Dream of Dad's House

I have dreamt once more. Much more going on than what I can currently recall. My recollection begins with me abruptly standing outside my dad's house facing a witch. She is bloated, fat, covered in boils and wearing a ragged torn robe of vomit green. The witch holds a silver wands and absurdly yells "I'm going to get you, I'm going to get you!" and wobbles after me.

I simply pluck the silver wands from her chubby clumsy fingers and press it on her face. Her flesh hisses and melts from the silver. Once again the absurdity continues with her proclaiming "My wand! mine you no have!" and me declaring back "It's mine now I took it! mine mine!'. She flails at me and I press it against her face, back and forth we go like an absurd dance, arguing the rights of the wand like four year old children. I reach the door of the house and go in. She reaches one elephantine arm through the small window the door has and I without skipping a beat press the silver wand numerous times against her arm causing her to wail and leave.

I go into the living room and spy her through the window. Then the strange dream gets odder still because she and her 300 pound heavy plump rotten frame jumps, jumps onto the roof! I call out inside the house. The furnitue is torn, everything is broken or scattered. My dad and aunt come over and I tell them what happenend.

Dad tells me: "You cannot kill it with that wee thing!" in an oddly scottish accent. So we go to an old wardrobe and open it. It's full of weapons made of silver and tells me to take the sword. The witch upon the roof goes: "So you're taking the sword are ye!" so we hush and take small hand axes instead and I note with a whisper "We can throw these". Then a conglomeration of windchimes sound and dad rushes to the front door and goes outside. I quickly follow and in his workshop we find hounds, some tangled in a windchime and other eating metal as if it was canned dog food, I guess they were metal eating dogs. The hounds are small but are more wolf than dog and more bear than wolf. That's as best as I can explain their appearance. Dad no longer using his scottish accent, holds up his axe and goes "How do you throw this?" I give him a blank look as in "I said we could not that I know how" then shrug and throw mine at the hybrid hounds.

It bounces off the ground and buries itself in the head of the closest one with an abrupt crunch and a spurt of gore. The hound-things stop their scavenging and yap and run at us with their strangely thin and shark-like fangs bared. I tell dad to go in and follow him up the steps to the front porch. He throws his axe and hits nothing in a terrible throw, I pick up a broom of all things and fend them off. I throw pottery and chairs and anything that's around and eventually the dogs retreat. Then I notice they go out the gate and a sick feeling settles in my stomach as the common fact that gates don't open themselves thunders through my head, someone let them in as a distraction. Dad goes off the porch to close it and before I can shout out a warning something lands on his back from the roof, something sinous, humanoid and purple. I run towards him and it punches a clawed hand through his chest in a welter of gore. I wake.