A Dream Within A Dream I

Announcing a new post series! This one, “A Dream Within A Dream,” is dedicated to recording some of my more interesting dreams. Before I begin with this installment, I have a few people to mention/give credit to. First of all, Edgar Allan Poe, one of my favorite poets,  for the title of this series, which is also that of his poem A Dream Within A Dream. Second, I was inspired a while ago to write a little something about dreams when Sharry wrote a bit on a dream she had over at her blog, Always Dreaming. Lastly, I’d like to mention Amanda over at Dream Log Blog, which is a blog completely dedicated to dreams. If you’re interested in dreams, both nighttime and day dreams, I encourage you to pay her a visit! Anyway, the dream  itself is marked at the beginning and end with asterisks.


I’m climbing up the creaking stairs to the attic of an old mansion. I think the mansion is open to the public, but its empty at the moment. As I get into the attic, I look around, but there’s nothing but old, empty crates and boxes. I take a last peek around and spot a primitive wooden doll leaning against the wall in the corner. It’s clothed in a rough wool dress, and it’s facial features and limbs are very unrealistic, some oversized, some undersized. As I reach out to pick up the doll, it turns it’s head!

I yelp and jump back, but the doll continues to come to life, growing slowly but steadily. I run for the stairs and bolt out of the attic, but the doll pursues, moving slightly slower, if much more creakily, than I. I make it out of the mansion and burst into the lawn. The doll seems trapped in the doorway, unable to leave the mansion. The scene fades out.

I’m in an office of some kind. From the sterile, antiseptic smell and feel, it’s a doctor’s office. As I listen to the people around me talk, I realize this is a psychologist’s office. Funny sort of psychologist’s office, I think. Eventually I’m led into see the psychologist himself. He already knows about my problem.

“Tell me more about it,” he says. I describe the strange incident in as much detail as I can muster, and as I talk, my fear grows. I begin to tremble.

“Hmm,” says the doctor, scribbling in his notebook. He seems to be trying to think of a way to convince me the doll wasn’t possessed by something. “Perhaps the doll was hollow, and there was a mouse, or maybe a snake, inside. Did it just sort of twitch, like this?” He begins to subtly jerk parts of his body.

“Nope,” I say. “And it was growing, remember?” The psychologist continues his twitching. I wonder if he is quite well. The scene begins to fade out, and just before I lose the room all together, the man mutters something about rice. Huh.

I’m back in the mansion of the possessed doll, but I feel braver now. I have a friend or two with me, and we’re planning to be rid of the thing once and for all. There are a few suits of armor around the mansion, so we arm ourselves with spears, swords, and daggers we find on their hollow metal persons. The weaponry looks and feels suspiciously like cardboard that’s been spray-painted silver.

“Do you think these will do any good?” asks one friend.

“They’ll have to,” is my grim reply.

We search the place fervently. A couple of times we have to duck out of sight because of passing school groups. Why they would be here, I don’t know. Finally, we here an inhuman moaning and groaning. We glance at each other meaningfully, then advance toward the sound, brandishing our flimsy weapons.

We spot the doll in a side room. It has grown to about five feet tall, originally being about five inches. As soon as we appear in the doorway, it swings its wooden head around and screams like a banshee. It beings growing at about ten times its previous rate, hitting the ceiling, than busting through that. We hear the schoolchildren shrieking, terrified, nearby. The doll’s now huge hand reaches down to us. I stumble backwards, screaming, than I wake up.


What an odd dream (actually more of a nightmare)! I wonder what it could mean? Have you had any interesting dreams lately, readers?



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