Dream February 19, 2015
Staring at Mrs. Mrs.
I was sleeping deeply when a loud sound from my apartment woke me. It was late morning. I rose from bed and went through my bedroom door wearing only a T-shirt and boxers, but I walked not into my living room, but into the kitchen of a mountain cabin I had rented some years ago. Three women in business suits were laughing as they entered the cabin. Stepping around the kitchen island, too aware of the mismatched patches of hair covering my legs, I asked one of the women, “What are you doing in my cabin that used to be my apartment?”
She removed her sunglasses and bit the lens while staring at my crotch. “We have another family who wants to live here.”
“But where will I go?”
“You can keep the place if you come up with 33,000 more funnels.”
“I don’t have that many funnels!” I was starting to worry, and I didn’t know what she was talking about.
The last woman to enter shut the door. She pointed to the bay window in the living area with a finger which was seven feet long. Her nail tapped the glass. “I love the way that hill keeps going,” she said.
“Okay, alright,” said the sunglass woman. “If you can look at Mrs. Mrs. for more than a minute without dying, you can stay.”
“I’ll try, but can I put some pants on first?”
All light was extinguished, and I stood alone in a darkness so complete, I felt my own light dying too. A door opened before me, revealing a brightly lit dentist’s office. Every piece of equipment and furniture was broken, junk littered the floor. Everything but the dentist’s chair. An elderly woman tiptoed around the chair, walked carefully through the garbage toward the door, toward me. Her face was kind, but even in that radiant light, a darkness sheltered in the wrinkles around her eyes.
She joined me in the black room and the door shut. Her face glowed with a pale light.
“I am Mrs. Mrs.,” she said. “Look at me.”
I stared at her eyes, her cheekbones, which were hidden by sagging skin, like high-backed chairs covered by sheets in an abandoned room. The light in her face trembled, then flashed like the circling lens of a lighthouse. The brightness captured an image at my periphery, which left an after-image which floated across my eyes - an eyeless, toothless pig gnawing at a skeleton a cot by my feet. Her face flashed again and the pig was snuffling at my knee. Its breath was hot and wet. It licked me, and its saliva burned.
I shuddered, focusing on Mrs. Mrs..
The flash came again, revealing the woman who had touched the window. She stood by the window, and her long, horrible forefingers pointed at the pig, and at my mouth. I felt the pig clutch at my leg and begin to climb, huffing and spitting.
“I can’t look anymore!” I shouted, and closed my eyes, thinking that this would extinguish the dream as the dream had extinguished the cabin light. But no. The weight of the pig pushed me onto my back, cracking my head against something hard as slate, and the pig collapsed on my chest and wormed forward to cover my mouth in a gnawing, burning kiss.