I just wanted that one “yes” to post my dream journal entries, and I got it. According to the journal date I had this dream in 2018 but I can still see most of it pretty clearly, and I still think about the characters with some regularity because I do just love them a lot.
I’ll warn you right now though, this won’t make as much sense as a polished fic, because it is just a recounting of what I experienced in the dream, written down as soon as I woke up without anything added for clarity or cohesion, but I really do think it would make a cool story if I decided to flesh it out a bit. I already intend to draw some things from this dream for my dreamscapes project, but if there’s anything specific anyone wants to see let me knowww
I was driving home after meeting up with a friend, but while we were driving we noticed odd cloud formations. The little tendrils of cloud that originally looked like benign pockets of rain instead turned out to be really powerful miniature tornadoes. The car got picked up by one, and I saw people getting lifted up and set down by others. They were ruining shops and signs and cars. So I got out of the car by a carnival/fair with lots of booths and ran through the crowd, using the tornadoes to help me vault over particularly dense areas. I made it through okay (though I was worried for the others who had been injured by the tornadoes) and just kept running.
Suddenly the scene cut to me entering a large Victorian gothic house. By that time it was rightly storming outside. I stepped through the large French doors, and they swung shut behind me with a loud clang. A voice, deep and velvety but somehow lacking in richness, came from a room down the walkway to my left.
“What is it this time?” it asked.
“It’s the seventh marker,” I said, referring to the tornadoes. I went to meet the voice in the other room.
It was dark, with a dimly lit chandelier over a large, well set dining table, set for ten or twelve people, and the storm outside was casting a blueish light into the room that gave it an eerie feel. The man that the voice belonged to was very elegant. He had on a long proper Victorian coat, like a trench coat but nicer and with beautiful embroidered sleeves. It was tailored to his thin frame. He had long jet black hair that was a little frazzled looking, but still appeared quite nice. His face was pale and his thin lips and sunken tired eyes stood out starkly against his pallor. He looked as though he could have been a beautiful, vibrant, elegant person years ago, but time had left him hollowed out from years of worry and possible illness, and now just appeared rather sickly and frail. He crossed over to me and tutted “This is all happening far too soon. I don’t like the look of it.” He had a British accent, like he was from Old Money England. He was pacing about worriedly, and I felt a pang if sympathy. He shouldn’t have to stress himself out over the troubles of the world.
I asked, “Would you like some tea, Salazar?” That was his name.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, and smiled at me. “But only two sugars please, any more makes me nauseous.”
“Of course,” I said, and dropped two sugar cubes into his cup before joining him by the fireplace with his cup and a cup for myself, and we got to talking, though I don’t remember specifically what was said. We were talking about what was happening, with the twelve markers/warnings. These were the bizarre happenings out in the rest of the world, like the little tornadoes or huge blizzards or terrible lightning storms. They signified something. Something evil. But I don’t remember what. I said something to him that obviously upset him, and he turned on me, usually black eyes glowing green. He started yelling, and threw his hand out towards me. An invisible force threw me against the wall. I felt a pressure on my throat and suddenly couldn’t breathe properly. He was screaming something at me, deep voice booming and resonating with an otherworldly quality. He began to float, his hair all about his face and head as though gravity no longer had any effect. Glowing green magic raced visibly through his veins, and he seemed to crackle and spark with the sheer power of it. Someone else, another man with jet black hair, happened by the room and saw what was going on.
“Salazar!” he screamed, and I immediately crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. The man, Alastaire (I seem to know everyone’s names?), helped me up. He too was quite pale, but not in a sickly way like Salazar, nor was it as severe. His hair was short and gelled back into a perfect coif. He was beautiful: tall and slender, vibrant blue eyes, well kept facial hair, and form fitting dress clothes, minus the tie.
When he called his name, he had drawn Salazar out of his own mind, who sank slowly to the floor, eyes dimming back to their normal black. He sagged under the guilt at what he’d just done, seeming even more frail and small than he had before. He avoided eye contact with either me or Alastaire, and wrapped his arms around his middle, as though he were cold.
Alastaire helped me up and put an arm around my shoulders to escort me to a room upstairs so he could check my throat for damage. I could still feel the green magic tingling there like electricity. Salazar whispered a broken “I’m sorry,” as Alastaire led me away.
When we reached the top of the stairs, we were greeted by a teenage boy with long shaggy hair and a paperboy cap. Sean was his name. Two young girls, twins, ran out to meet us as well. Their brunette hair was pulled into ponytails and adorned with ribbons and bows, and they couldn’t speak. Their mouths were sewn shut, but they didn’t seem to mind, and signed happily with one another and everyone else there. Their names were Winnifred and Victoria, or Winnie and Vicki for short. Alastaire guided me into an elegant bedroom with a large four poster bed, and a vanity. A beautiful woman was sitting at the vanity, working on something. Needlework I think. She stood and sat me down in her chair as she and Alastaire looked me over. She was very friendly, and even more elegant than Salazar and Alastaire combined. Her name was Margaret. Her long black hair was pulled into an intricate updo, with perfect curls falling down in front of her ears. She had pearls running through it, and a red flower tucked into one side of the bun. She dabbed something onto my neck and it instantly felt better. She was fuming about Salazar hurting someone, but I was arguing that it wasn’t his fault. His condition gets the better of him sometimes, and it’s a lot of stress to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders, especially now that the seventh marker has happened.
“I’m going to go make sure he’s okay,” I said, and went back downstairs, almost tripping over two black schnauzers as I went down the stairs. I found Salazar in an empty room in a remote wing of the house. There was nothing in the room except for two freestanding doors, one blood red and the other dark green. Just as I entered the room, Salazar opened the red one. You could feel evil permeate the air as soon as it opened.
