Nightmares exist outside of logic, and there’s little fun to be had in explanations; they’re antithetical to the poetry of fear. ― Stephen King
Nighttime can be a fright time. Let me tell you a true story. Happened just a few days ago. Make of it what you will.
It’s late at night. I’m alone. I’m sleeping.
Suddenly!!! A cyclonic wind whipping through my bedroom like Hurricane Hugo. I can feel it. The curtains are blowing straight out.
The Venetian blinds are rattling so loud I’m sure that’s what woke me up.
But… I’m asleep… right?
What I am is REALLY scared. I figure it’s like any other nightmare: I’ll force myself awake and it’ll be over.
I try to sit up.
But, I can’t.
It’s as if some huge invisible hand is holding me down, pressing me to the mattress.
I lie there, eyes wide, eyes really wide, open.
I can’t stand it. It’s too bizarre.
I finally manage to thrust myself up into a sitting position.
The wind instantly dies down. I see the curtains flutter against the now silent blinds.
They hang still.
The light next to my bed is on. I could’ve sworn I turned it off. Everything is quiet.
The only sounds I hear are my rapidly beating heart and my breath.
I’m gasping as if I’d just run a ten kilometer footrace.
Uphill.
I look around, see I’m alone and I turn out the light.
I wake up the next morning. Nothing special, done it every day since I can remember.
I’m on the phone with my new girlfriend, Scarlet.
We’re chatting, talking about this and that, when I remember the nightmare.
“Oh, here’s something strange. I had a dream last night. Like there was this cyclone in my bedroom. It was really spooky.”
“Did you try to move?, she asked. “Did you try to get up and find out you just couldn’t do it?”
“Why, yeah, that’s just the way it was. But, how did you know?”
“Jack D., honey, that wasn’t a dream.”
“Okay, sure. Then, what was it?”
“A visitation,” she said. In that voice women use when they are being really serious.
Like when they are pregnant or leaving you for somebody else. Or both.
A visitation.
“It happened to me once, just like that. Just the way you described.
“That was no dream. That was real.”
Right. Look. I’m just a guy. I drink American beer right out of the can.
I root for the home team and I don’t like okra nor trust the government.
Not just our’s but anybody’s. At any level.
I also don’t believe in ghosts.
My concept of the devil is he’s a little cartoon character dressed in red tights who whispers in your ear, it’s okay if you cheat on your wife because you are in a different time zone.
As far as I am concerned, the Poltergeist is poppycock.
Now, however, I’m beginning to have second thoughts.
Scarlet tells me the only answer is PRAYER. Which seems to me to be a variation on a theme.
So, I called Norma Louise, now my, pains me to say this, my Ex. A woman who would know about these things.
After all, she channels for Shirley MacLaine.
“My, THAT is interesting,” she said, as if I’d just learned the English language after years of trying.
“But I wouldn’t worry about it. This doesn’t have to be a bad omen.”
I believed her, because as I said, she knows about such things. And we’re still friends.
I am still the father of my ex-dog.
I can trust her.
I do trust her.
And prayer seems to be headed in the wrong direction. Up, instead of down.
This was no angel who stopped by. This was something a touch more demonic.
Norma Louise suggested meditation. “Someone is trying to contact you.
“Let them call,” I responded. “That’s what the answering machine is for.”
“Don’t be silly,” she chastised.
“Silly? Silly?!!! Who me? Silly? Hah!”
There was no use in trying to remain calm.
“You’re telling me that something, God only knows what, is trying to get in touch with me, and they send a hurricane to my bedroom and I’m not supposed to worry and I should sit with my legs crossed and chant a little under my breath until he makes a connection?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” That’s exactly what Norma Louise said.
I still think they simply got the wrong address.
But maybe I will pray. After all, what could it hurt?
I might meditate, too.
– 1989 maybe.