Most people look forward to bedtime as a time of rest and rejuvenation.
I am not most people.
Bedtime for me more often than not ends up being a time of slipping in to crazy dreams that leave me anything but well-rested. Take last night’s feature presentation.
It was nighttime, and someone had broken into the house. He was either looking for my family so he could kill them, or he had already killed them, and he found me in the kitchen, with the bright overhead light on.
I probably didn’t need to worry much about my family, because this guy shot at me at point-blank range and missed. I wanted him to think he had killed me, so I fell to the ground, closed my eyes, and held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice the lack of blood and try shooting again.
Well, then he took off back the hallway to find someone else. Somehow, I willed something in the basement to fall over and make a loud noise, which brought him back out the hallway and down to the basement. Once he was downstairs, I shut and locked the basement door, grabbed my keys and the dog, and left the house.
I drove out to my seminary in Myerstown so I could find one of my former professors. I pulled him out of a meeting so I could talk to him about my book, and somehow we came around to talking about what had happened at my house.
At this point I woke up and looked at the clock; I still had about an hour till I had to get up, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.
I began dreaming again,, and I somehow used the first part of the previous dream to plan out one of the final scenes of my next Kyrie Carter book. Kyr’s house had been broken into by the bad guy of the book, this time a flesh-and-blood person. She knew he was going to kill her if he found her, so she was hiding *somewhere* in the house (couldn’t really figure out where).
Just as he reached for the doorknob of the closet she was hiding in, there was a crash somewhere else in the house. He took off for that part of the house, thinking that’s where Kyr was hiding.
Kyr ran out of the house towards the woods at the back of the property, intending to head for her neighbor Helen’s house.
By the time she crossed the footbridge in the woods (you must not go to the wood at night, ringing in her head), the bad guy had somehow caught up to her and tackled her.
He pulled out a gun and held it up, pointed right at her head. “I’m really sorry it has to end like this, Kyr. If you would have just let me have the house, you wouldn’t be here. Your boyfriend will be devastated to find you out here, but he’ll know it was your fault.”
Before he could pull the trigger, there was a chorus of growls, and a large “hellhound” launched from the trees onto the bad guy. Another one jumps in and seizes his wrist in his teeth, making him drop the gun, which Kyr picks up and points at him.
A third hellhound approaches, intent on going for his throat, but Kyr stops him with a word, which frightens him. No one had ever controlled those beasts before. Maybe it was true what everyone said about her.
The dogs back off, and he tries to get up, but Kyr tells him not to move. She warns that if he tries anything, either she will shoot him or she’ll have the dogs rip his throat out.
This is why I’m always tired when I wake up in the morning…