I had strange dreams last night. Spiders and children invaded my home, and my dog, whom I had to put down four years ago now, savagely attacked one of the children but not his companion when they stopped to pet her. Now, she was a very friendly dog, and snapping at a child was not like her; well, almost. She loved nearly everyone, but every now and again, she would show a sudden prejudice. She would bark and become very defensive. It is believed by some, including me, that dogs have a sense man misses. We both have eyes, ears, and noses, but we cannot smell what they smell nor hear what they hear. I think she was more attuned, perhaps by her nature, to a sense that I have felt, now and again, about persons. I have myself, like an animal, known a dislike for someone by instinct.
This dream came to me after my alarm sounded, too. I had pulled out my Bible for a little morning reading, and almost immediately fallen back asleep.
Well, at some point after my dog bit the child, a sort of voiceover commenced, explaining that there were imposters, evil creatures that looked human and weren’t. They were, the dream told me, from all over, but California was mentioned, and I was shown a place in California which I doubt actually exists, where there are “lakes within lakes.” I watched a migration of deer, and it was implied that some, if not the whole herd, were not what they were. Indeed, the dream was insistent here on impressing me with something I could not understand: The image of the lakes within the lakes was what these changelings were on some level.
So the dream went on. I am skipping detail, but it is detail that I cannot remember clearly. I was seeking a quiet place to write, and was being constantly bothered and distracted in whatever corner I tried to hide myself in. Then, I found the children trying to get in somewhere I didn’t want them to; I think it was the same pair that had tried to pet my dog. They went from the door disappointed, and I was happy that some place was still private.
Then one of the boys tried to whip me with a towel. A normal act of play. And yet, this set me off, much like my dog. I turned upon the child, shouting threats and filling the air with a blue streak. In my hand there was a heavy glass mug, I might have been searching for a drink, and I lobbed it at the fleeing child. The other child who had not offended me began to cry, running to my father. Then, just before the dream ended, my mother came out the door asking me what I had said.
I felt embarrassed and confused. I woke up and saw that I had slept about half an hour. I continued my morning Bible, and read about the temple tax and Peter’s fishing expedition. What is accident and what is meaningful within these events, I cannot yet discern, but I felt a queer sort of connection between my dream and my recent rereading of “The White People,” a story I have never quite understood.
Tale Told 