When I was twelve and in seventh grade, my family lived in an apartment building. I remember having a recurring nightmare there, though I have no idea what caused it.
Here’s how it usually went:
I’m playing outside on the complex’s playground, swinging or something. Across the adjoining soccer field, I see a bison. He’s just standing there, looking at me.
Weird, I think. Sort of creepy, but I’ll pretend I feel fine and keep swinging.
In a minute, I look back over my shoulder and the bison has moved closer.
Repeat that sequence of events once more. The bison isn’t moving when I look at him; he’s just standing closer, facing me.
Okay, freaky. These animals are not to be trifled with, I know. They’re gigantic, strong, and have not been known to exhibit signs of empathy that other species have. So, I get off the swing and try to walk quickly and unobtrusively to the security door that opens into a stairwell of the U-shaped building. Unfortunately, I experience the moving-through-waist-deep-water sensation that most of us have experienced in dreams. It is impossible to run. Without looking back, I know the bison is following me. I sense him looming, though I don’t remember now whether I could hear his footsteps.
By the time I reach the stairwell door, I can hear him breathing. The door is the kind that you have to put the key in, turn it, and hold it turned while you pull the door open. It’s a fire door, so it’s heavy, too. I fumble with the keys a bit as I try to determine which key on my keyring is the outside door key and which opens my family’s apartment. At least my hands don’t move in slow motion, though they’re shaking with fear. I can feel the heat of the bison’s exhalations on the back of my head and neck as I finally get the door open just enough for me to slip through, and I pull it shut behind me before he can wedge his big snout in the way.
Whew.
I’m safe. However, my heart is beating at a panicky rate, and I am worried about the safety of my family. No time to stop and rest. I start down the hallway to get to either the elevator or the stairway that is closer to my family’s third-floor apartment. Augh: I still can’t run. I wade through the molasses-like air, going straight down the hallway, past all the closed apartment doors. Suddenly, my seventh-gradey senses are on high alert, and I shoot a glance over my shoulder.
The bison is inside the hallway.
He is at the end of the hall, about 15 yards behind me, just standing there, staring at me with his saucer-sized eyes.
Holy crap. I struggle to move faster, which makes a microscopic improvement.
At this point in the dream, my route to my apartment varies. Basically, I try to lose the bison by going up stairs, down stairs, and loop back and forth through the building in an attempt not to lead him directly to my home and family. (Picture one of the chase scenes in Scooby-Doo, but mute the silly music and make the whole thing ridiculously frightening.)
Sometimes the animal walks, but he never hurries. I know he’s diligently plodding after me, gaining on me without running. Sometimes he just continues to move closer without me being aware of his walking.
Weird, I think. Sort of creepy, but I’ll pretend I feel fine and keep swinging.
In a minute, I look back over my shoulder and the bison has moved closer.
Repeat that sequence of events once more. The bison isn’t moving when I look at him; he’s just standing closer, facing me.
Okay, freaky. These animals are not to be trifled with, I know. They’re gigantic, strong, and have not been known to exhibit signs of empathy that other species have. So, I get off the swing and try to walk quickly and unobtrusively to the security door that opens into a stairwell of the U-shaped building. Unfortunately, I experience the moving-through-waist-deep-water sensation that most of us have experienced in dreams. It is impossible to run. Without looking back, I know the bison is following me. I sense him looming, though I don’t remember now whether I could hear his footsteps.
By the time I reach the stairwell door, I can hear him breathing. The door is the kind that you have to put the key in, turn it, and hold it turned while you pull the door open. It’s a fire door, so it’s heavy, too. I fumble with the keys a bit as I try to determine which key on my keyring is the outside door key and which opens my family’s apartment. At least my hands don’t move in slow motion, though they’re shaking with fear. I can feel the heat of the bison’s exhalations on the back of my head and neck as I finally get the door open just enough for me to slip through, and I pull it shut behind me before he can wedge his big snout in the way.
Whew.
I’m safe. However, my heart is beating at a panicky rate, and I am worried about the safety of my family. No time to stop and rest. I start down the hallway to get to either the elevator or the stairway that is closer to my family’s third-floor apartment. Augh: I still can’t run. I wade through the molasses-like air, going straight down the hallway, past all the closed apartment doors. Suddenly, my seventh-gradey senses are on high alert, and I shoot a glance over my shoulder.
The bison is inside the hallway.
He is at the end of the hall, about 15 yards behind me, just standing there, staring at me with his saucer-sized eyes.
Holy crap. I struggle to move faster, which makes a microscopic improvement.
At this point in the dream, my route to my apartment varies. Basically, I try to lose the bison by going up stairs, down stairs, and loop back and forth through the building in an attempt not to lead him directly to my home and family. (Picture one of the chase scenes in Scooby-Doo, but mute the silly music and make the whole thing ridiculously frightening.)
Sometimes the animal walks, but he never hurries. I know he’s diligently plodding after me, gaining on me without running. Sometimes he just continues to move closer without me being aware of his walking.
I feel terrified and helpless. I have no idea what the animal will do when he reaches me, but he’s clearly not my friend.
I think that the dream usually ended while the bison pursued me. I don’t remember ever reaching my apartment and feeling that it was safe to go inside. I think there were times when I made it to the door only to see that the giant animal was either in front of me at the end of the hallway, or behind me, and since I didn’t want him to know where I lived, I struggled on in my attempt to lose him. I never knew how he was opening the doors. I’m pretty sure he didn’t need to do anything manually, and was just on the other side of them when he wanted to be. I also don’t think I ever took the elevator. I can only imagine the petrifying terror of seeing the doors slowly open to a huge bison head blocking my exit. It still makes me shudder.
This dream occurred over a period of 2 or 3 weeks. A couple of times I remember going to wake my mom or dad up in the middle of the night after I’d had the nightmare, to get a dose of reality and seek reassuring words from them. It felt silly, but I knew it comforted me when I was little, so I was up for anything to get the nightmare out of my head.
I think that the dream usually ended while the bison pursued me. I don’t remember ever reaching my apartment and feeling that it was safe to go inside. I think there were times when I made it to the door only to see that the giant animal was either in front of me at the end of the hallway, or behind me, and since I didn’t want him to know where I lived, I struggled on in my attempt to lose him. I never knew how he was opening the doors. I’m pretty sure he didn’t need to do anything manually, and was just on the other side of them when he wanted to be. I also don’t think I ever took the elevator. I can only imagine the petrifying terror of seeing the doors slowly open to a huge bison head blocking my exit. It still makes me shudder.
This dream occurred over a period of 2 or 3 weeks. A couple of times I remember going to wake my mom or dad up in the middle of the night after I’d had the nightmare, to get a dose of reality and seek reassuring words from them. It felt silly, but I knew it comforted me when I was little, so I was up for anything to get the nightmare out of my head.
