Dec 122012
 

I’d traveled with a group of nameless coworkers to a training class in an old hotel that had been renovated into a small convention and training center. After lunch and drinks in the hotel restaurant we checked in and went to our rooms. On seeing my room I knew I’d been in the exact same one before, though I’d never been to Oregon until now.

While the parts of the hotel I started out in were very new and modern, over time it seemed like everywhere I went it became older, less occupied, and more unkempt. I never saw my coworkers after checking in, and the actual reason for being there was forgotten.

While wandering, I attracted the attention of an older man, with silvering hair, whom I knew was some kind of Soviet KGB agent planning to kill me, though I had no idea why. I didn’t even question why, it was just a given . He started following me, and I ducked into an elevator to escape him. I hopped out at a random floor high up in the hotel, stepping into a small room with a type of square brick chimney running up the center. I moved into the room and discovered a set of stairs in the floor leading down. Some of the steps were missing, and all were rotted. I debated going down them, until the elevator opened again behind me and the man came out, now wielding a fire axe.

We stalked each other around the chimney, and I managed to keep the chimney between us so he couldn’t see me. I also moved in complete silence so he wasn’t sure if I was there or not, despite a brief scare where my shadow was cast ahead of me. I eventually lapped him around the chimney, snuck up from behind, and…? I don’t recall if I pushed him down the stairs or just took the elevator, but I escaped.

I found myself in disused servants’ quarters full of dust, webs, and bizarre-looking spiders, including a tarantula. I killed them all with a pillow. It then occurred to me that I could have done away with the KGB guy at any time, because I was dreaming. I tried to remain in the dream, but I’d already drifted too far out of it, and woke up.

Sep 042011
 

What is it about spiders that cause such fear and revulsion in so many people? There are many ugly, unpleasant bugs that bite, sting, and annoy, yet spiders seem to inspire a horror out of proportion to their size and actual danger. Watching one is fascinating and repellent at the same time for me, and at home I kill them at every chance.

Maybe it’s because I was playing Arkham Horror yesterday, so ancient monsters are on my mind, but I like to imagine that it’s a vestige of racial memory; of a time when our prehistoric ancestors were hunted and fed on by giant arachnids until fear of them was encoded in our very genes, similar to how baby birds, their eyes yet unopened, will panic when the silhouette of a hawk is held over the nest.

Enslaved by alien spider overlords, our near-monkey forebears labored in the mines and temples until their hideous masters returned to the stars, leaving nothing but a generational dread of their terrestrial counterparts. Hopefully they never return…

Oct 092006
 

I was in a dark, wooded, narrow mountain valley which until recently had been underwater for decades. When the black water receded it revealed a small ’30s-era mining town(?) of log cabins, all of it preserved by the coldness of the water and the lack of life in it. I was walking through the camp, and everywhere I looked there were spiders: smooth, fat, brownish-white things about the size of a silver dollar. They were in doorways and empty windows, on railings, scuttling under porches and across rooftops. At one point I turned around to find one hanging a foot from my face, legs waving, fangs clearly visible. I didn’t freak out, but quickly kept walking out of town. Some guy was standing in one of the doorways, watching me go by, but we didn’t speak.

I woke up to see it was about 4:30am, then spent the next five minutes scratching every imaginary itch, certain the little alien horrors were crawling under my pillow. After falling back asleep I found myself outside the valley and looking across a lake toward a tall but narrow mountain. The surrounding area looked very much like the mountains of northern Idaho where I-90 cuts across it: dark, wooded, and eerie. There was, or had been, some kind of military post at the top of the hill and, after somehow crossing the lake, started climbing the metal stairs embedded in the side of the hill. The Army(?) didn’t want me to go up there, but were unable to stop me. I only saw/heard one soldier, but “behind the scenes” I knew that there was a lot more people involved. For some reason I was untouchable, and they knew it.

There was a dark figure waiting for me at the top but, unfortunately, I didn’t reach it before the alarm went off.

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