I’m rarely the antagonist in my dreams, usually I happen to be the hero, an innocent victim, or a floating observer. Everyone once in while, I am the villain; performing heinous acts that range from annoying to disturbing. Last night, I was a very disturbed version of myself.
In the dream, I am myself, but not quite myself. I’m only about 13-15 years old, and instead of being curly blonde, I have straight black hair. I am also in a version of my childhood home that M.C. Escher would be proud of — random staircases that end in impossible angles, bizarre decorations, and doors that are able to slide across walls.
I was an angsty teen with a terrifying agenda. I wanted to make friends and keep them close to me…forever. And I had the perfect way of achieving this goal. I had just invited a dream friend over; she had pretty red hair and a shy smile. I was luring her into my bedroom, while trying to keep my annoying family out of the way. My brother (who was around nine) kept trying to barge into my bedroom to annoy us. I growled and grabbed the frame of my door and pushed it across the wall until it face outside and too high up for my brother to reach from the ground below. My anger was then replaced with a devious smile. I turned to my new friend, who was observing a figurine on my windowsill. I picked up a large book off of my desk and smacked her upside the head with it. She fell to the floor with a small thud. I pulled out a large, vintage box from under my bed, which contained a small dagger, a black notebook, and a large china doll with the same orangey-red hair.
The scene played out like a cheesy horror film as I cut out the girl’s heart in a gory fashion. Luckily, there was far less blood than there should have been. I pulled out the notebook and chanted a few words, the heart kept beating in my hand. I set the book down and grabbed the doll, which had a little latched opening in the chest. I shoved the beating heart in and locked it back up. The doll vibrated in my hand (not unlike a game controller) and then it blinked. Once. Twice. Then, it looked up at me. I smiled down at her.
“You are so pretty,” I told her. I cradled her in my arms as I stood up. I walked over to my closet door and slid it open. On the upper shelves of my closet were several other dolls — some female, other male — who all stared at me with frightened expressions. I placed the new doll in the empty space. I smiled up at all of them with pride. I loved them all.
Dream Score: 2/10. Whoa….that was a very disturbing dream. Like I said, I’m not used to being the antagonist. I think the dream came from the various horror short-stories that I have been reading (one of them did involve a haunted doll.) I swear I’m not a psychopath…points for creepiness, though.
Dream Journal 