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Dream Diary

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Day ?

They are all around me. I can hear them snuffling all around, but I can’t see them. The sheets are tangled, the duvet stifling, I cannot move. There is a weight on my chest, my feet — they are holding me down!

A glimpse of yellow! A flash of brown! Squirming. Squirming against my face. I can’t breathe!

Not again!

You won’t have me! My dreams are my own! Not again!

Down into blackness …

Day 1

Have decided to keep a dream diary. My dreams are wonderful, epic, soaring — at least I think they are — they slip through my fingers as soon as I open my eyes. It really bugs me.

I’ve read that keeping a notebook by your bed and writing your dreams down as soon as you wake up can really help you hang on to them. Been thinking about it a while, decided to take the plunge.

Considered getting a special journal from the bookshop, but those things are expensive, so this notebook will have to do. Note to self — panettone recipe was on the torn out pages. Got to make it easy to write dreams down, no flipping pages at 6am.

Day 2

Something about a boy, and a trip to the seaside. Mum was promising me an ice cream, but I couldn’t find the queue? It was Monday morning — no that’s the song playing on the radio, making me confused.

I was so sure that I’d had a wonderful dream. I could feel it when I woke up, this sort of glow, a warm feeling like I’d just sipped hot chocolate, but it was gone before I could even reach the pen to write. Then a cold feeling, an emptiness. Quite horrible actually.

And it is cold. The window is open, I don’t remember doing that. The sun is still pale, it’s foggy. I feel like something is missing.

Not the best start.

Day 2 - later

I read that you need to really catch the dream mid way through to remember it.

Day 3

I am wandering through my old house, the one I lived in with Mum and Dad when Dad was still alive. There is an extra door in the hallway by the stairs, and it leads to a whole other wing of the house. Somehow I do not feel surprised.

When I go to the end of the corridor I find a flight of stairs that leads up to a big open living room. The furniture is all 60’s orange, with a shag-pile rug and bright windows. My Dad is sitting on a sofa with his back to me, watching that huge white TV we had when I was little.

I am so happy to see him. I run forward, shouting his name, only I can’t shout, and I can’t move either. He turns to look at me, but his face is a blur that I can’t make out, and it’s so horrible that I scream, only I can’t scream either. He keeps turning to look, like a video clip on loop, and I scream each time. The TV is flickering, brown and yellow. There is something on the screen, a pair of burning eyes and something that writhes. I wake with a scream.

No. That’s not right. I woke up with a smile. It was a good dream. Only, when I try to write it down it turns horrible. It’s like the good dream god ripped away and I was left with a nightmare instead. And the bed is wet with sweat, and so am I, even though the window is open again.

I still don’t remember doing that.

I guess I must have dreamt two dreams and gotten them muddled up, one over the top of another or something. It happens.

But I could have sworn …

Day 4

Did some more reading. Apparently the body knows when you are due to wake up, if its a regular thing. Gets itself ready for waking, so your sleep is shallow. Sunlight doesn’t help either. The real stuff is in the middle of the night, the long dreams, the ones that keep slipping away from me.

Tonight I’m going to try something different. Set an alarm for the middle of the night. Not when I’m really deep, you don’t dream then, but if I’ve timed it right I should catch one of those real dark-time dreams and get it whole. Pen to hand.

Day 5

Midnight alarm didn’t go off. Stupid thing. Maybe I turned it off in my sleep? Won’t make that mistake again, tonight I’m putting it on the other side of the room.

So tired today anyway. Tried to write something in the diary anyway but my mind was empty, as if I hadn’t dreamt at all. Felt adrift all day, sure they noticed it at work. I’m still going to try again though, its the weekend anyway so I can afford to be tired.

My nose itches.

Day 5 - later

Alarm set, here we go.

Day 6

Oh! A beautiful dream! I can remember it all. So bright! Writing this in the dark, don’t want to spoil it. I can still see the towers, glass and silver. The sea washed them from below, surging, like hollow breathing. Bridges, connecting everything, from tower to tower. Ours was the tallest, and at the top that living room, with the huge windows, with my Dad in it -

What was that?

Snap on the light, jumping at shadows. Nothing there, of course. But I swear I heard something, like the pitter of feet, like something brushing against the cotton of the duvet cover. Of course there is nothing there. But the bed is rumpled, the covers half off. Did I do that? And the window - the window is open again, and this time I know I closed it!

A snuffling noise. Someone clearing their nose? Horribly it is more like an elephant noise than anything a human might make. Outside? Oh god … did it come from under the bed? I think it came from under the bed!

I don’t want to move out from under the covers and look. Suddenly I feel so tired, it would be so easy to just switch off the light and close my eyes. So easy.

But thats crazy! There’s something in the room with me and I want to go to sleep?

I peel back the covers, but it’s so hard. My skin is sticky. It’s cold, but I’m hot. Crawl to the edge of the bed, look down, but of course there is nothing there. Nothing there.

I fall back on the bed, feeling stupid, and freeze. There is something in the corner of the room, a dark splodge in the shadow of the wardrobe. Brown and Yellow, moving, squirming -

So tired. I think I’ll sleep now.

Day 6 - later

What time is it?

The sky outside the window is evening dark, the clouds under-lit by the dirty yellow glow of street lamps. There is rain falling, hissing through the open window. Is it still night? It can’t be, I must have slept through the day.

All I can remember are nightmares. Screaming; running; death. A clammy touch on my face, unable to breathe. Where have all the good dreams gone? Who has taken them? I have the sudden conviction that something is here, in my house, feeding on them, sucking the dreams out of me. The thought leaves me shaking, trembling.

I must be sick!

Feet on the floor, throw on the dressing gown that hangs on the back of the chair, get out of bed. These simple things seem so hard. I stumble across the bedroom, force open the door, get out into the hallway. How can I still be so tired? I reach for the phone to call the Doctor, but I don’t do it. Somehow I know that this isa bout my missing dreams, and what’s a Doctor going to do about those?

My nose is bleeding.

The hallway carpet is soft beneath my feet. I feel like I am sinking into it. It is pulling me down! Oh God, am I still dreaming? I try to force myself forwards but the hallway stretches out like taffy in front of me. The carpet is dragging me backwards — go to bed, go to sleep.

No! I won’t do it, I won’t go back! They can’t have me! I have to get to the kitchen, drink something, cool this fever I must be suffering from. It’s only a few steps, I can do it!

Then I see them.

Movement at the doorway, a shadow in the shadows, dirty brown and dirty yellow like the street lamps, and eyes like chips of neon, buzzing in the rain. There’s one ahead of me, and one behind. I want to run, I want to fight, but they raise their hands and move their fingers and I feel so tired.

They want me to sleep.

Day ?

They are all around me, but I can’t see them. Sometimes they let me wake up, but I can’t move. The sheets are wet, the duvet is heavy. They are sitting on my legs, on my chest, pressing me down. There are no good dreams left - they have eaten them all - now they have started on the bad ones. Over and over again.

If I slide my eyes I can see the diary beside the bed where I left it. How long ago was that? If I could just reach it, maybe I could write … maybe I could do something.

A glimpse of yellow! A flash of brown! Squirming. Squirming against my face. I can’t breathe!

Not again!

You won’t have me! My dreams are my own! Not again!

Down into blackness …


“If you think that you had a good dream, but you can’t remember it, a Drowzee has probably eaten it.”

- Pokemon Gold

“If your nose becomes itchy while you are sleeping, it’s a sure sign that one of these Pokémon is standing above your pillow and trying to eat your dream through your nostrils.”

- Pokemon Ruby