In my youth I was neither fearless nor cowardly, but would describe myself as cautious. I remember Mom was deathly scared of snakes and swimming. I did not much care for snakes myself. I found something revolting about the thought of handling them because I always thought they were slimy until I touched a big Boa in a college class and found its skin to be cool and dry. I learned to swim when I was six or seven. I liked to climb trees and never feared heights.
There was, however, one specific thing that terrorized me. It was a dream. When I was five or six I had a nightmare from which I woke distressed and crying. I had the dream several times and always woke up terrified. They asked me what it was about, but I was never able to describe it. The rhythm and beat of that dream is still with me, but there was little then or now that I could tell you about it. There was no form, no monster, no scene. There was a sense of something expanding and contracting - pulsating. Some sound that rose, than sank in intensity; a menace that was near but could not be seen. If I were superstitious or a believer in the supernatural, I would think that a door briefly opened, and for short time I looked upon pure evil. I had other nightmares after that, but they paled in comparison.
There was, however, one specific thing that terrorized me. It was a dream. When I was five or six I had a nightmare from which I woke distressed and crying. I had the dream several times and always woke up terrified. They asked me what it was about, but I was never able to describe it. The rhythm and beat of that dream is still with me, but there was little then or now that I could tell you about it. There was no form, no monster, no scene. There was a sense of something expanding and contracting - pulsating. Some sound that rose, than sank in intensity; a menace that was near but could not be seen. If I were superstitious or a believer in the supernatural, I would think that a door briefly opened, and for short time I looked upon pure evil. I had other nightmares after that, but they paled in comparison.
Every time I went to a monster movie, I would swear that I would never go to another, but the next time one came into town, I would find myself sitting with my brother and several other neighborhood kids watching the latest offering. Most of the movies featured either, Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi or Lon Chaney. I probably saw every horror film made during the 1940’s and 50’s : Frankenstein, the Mummy, the Werewolf, Dracula. I spent much of each show with my hands covering my eyes, peeking through splayed fingers.
I know of only one other dream I had and it ended with me waking up laughing. I dreamed that I walked into my bedroom. The closet was just to the left as you entered the room. In the dream the closet door had a window in the top half, and I saw Frankenstein sitting in the closet with his back to me. I ran away so fast that a cloud of dust, leaves, other debris rose in my place obscuring everything. I had injected that dust cloud into my dream after having seen a similar scene in a ghost movie in which Jack Benny and Rochester starred. It seemed very funny.
No comments:
Post a Comment