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We were there to perform some sort of archeological audit. I and two colleagues who didn’t seem to have names - both were young men who looked vaguely like caricatures of Justin Long. (This isn’t surprising… I only know the names of 10% of the people I work with, and I’ve been here for over 4 months…)
The building we were auditing was an old English castle that had been converted to a hospice for lepers and terminal cancer patients. We arrived just as the sun was coming up, but jet lag exhausted us. We were taken to a single room by a fearful maid who left us with an armful of bedding and vanished before explaining how three people were supposed to make do with a rusty cot, and a sofa (not even a pull-out) for three people. But we were too tired to care. One of my colleagues valiantly offered to sleep on the floor, I volunteered to sleep on the sofa, and the third fellow slept on the cot. We fell in our tracks and slept until dark.
After we awoke, we went downstairs to find our supper or get directions to the nearest restaurant. The nurse who was to show us everything we needed to see was a dour woman who reminded me of Mrs. Medlock from The Secret Garden. She couldn’t see us right away because she was bringing a little bald boy into the house in a wheel chair. The boy saw us and freaked out. He demanded to know how long we had been on the premises and Mrs. Medlock (I didn’t catch her actual name.) hustled over to shoo us out of the room. “New people vex him. Please go wait for me in the parlor. I can’t believe Mary let you down here. These people are SICK and they don’t need you staring at them,” she scolded as she hustled us off with the boy shrieking in the back-ground.
Strangely, the boy didn’t seem to be afraid of us. He seemed to be afraid FOR us. He was shouting for us to leave before it was too late. But his shouting was muffled when the parlor door shut behind us. Shut and locked.
And then… And then the dream got interesting because one of my colleagues exploded. Not a fiery explosion – a wet one. Blood and guts splattered everywhere. My surviving colleague screamed and grabbed the door handle and started rattling the door, screaming to be let out. Cuts started appearing on his body but he didn’t explode. I didn’t think about anything. I grabbed the afghan off the back of one of the parlor chairs and draped it over my head to protect my eyes from breaking glass, then used the chair to break the window. I jumped out the window and fell 8 feet to the ground and landed in a shrub. My surviving colleague landed on top of me a minute later, bleeding profusely. His eye fell out and landed next to my hand.
I wrapped my injured colleague in the blanket and hustled him around to the front of the building to get in our car and get him to a hospital, only our car wasn’t there. I ran up the front steps to demand to know where our car had gone.
Medlock opened the door and tsked loudly at the state of my companion while I hollered for our car. Medlock stated that the car had been moved to the garage by the grounds staff, but that I shouldn’t worry about taking my colleague to a hospital, since they could treat him right here at the hospice. I didn’t trust her, but since my colleague was bleeding pretty badly and clutching blindly at Medlock I let her take him off. I was left standing in the front hall for only a second before the bald boy in the motored wheel chair came buzzing back into the room. He gave me a piercing look that seemed to go through me and asked, “Oritz is glad you remembered about the blanket. He wouldn’t have been able to protect you otherwise.”
“Who the hell is Oritz and where the hell is the garage?” I demanded.
“Oritz lives under the couch in the Green Room. You slept there didn’t you?” said the boy, matter-of-factly.
“I don’t see Oritz.” I snapped. I didn’t want to freak the kid out, but I really needed to get out of there.
“No one can see the monsters that live under the bed, except me. Do you believe in monsters?”
For some reason his nervous query caught my attention. My answer seemed VERY important. I was standing there, covered in my colleague’s blood and this kid wanted to know if I believed in the monster that lived under the bed. I wasn’t sure how to answer him, so I used an elusive tactic: “Well everyone knows that if you keep your arms and legs under the blankets the monster can’t hurt you.”
The kid seemed to interpret this comment in a positive manner and he turned to say to the air behind me, “You see Oritz! She KNOWS. She can’t see you and she doesn’t know your name, but she believes.” He turned his queer knowing gaze back to me and said in a precociously knowledgeable manner, “Oritz has poor self esteem because he only lives under a couch and not a bed. If you don’t believe in him, it makes him not want to protect you from Garrl. But I told him that you MUST know about him, since you remembered to wear a blanket while you were getting away from Garrl.”
“Who is Garrl?” I asked, distracted. I was looking out the front hall window for any structure that resembled a garage.
“Garrl lived under Peter’s bed until he died.”
“Where does Garrl live now? What happened to the bed?”
“The bed was destroyed because Mrs. Medlock said it was a biohazard from all the blood in it.”
“What did Peter die of?” I asked suspiciously.
“Leprosy, I think.” The kid said with a half shrug.
