Monday, 5 March 2012

Cindy! This bitch be messin’ up my floor!


You know those childhood memories that cling to your fragile brain to this day? Events of horror and fear that, in comparison, make scary movies seem like The Smurfs? I had the pleasure of never experiencing such an event, or at least I hadn’t thought so until recently.

A repressed memory (the worst kind)…

Mine revisited during my slumber. Usually my dreams are comedic and completely random: a recent example being a giraffe that strived to be a pie-throwing daredevil. This dream… this nightmare, on the other hand, had me wake in fear for my life.

It was raining and dark as my doorbell echoed through the hallway (and apparently my dreams envy clichĂ©s so you’ll have to deal with them). Being your typical kid in a story I was ambitious, courageous, optimistic, pure, fearless and any/every other positive word in the dictionary. I flung the door open to be presented with a figure… a horrific demon… a zombie… zombie Hades, ZOMBIE HADES WITH RAKES FOR HANDS! All I remember is running back down the hall I came from and diving into my bed, shaking in fear. This is the time for you to grab all the positive words you mustered up earlier and to throw them in the bin. Whilst running I remembered that I forgot to shut the door behind me, so I was probably being followed by a zombie Hades with rakes for hands at this point too.

I now fear this soul-reaping man everywhere I go. Screw Samara coming in 7 days (see title reference), she means nothing to me anymore. I guess dreams take pride in distorting real-life events and returning my brain to a toddler-esque state, but this one was WAY over the top.

Although it was an exaggeration of what actually happened, I am genuinely scared of this creature appearing in my everyday life. Sort of the same as the remake of Nightmare on Elm St, where *spoiler alert* it ends via a mother getting stabbed through a mirror, and now I struggle to put my back to a mirror. But yeah, this is what actually happened…

Anti-climax time!

The person who was actually at my door was a family friend covered from head-to-toe in blood after a car hit-and-run. In retrospect, running into my room and not aiding him was a bad idea. It’s not my fault dull lightning makes a bloodied man look like Zombie Hades (with rakes for hands!!!).

Dreams suck. Why must I now walk around fearing an imaginary creature? I just want to live in fear of normal things: bees, ghosts, Freddy Krueger and Oprah Winfrey.

...Oh, don’t worry. My mother tended to the man’s needs and called an ambulance so all was well in regards to him.

And all was unwell in imagination land.

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