Here is one of my dreams:
This is the dark house. It is a mansion filled with dark oak paneling, dark oak wood banisters, dark oak doors. I am there, standing before a fireplace with no fire. Outside, the sky is bright. The gauze curtains do little to block the light. They hurt my eyes. I am young, maybe twelve, maybe younger. I am dressed in a red dress with white trim. I am looking up at a painting that has no face to it. It is merely blotches of blue and red. The house seems enormous. I hear an echo of footsteps going up the stairs, and I decide to investigate. I go up one flight of stairs and then up another. On the fourth floor, I stop and look around at the dust and neglect. I hear a girlish laugh. I follow it. There are spiders here. I get caught up in their web. I panic and rub the dusty webbing off. I go deeper into the dusty attic until I come to another set of stairs. I look down them and see a glimpse of pink, and run down the stairs. There is more laughter. I hear it from all sides. Different voices laughing at me. I rush to the other side of the hallway. The laughter seems to come from empty rooms. The light from the window at the far side of the hallway is blinding. I turn left down a corridor and see that glimpse of pink again. I run after it again. I turn left again, and try to find this person. I pass by a room where Mother is embroidering. I reach the end of the hallway and turn down the next flight of stairs. I run down the stairs. There is the front door of the house, but I dare not go out it because the light is too bright. I turn away from it, and run down a passage way. Father walks silently passed me and opens a door at the end of the corridor. As he passes by me, the knife in his hand cuts into my arm. The cut is deep. I feel clammy fingers dig into the muscle as thick blood pours out. I turn to run, and feel the cadaverous fingers pull at my arm and snap the bone. Blood is seeping down the side of my dress. I fall for a moment and get back up. I cannot go outside because I will not be able to see. I run into the kitchen. With my left hand, I grab a knife. I turn to see a ghoul. She is wearing a red dress that is faded to pink and dirty. Her eyes are missing. She laughs. She seems to be covered in dirt. “Sister” she seems to say. Fresh blood has drizzled down her chin. My blood. In desperation, I drive the knife into her skull, and she collapses into dust.
There was a girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad she was homicidal.
I am a lizard woman from the dawn of time, and this is my wife.