“Why didn’t Garrl go away with the bed?” I asked.
“Oritz says too many people knew about Garrl for him to Fade, but not having a bed to live under makes him very cranky.”
“Cranky enough to kill? Where’s my car?”
“Your car is gone and soon you will be too. Garrl will get you and your friend, and Mrs. Medlock’s secret will be safe.”
“What secret?”
“I don’t know. The one that the people before you came to ask about. They stayed at a hotel, but Garrl got them. Hotel monsters don’t get very attached to their people.”
“Why didn’t Oritz protect them?”
“Because they never slept on his couch.” The boy said, as though it should have been obvious.
“Did Oritz protect my other friend?” I asked. At this point my disbelief was totally suspended. I was intrigued.
“Of course not. He would never step on Teezle’s toes.”
“Teezle lives under the cot?” I was starting to get the hang of the mythos.
“Yes, and he’s very old and weak. People don’t sleep on that cot very often.”
“Is Oritz old?”
The boy had to think for a second about that… Either that or he actually was listening while an invisible being whispered to him. “No. He only got here 5 years ago after the sofa was refinished. Mrs. Medlock falls asleep on that sofa sometimes when she watches her stories on TV.”
Suddenly the boy’s face paled and he reversed his wheel chair. “She’s coming back.”
“Where are you going?” I asked the boy’s retreating chair, but he did not answer. Seconds later, Medlock came into the room.
“Your friend is resting comfortably now. I suppose you’ll want to see him, then.”
“Where is our car?” I demanded.
“We’ll get it for you in the morning. Don’t you want to see your friend?” she deflected.
“I want to leave NOW. Get the car or tell me where it is. You can’t hold us hostage like this.”
“Now dear, don’t get hysterical. No one is holding you hostage. Why don’t you come see your friend, while I try to find out where the grounds staff left your car keys?”
I went with her only because I needed to know where she’d put my colleague. There was a scream and a crash from a near part of the building, and Medlock doubled her pace, though begrudgingly. We entered the room that we had slept in that day, to find my colleague laying on the floor, shrieking in agony. Medlock tsked again and started moving him back into bed again.
“Now look at you, dear. You’ve ripped your stitches. I told you not to get out of bed. Now I’m going to have to patch you up again, and I’ve got so much other work to do.” Before I could blink, Medlock shifted his body into my arms, and I had to take him or let him fall off the cot and onto the floor. “Your friend will stay with you while I go get more water to clean you up.” And again she was gone, locking the door behind her. My colleague was moaning incoherently and I had a VERY bad feeling. It looked like there were fresh cuts on him… Not like he had ripped any stitches. And he was either drugged or in so much pain that he couldn’t think – he didn’t seem to hear me when I talked to him. Remembering what the kid had said, I covered him with the blanket as best I could, but the blanket was too short to cover all of him.
Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt something breeze by my head. I screamed as my leg was slashed open, then dove for the blankets on the sofa. I cocooned myself in the wool blanket for safety. My nameless colleague started screaming again, and I peeked out of my cocoon to see that his legs were sticking out from under his blankets and one was dangling over the side of the bed. It was being shredded. For a second, my vision slipped out of focus and I could see two monsters one giant and terrible, and one tiny and decrepit doing battle… But the tiny one was like a little dog biting the ankle of a giant mailman, and doing nothing more than causing an annoyance. Then my vision slipped back to normal and I couldn’t see them anymore. I dove across the gap between the sofa and the cot, following the rules of children, knowing that if my feet didn’t hit the floor I would somehow be safer. I landed half on top of my colleague and sent the cot rolling across the floor and we slammed into a wall. I scrambled to get us both covered with the tiny blankets, while trying to get the fellow to stop thrashing about. The wall we crashed into crumbled and we were covered in a shower of plaster dust… Part of me realized that there were bones and teeth mixed in, but I didn’t have time to think about it.
Then my alarm went off, which pissed me off for two reasons:
1: I didn’t get to find out how the dream ended.
2: I was totally exhausted, because my dream was so vivid and real.
Obviously I have been watching too many episodes (or not enough) of Supernatural.
The building we were auditing was an old English castle that had been converted to a hospice for lepers and terminal cancer patients. We arrived just as the sun was coming up, but jet lag exhausted us. We were taken to a single room by a fearful maid who left us with an armful of bedding and vanished before explaining how three people were supposed to make do with a rusty cot, and a sofa (not even a pull-out) for three people. But we were too tired to care. One of my colleagues valiantly offered to sleep on the floor, I volunteered to sleep on the sofa, and the third fellow slept on the cot. We fell in our tracks and slept until dark.
