the other side of the bed, lifts the covers and crawls under. Since I’m still fully dressed and on top of the covers, he plucks at my shirt as if to say take it off, and whispers, “Come to bed.”, while nuzzling my neck just behind my right ear.
Instead of complying, I grumble, “What are they up to?”
“They have one of those boards…um, spirit boards. I got bored, took a shower, and decided to come find you.”
Just as the words, “A Ouija board? Here? In this house?”, leave my mouth, the sounds of something shattering comes from the front of the apartment. We both jump up. Reaching the bedroom door first, I fling it open.
Outside our bedroom is a short hall. There is a door to the bathroom on the left. Just past that there is an open area with a couple of stairs leading down to a sunken living room. The front door to the apartment is on the right. The kitchen is on the other side of the living room. Directly opposite our bedroom door is another door leading to the guest bedroom, or that is what should be there.
The door to the guest bedroom now leads to a long dark corridor lit by an eerie red light. A dark figure is walking towards the door from the other side.
In the living room, the blonde guy is upright facing the door. His arms are stretched out in front of him. He is holding the planchette from the board in both hands. I can see a dark blackish red thing suspended underneath it swinging like a pendulum from three chains that have been attached to the wooden legs of the device. His head is lolling slightly to the right and just a little forward.
Charles is standing directly behind him. Both of his hands are under the other man’s elbows. He’s bracing the blonde man, so he remains upright with his arms outstretched. As I walk closer, I can also see that the blond man’s eyes have been sewn shut with black thread. The poor man’s mouth is hanging open. Blood is running down his chin. The object hanging from the chains on the planchette looks like it might be a tongue…presumably his tongue. I can’t tell if he is alive or not. In my head I hear, “You should have checked for a pulse before now. I’m not sure he’s been alive for a while.”
It strikes me as odd that there is no noise. Everything is eerily quiet. I glance back at the figure walking towards us. Kit comes to stand about a foot behind me. The figure gets close enough to make out some of his features. He looks to be 7 feet tall with broad shoulders and a slim waist. His face is lined like an old man which seems like a stark contrast to the shape of his physique. His eyes are black. I don’t just mean the irises, I mean solid black like a bug’s eyes, or like those of a non-human being. The man’s head is bald, but he has this long, dark, hillbilly, mountain-man beard.
He has on a black button-down shirt and loose black pants. There are no shoes. His fingers and toes are longer than those of a human further breaking the illusion. At the end of each digit his nail is dark grey. The look on his face speaks of viciousness and of triumph. I know him as Ba-el.
Knowing this thing can not be allowed to walk through that door, I ball up my fists, turn to the two in the living room and shout, “Put…it down…NOW!”.
Note: Picture Gandalf with the whole “Thou shalt not pass!” thing, and you’ll get close to what happened. Not terribly important, but if you think I’m talking to the blonde with the planchette, you’re wrong. This imperative is directed at Charles to let go of whatever we’re calling the blonde guy…corpse, vessel, conduit, victim…whatever it is, Charles has to break contact with it.
Charles and the other man fly across the living room and hit the wall to the kitchen. The planchette falls to the floor. Neither of them moves. Immediately the red light from the portal that was once our guest bedroom door begins to fade. The bearded man just stops walking. There is no mad rush to make it through the door. No yelling, screaming, or any visible sign of emotion. He just stands there looking at me. Before the portal fades away completely, he begins to turn away while casually saying, “I can wait. I have time.”
I spin around to see Kit standing there staring at me. His normally pale skin has gone even paler. His mouth is slightly open, and he has this look of horror, awe, and confusion is on his face. I’ve seen that look before. It is the same one every human has had when they find out the world isn’t wrapped up with the neat little bow like they thought it was…when they find out the old myths are true. It is the same look that usually signals the fact that I’m about to be alone again. As I stand there looking back at him trying to burn his image in my mind just in case he bolts, I think, “Christ, he’s so handsome…I even like the scruff he calls a beard. It’s more of a beard than I had at his age. I was happy. Should I touch him? I want to reach out and touch him. What if he flinches? I couldn’t bear it if he recoils from me like so many others have. I wish my time with him had been a bit longer.”
I wake up to find both my dogs staring at me over the edge of the bed. They each have a look of concern that lets me know I was talking, and possibly moving around, in my sleep again. I’m still in bed so at least I didn’t go sleep walking. This is good. It is just after 3 a.m. Both of them get a pat on the head before I roll over and go back to sleep. I smile wondering if I’ll get to have Kit as my boyfriend when I close my eyes. That doesn’t happen though, or rather if I dream anything else, I don’t remember it. Since the dream is still clear in my mind when I wake at 5:30 a.m., I decide to write it down. Definitely one of my nicer dreams as far as dreams go.
What do you think?
Do you like the new dream journal category? Have any thoughts about this dream? Okay…have any thoughts about this dream that don’t involve you telling me something like “Kit’s mine! Keep your hands off of him.”? Leave a comment. Let me know.