The Dead

I walk into a barn. I am having a nightmare. Why am I shaking? Why do I feel a desperate need to pull out of reality, to some alternate world? These feelings begin faintly, almost unnoticeable at first. I cross the threshold. It is dimly lit in the barnhouse. The cow stalls are empty. Life has fled from the old place. Something draws me in, while yet something elsewhere beckons me away. The former something, though, is stronger, and I enter in full curiosity. Words are entering my head, eager to escape audibly into the stale air of the small barn. They are not English, nor are they any language I have ever heard before then. It was from beyond. The shaking increases, the need to pull away is shooting upward inside. I speak. I shout. The words I say are completely strange to me. This is when three, then four, then five or six men rush into the room. "Stop! Stop speaking!" The shuffling sound of the hay on the ground against their frantic feet, their screaming voices, are fading away. I see a haze settling and appearing all around the room. "It is the language of the dead!" Figures are forming in the haze, as darkness sets in as well. They are faint figures of old men and women, so very vague, a child or two as well scattered among them. The Dead. Their voices are also growing in volume, and they speak in unison, and in full synchronization to my own speech. They pull me hard as I feel now that there is nothing to be considered but simply getting the hell out of here. And that I did, or so I thought. With one strong final pull of the men on my body, forcing me out of the barn, I also pulled out from the dream. I had escaped. But this is often the hardest part, the scariest, the most frightening, and also always the very most curious. I had indeed escaped the dream, the images of that unreal dimension of the wood barn, the figures, the hay, the men, the windows, but sleep I had not. I was trapped, again, in that place where I can see some other form of reality or dimension, but had (usually) no ability to move. Always do I shake, so very much, from the inside out, frightened beyond measure, a feeling as if my soul were being stolen, and I am striving hard to not let it go. I can see the window in my room, it is, in all waking reality, here just a foot of distance from my hand. I want only to wake up. My eyes are open, but sleep has yet to be overcome. I can see images, such as a person of some form, whether human or otherwise I do not know, standing on my bed, leaning on the window. I must wake up! More shaking, attempting to move my body, never accomplishing.  My eyes will not stay steady; they are out of my control. Then I awake. My eyes already open. Seeing the very same view as that of seconds ago. The window. The blinds. The blankets over my body. But no person. No figures. I can no longer see the Dead.

Boys of Both Sides of Life

When will the so long-lasting trip come to and end? Seriously, are we almost through? Obstacle after obstacle. The final obstacle. This mansion off the side of the road, a long winding driveway to the front door, covered in trees and surrounded by a brick wall swallowed in greenery. There is something creepy about this place, something eerie, beyond the natural. Catch that dog! Shoot. Mom let it go again. I really hate that little beast. It ran straight, without hesitation, through the front door, over the threshold, and up the outside bricks of the chimney. Yes, up the vertical column, as if on flat ground. She chased it inside, a very open structure on the interior. The chimney column, directly beyond the door, shot straight to the ceiling, up 40-50 feet, and out the roof. She ran up the stairs as the dog ran up the wall, I watching from below. The dog then fell down the center core of the chimney, all the way back down to the floor. And that was over. But this house. This mansion. Why are we here? Why is it here? A driving, unstoppable curiosity overtook the whole group of us. What is it about this place? There is something to be discovered, and we will search until it is found out. The feeling was accompanied also be a kind of entrapment. We were stuck here, not allowed to leave. There were no barriers, no stones in the path to leave, but nonetheless, we weren't going anywhere for a time, maybe forever it might seem. It wasn't long before a wrapped paper was found on the front porch. Wasn't there a few hours ago. It is marked with Father's name on it. Someone has set it up for us to be permanent here. They want us to stay. We've got mail.

...People live here. Another family. They were unnoticed until now. Who are they? And why would they live in this crazy ol' place? They speak of spirits and the possibility of the dead living among them. Previous owners? There are spirits in the house. Together we investigate. Brother has computer games that might give us understanding and insight into what to do, two of such. The computer is not working. Where is that little boy, the young child of the second family? Out in the yard, playing in the sand. He is speaking as to another being, but no one is there. Someone is there. He plays with this other boy, an invisible friend. Together they are building a sand castle, as the many of us stand still watching in shock and wonder, I in curious amazement. They are building a sand castle. The boy natural and the boy supernatural are building a sand castle together.