After we awoke, we went downstairs to find our supper or get directions to the nearest restaurant. The nurse who was to show us everything we needed to see was a dour woman who reminded me of Mrs. Medlock from The Secret Garden. She couldn’t see us right away because she was bringing a little bald boy into the house in a wheel chair. The boy saw us and freaked out. He demanded to know how long we had been on the premises and Mrs. Medlock (I didn’t catch her actual name.) hustled over to shoo us out of the room. “New people vex him. Please go wait for me in the parlor. I can’t believe Mary let you down here. These people are SICK and they don’t need you staring at them,” she scolded as she hustled us off with the boy shrieking in the back-ground.
Strangely, the boy didn’t seem to be afraid of us. He seemed to be afraid FOR us. He was shouting for us to leave before it was too late. But his shouting was muffled when the parlor door shut behind us. Shut and locked.
And then… And then the dream got interesting because one of my colleagues exploded. Not a fiery explosion – a wet one. Blood and guts splattered everywhere. My surviving colleague screamed and grabbed the door handle and started rattling the door, screaming to be let out. Cuts started appearing on his body but he didn’t explode. I didn’t think about anything. I grabbed the afghan off the back of one of the parlor chairs and draped it over my head to protect my eyes from breaking glass, then used the chair to break the window. I jumped out the window and fell 8 feet to the ground and landed in a shrub. My surviving colleague landed on top of me a minute later, bleeding profusely. His eye fell out and landed next to my hand.
I wrapped my injured colleague in the blanket and hustled him around to the front of the building to get in our car and get him to a hospital, only our car wasn’t there. I ran up the front steps to demand to know where our car had gone.
Medlock opened the door and tsked loudly at the state of my companion while I hollered for our car. Medlock stated that the car had been moved to the garage by the grounds staff, but that I shouldn’t worry about taking my colleague to a hospital, since they could treat him right here at the hospice. I didn’t trust her, but since my colleague was bleeding pretty badly and clutching blindly at Medlock I let her take him off. I was left standing in the front hall for only a second before the bald boy in the motored wheel chair came buzzing back into the room. He gave me a piercing look that seemed to go through me and asked, “Oritz is glad you remembered about the blanket. He wouldn’t have been able to protect you otherwise.”
“Who the hell is Oritz and where the hell is the garage?” I demanded.
“Oritz lives under the couch in the Green Room. You slept there didn’t you?” said the boy, matter-of-factly.
“I don’t see Oritz.” I snapped. I didn’t want to freak the kid out, but I really needed to get out of there.
“No one can see the monsters that live under the bed, except me. Do you believe in monsters?”
For some reason his nervous query caught my attention. My answer seemed VERY important. I was standing there, covered in my colleague’s blood and this kid wanted to know if I believed in the monster that lived under the bed. I wasn’t sure how to answer him, so I used an elusive tactic: “Well everyone knows that if you keep your arms and legs under the blankets the monster can’t hurt you.”
The kid seemed to interpret this comment in a positive manner and he turned to say to the air behind me, “You see Oritz! She KNOWS. She can’t see you and she doesn’t know your name, but she believes.” He turned his queer knowing gaze back to me and said in a precociously knowledgeable manner, “Oritz has poor self esteem because he only lives under a couch and not a bed. If you don’t believe in him, it makes him not want to protect you from Garrl. But I told him that you MUST know about him, since you remembered to wear a blanket while you were getting away from Garrl.”
“Who is Garrl?” I asked, distracted. I was looking out the front hall window for any structure that resembled a garage.
“Garrl lived under Peter’s bed until he died.”
“Where does Garrl live now? What happened to the bed?”
“The bed was destroyed because Mrs. Medlock said it was a biohazard from all the blood in it.”
“What did Peter die of?” I asked suspiciously.
“Leprosy, I think.” The kid said with a half shrug.
“Why didn’t Garrl go away with the bed?” I asked.
“Oritz says too many people knew about Garrl for him to Fade, but not having a bed to live under makes him very cranky.”
“Cranky enough to kill? Where’s my car?”
“Your car is gone and soon you will be too. Garrl will get you and your friend, and Mrs. Medlock’s secret will be safe.”
“What secret?”
“I don’t know. The one that the people before you came to ask about. They stayed at a hotel, but Garrl got them. Hotel monsters don’t get very attached to their people.”
“Why didn’t Oritz protect them?”
“Because they never slept on his couch.” The boy said, as though it should have been obvious.
“Did Oritz protect my other friend?” I asked. At this point my disbelief was totally suspended. I was intrigued.
“Of course not. He would never step on Teezle’s toes.”