He paused momentarily, and looked at me with a sad smile, before stepping through the door and closing it behind him. He disappeared. I ran to the door to try and open it but it wouldn’t budge. I yelled his name and tried to get him to come back but he was already there. It was a dimension filled with evil. We called it the Other. I sat with my back to the door, waiting for him to return. I fell asleep.
Hours later, I awoke to the door pushing me and I toppled over. I scrambled out of the way, and Salazar staggered through it, then forced it closed as though something else was trying to get through behind him. After it was shut, I sprung up and grabbed him by the elbows. I needed to check if he was okay. He wasn’t. He was beaten and bruised and bleeding in some places, his eyes still dimming down to their normal black. When the green glow had finally faded, he collapsed. I caught him, slung one of his arms around my shoulders, and half dragged/half carried him to a large chair by the fireplace. I yelled for Margaret to bring me the med kit, but she was busy. Salazar grabbed my hands and said “It will happen. It got through. Their cursed mouths will open...” He looked so frightened and tired and weak and sick that I simply stood up and pulled him into a hug as he sobbed.
Upstairs, Margaret was threading pearls onto a string to fix to Alastaire’s hair.
“Don’t fidget so much!” She scolded him. “It won’t hurt as badly if you don’t move.” The needle she was holding was obviously for more than putting pearls on a string.
“It’s going to hurt either way, I can’t imagine how my moving or not moving would make any difference,” he said, sulking.
“You were the one that wanted the pearls, remember?” she said, and tied off the last pearl on the string. “Ready?”
“Better give me something to bite down on,” Alastaire said, grimacing. She handed him a belt and he bit down on it as she stuck the needle into his scalp to anchor the string of pearls at the back of his head. She skillfully draped it over the side, weaving it in and out of his hair and scalp as needed, and finishing with an elegant swoop around his coiffed fringe, anchoring it in his scalp once more.
“There, done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She said as she tucked a red flower behind his ear. Blood dripped from the punctures and ran down the back of his neck and the sides of his face.
In another room, the twins were playing. As soon as the Salazar closed the door downstairs, both went rigid. Red sparks coursed through their bodies as whatever had come from the Other entered them. They moved mechanically, as though possessed, and looked up at the ceiling. Slowly, brutally, they opened their mouths, tearing the stitches through the flesh of their lips. The forked tongues that could finally protrude licked the blood from their faces, then forced the girls down onto all fours, snarling like animals on the hunt. The sniffed at the air and smelled blood, not theirs. Alastaire. They ran to his room, maws wide open, tongues yearning for the taste that had been denied them all those years. They burst through the door, and Alastaire screamed at the sight. Margaret gasped, but sprung into action, taking the sword at her bedside and brandishing it in their direction.
“Stay back. You know this blade would burn you,” she said, abnormally calm. The blade crackled with green energy, and the red spark in their eyes intensified. They snarled and gnashed their teeth, but reeled back when an arc of green electricity shot from the top of the sword.
“Back!” Margaret yelled. And they retreated. However, Sean was waking down the hallways, planning to go downstairs for a snack. They barreled into him in their haste and knocked him down hard. He yelped in pain as his elbow caught on the splintered wood floor, breaking skin. The twins smelled the fresh blood and were immediately upon him. They each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him flailing down the stairs and into the room with with doors. Salazar and I were in the next room over, and heard the commotion in the door room. No one was supposed to be in there! We dashed into the room, but too late. The red door slammed shut as soon as we entered. All that was left was a trail of blood droplets and a paperboy cap. Sean.
Salazar looked at me, eyes wide with fear. “We have to go get him. They’ll eat him alive, or worse...” He was trembling at the exertion of even just standing.
“You’re in no shape to go in there,” I said. “Let me. I’ll bring Alastaire,” He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “You know I’m right. I’ll be okay. They won’t even see us. Neither of us have magic, remember?”
“But if they do see you, you’ll be dead,” he said, voice low and despairing. “I can’t lose anyone else.”
“I’ll be fine. You have to trust me.”
After a moment, he nodded slowly and pressed a large skeleton key into my hand. It felt both cold and warm simultaneously, and seemed to vibrate with dark energy. I helped him to his chair, and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders before kissing the top of his head and sprinting upstairs to find Alastaire.
“We have to go,” I said when I found him. “Something took Sean. They’re in the Other.”
“That something is the twins. Their mouths opened...” Margaret said. “Let me come with you. You could use me!” She looked at me with hopeful eyes.
“I’m sorry, you can’t. You have green magic. You know that they’re drawn to that. Our best bet is if we can get in and out without being seen. Non-magic people can pass under their vision,” I said. She nodded curtly as Alastaire crossed to me.
We went downstairs and stood in front of the red door.
“Have you ever been in the Other?” Alastaire asked me, staring at the door.
“No,” I replied. “Have you?”
“No,” he said. After a moment I stuck the key in the door and twisted. With a loud click, the door swung open, and we stepped inside.
I don’t remember much about this place now. The only things that are clear now are that the ground was red and springy and squelched under our feet as we walked. It smelled like rotting flesh, and may very well have been. The air was heavy and foul, and taking in a full breath was hard as the humidity felt like it was suffocating you. There were trees here and there, but they oozed black sludge that dripped slowly from the branches and slid down the trunk to the ground, where it was absorbed into the red earth. You couldn’t see more than 30 feet in front of you in any direction because of the mist. Eventually we stumbled upon what looked to be a cliff, stretching far above our heads and into the mist, out of sight.
That’s when my memory goes fuzzy. We must have climbed some, because my ribs still hurt from the fall. Alastaire also seemed to have fallen. I vaguely remember finding Sean and booking it out of there, and returning to the real world a little worse for wear after losing our way in the terrain. The twins were with us too, with muzzles on, but more or less themselves. That’s when I woke up.
