One morning I had a terrifying dream. I was with a team of people and we were inside a dark house. We entered a pitch-black dining room with a long table and a glass cabinet of dishes. Armed with flashlights and a video camera, which I was operating, we lit up the room to reveal a decaying old woman shaking and standing on a chair behind the long table. Then she began to sing a song.
I remember the chords were E minor and A minor, the saddest and most haunting chords ever. I can't remember the words. All I know is that she was very good and as the rest of the team stared, entranced, I captured the scene. As she sang and dripped, whatever it is that dead people drip, she began to dance. But she didn’t just dance, she slowly moved to the music in a very sexual way. As I looked through the camera’s LCD screen the thing that scared me the most was her eyes; they never closed. They were open and staring straight back at me.
She began to move closer. Crawling under the table and moving closer. No one else seemed to notice that this weird dead woman (with the psychotic intentions that all weird dead women have) was clearly coming toward me. I had to move away. I started backing out of the room but she still kept crawling toward me. I was so freaked out. Why would she want me? What was so interesting about me that she had to sexually swing herself over to me?
I turned and started to jog away. Jog, not run though — why embarrass myself in front of the others? But she kept getting closer and closer, until she somehow came face to face with me. It was at this point that fear drove me to do what every man, woman and infant child would do. I had no other choice. I opened my eyes.
I awoke from my weird, terrifying dream safe and away from the woman, but I was not fully awake. When my eyes opened I came face to face with the mutated, over-sized head of WILL SMITH.
I immediately jumped. A man in my bedroom staring at me while I slept? But then my eyes focused. It was just the pillow I had been hugging all night, wrinkled in a way that it would resemble a mutated, over-sized Will Smith head.
I don’t remember what time it was but I could hear the early-morning trucks already making loud noises outside my window. I would hear bumps and creeks all around me for the rest of that morning, until my roommate flushed the toilet. Unfortunately, the sound of water swirling in a porcelain bowl could not remove the dead woman’s song from my head, or the visions of her crawling towards me, or Will Smith’s freak head.