“Teezle lives under the cot?” I was starting to get the hang of the mythos.
“Yes, and he’s very old and weak. People don’t sleep on that cot very often.”
“Is Oritz old?”
The boy had to think for a second about that… Either that or he actually was listening while an invisible being whispered to him. “No. He only got here 5 years ago after the sofa was refinished. Mrs. Medlock falls asleep on that sofa sometimes when she watches her stories on TV.”
Suddenly the boy’s face paled and he reversed his wheel chair. “She’s coming back.”
“Where are you going?” I asked the boy’s retreating chair, but he did not answer. Seconds later, Medlock came into the room.
“Your friend is resting comfortably now. I suppose you’ll want to see him, then.”
“Where is our car?” I demanded.
“We’ll get it for you in the morning. Don’t you want to see your friend?” she deflected.
“I want to leave NOW. Get the car or tell me where it is. You can’t hold us hostage like this.”
“Now dear, don’t get hysterical. No one is holding you hostage. Why don’t you come see your friend, while I try to find out where the grounds staff left your car keys?”
I went with her only because I needed to know where she’d put my colleague. There was a scream and a crash from a near part of the building, and Medlock doubled her pace, though begrudgingly. We entered the room that we had slept in that day, to find my colleague laying on the floor, shrieking in agony. Medlock tsked again and started moving him back into bed again.
“Now look at you, dear. You’ve ripped your stitches. I told you not to get out of bed. Now I’m going to have to patch you up again, and I’ve got so much other work to do.” Before I could blink, Medlock shifted his body into my arms, and I had to take him or let him fall off the cot and onto the floor. “Your friend will stay with you while I go get more water to clean you up.” And again she was gone, locking the door behind her. My colleague was moaning incoherently and I had a VERY bad feeling. It looked like there were fresh cuts on him… Not like he had ripped any stitches. And he was either drugged or in so much pain that he couldn’t think – he didn’t seem to hear me when I talked to him. Remembering what the kid had said, I covered him with the blanket as best I could, but the blanket was too short to cover all of him.
Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt something breeze by my head. I screamed as my leg was slashed open, then dove for the blankets on the sofa. I cocooned myself in the wool blanket for safety. My nameless colleague started screaming again, and I peeked out of my cocoon to see that his legs were sticking out from under his blankets and one was dangling over the side of the bed. It was being shredded. For a second, my vision slipped out of focus and I could see two monsters one giant and terrible, and one tiny and decrepit doing battle… But the tiny one was like a little dog biting the ankle of a giant mailman, and doing nothing more than causing an annoyance. Then my vision slipped back to normal and I couldn’t see them anymore. I dove across the gap between the sofa and the cot, following the rules of children, knowing that if my feet didn’t hit the floor I would somehow be safer. I landed half on top of my colleague and sent the cot rolling across the floor and we slammed into a wall. I scrambled to get us both covered with the tiny blankets, while trying to get the fellow to stop thrashing about. The wall we crashed into crumbled and we were covered in a shower of plaster dust… Part of me realized that there were bones and teeth mixed in, but I didn’t have time to think about it.
Then my alarm went off, which pissed me off for two reasons:
1: I didn’t get to find out how the dream ended.
2: I was totally exhausted, because my dream was so vivid and real.
Obviously I have been watching too many episodes (or not enough) of Supernatural.
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I had one that was similar (in that it was so realistic I woke up exhausted, and I never got to see the ending because my alarm went off).
In a nutshell, I was a robot in a time when humanoid robots were illegal (or at least ones pretending to be human). My dream started at the point where I gained concious thought (which happened to be in the middle of a work day). Long story short, some wires in my back malfunctioned, I went searching for my creator except he was super nuts and I almost strangled him to death, and promptly got caught by the police. I was set for deactivation, but the guard who was supposed to deactivate me fixed me instead, and it totally lead to a hot robot-human sex scene. It was shortly after that that I woke up. I don't know if I got free of the society or not, but I was in the process of doing so.
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From:
must have been a night for weird dreams
I only hope I get to meet the aussie guy from my dream. Yep yep. *sigh* Smart guys with a sense of humour that can cook and shoot zombies? Oh hot. :p
From:
Re: must have been a night for weird dreams
I have concluded that I fear the mindless mob, and have done so since I was 5 years old. No wonder I hate most people.
From:
avoid football games
hey, happy new year!
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From:
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I just wish I knew what Medlock's secret was... It was evidently unrelated to the number of people that Garrl had 'sploded. We never did get to the part where we started the archeological audit, and that was probably related to what she was hiding. I'm sure it would have been very Raiders of the Lost Ark had I gotten to that point.
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