A man tells an account of his dream.
| There is a sort of calm serenity in dreams; dreams are not real and you are sure of that, and as real as they may seem once one rises from a dream it is nothing but a past fiction. That was not the case for Dexter Wayman.
The escapade begins on a cool autumn morning in Northern Kilkenny. Wayman, who normally doesn’t remember his dreams let alone be roused by them was shocked to find himself dripping with sweat, sitting upright on his bed that day. He found himself compelled to write down that which he saw in this dream of his, and it is as follows:
“I dreamed today. I found myself in a den. A den like that in the living room of my cabin, only it wasn’t my den. No, I do not know whose den it was, but I am certain they did not live anymore. I saw three figures, two were standing either side one another, the third seemingly levitated close by. The first was horrid in picture, with writhing arms jutting out at obscure angles and whistling mouths making unrecognizable calls. It was amorphous; having no definable shape and with grey skin–if you can call it that–covering it’s grotesque body. It was dark, not in the room but around that figure.
The second was worse in a way, with three large eyes centered equilaterally on it’s center mass, maybe a torso? It had no discernible head, unless it's eyes were situated upon it, in which case it was a head. The large eyes weren’t the worst however but the legs, the legs were awful. If the first figure was comprised entirely of arms, this figure was comprised entirely of legs. Three large and unsightly protrusions spotted the very bottom of the figure, then after that there were nine smaller, circling again the body. There was another ring, seemingly of thirty, and this continued, until the fifth concentric ring, which found itself on top of the figure, and consisted of the smallest of the legs, but the highest majority. This figure was a deep violet, and around the figure it was neither darker nor lighter than the surroundings.
The third of the trio was the most horrid of all, and with its composition being the reason. The large massive sphere floated effortlessly above the ground at shin height, and it was larger around than the rest, but it’s body minus the protrusions was a perfect, or near perfect sphere. Those protrusions comprised halfly of ears, human ears, dog ears, monkey ears, all ears, but only half. The others were not ears, but noses, again from a variety of different animals. These noses were sniffing quietly, and the ears–those which were opposable–were moving constantly as if to focus on some sound that wasn’t there. This final figure was a rich green, the greenest green you’d ever set your eyes upon. The area around this figure seemed to be the polar opposite of the first. It was seemingly radiant and it was brighter around the figure than the rest of the room.
In the background around myself and these figures I saw windows, the windows led to nothing, pure darkness. I neglected to mention earlier in this writing that the room had no lights, and was seemingly ambiently lit, excluding the special circumstances for the first and third figures. There was a soft but stable growl, a deep and dominating sound in the room around me, the sound was encompassing, and enveloping, and it was coming from all directions. There were no other creatures in that den, but me and the figures. There was no furniture, no upholstery, no items of human or alien origin to be found. It was clean, spotless as if it was the center of a new cabin up for sale, but the den had no doors. I could not move, nor could I leave the room, but I knew that room had no doors. Just windows, all over. All over. Windows all over, and that sound all around, and those creatures just standing, but pulling me into the ground.”
Dexter Wayman was found hanging with this account of his dream at his side. On the back of the note there was scribbled “They weren’t a dream, they were a prophecy.” it is not known what he meant, or who ‘They’ refers to.