The Power of Dreams Compels You!

dreamYou may have heard of me. Well, not of me. But of my fear of spiders. It’s legendary.

Have you read about the woman who burned down her house trying to kill a spider?

Yeah, that wasn’t me. But it could have been. And I’m pretty sure that one day it will be.

For now, though, it’s only a dream. More accurately a nightmare. That I had last night. And one that made me totally pissed off at my husband.

I’d accidentally somehow climbed into a blanket that had sides. Bigger than a sleeping bag. More like a constricting duvet cover.

That was weird, but not too bothersome.

Until the spiders.

Since it was a dream – I keep having to remind myself that – the spiders showed up. There were five of them on the floor near me.

They started out looking like super pale daddy long legs. Giant super pale daddy long legs. That were the size of my hand.

The spiders came at me, nice and slow. With that feeling of impending unavoidability. The feeling that you get in a horror movie, when Jason is going to get you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I started screaming for my husband to come save me.


I tried to roll away, but since it was a dream, I rolled back.

The spiders began changing colors.

Their bodies turned pastel like Easter eggs while their legs stayed a spooky translucent white.

I tried to roll away.

I screamed to my husband for help.

I rolled back.

The spiders changed colors again. Brighter. Darker.

They moved more aggressively, more quickly, more pissed off.

I yelled louder.

They moved faster.

I rolled harder.

I yelled and yelled and yelled and yelled.

They ran and ran and ran and ran.


I crushed them.

Landed on top of them.

They crunched.

They stopped moving.

I screamed even more.

And finally. Finally. Finally! My husband showed up.

Too late.

I was trapped on top of dead spiders. And he had no idea what was wrong.

I woke up.

So freaked. So grossed out. And so, so, so mad. At my husband.


I’m not crazy.

Image from Morguefile.comExcept, well, maybe I am. But this isn’t me being crazy. This is just weird.

Last Friday, I got up and headed to my craft room upstairs. I had a craft show on Saturday, so I needed to sneak in an hour or so of work so I’d be ready.

I always leave the alarm on when I’m upstairs and in the house alone because, well, it can be kind of creepy home alone up there.

So I was hiding up there, trying to get stuff done, and there was a loud bang.

I jumped and freaked the fuck out because it was coming from the front of the house. It sounded like someone hit the front door with a battering ram. Or maybe there had just been a massive accident out on the street.

Then I heard voices.

I went downstairs because I’m an idiot and too curious* for my own good.


The front door was closed and locked, the alarm was on, and nothing was outside.

Except the stereo was on. (The pic is showing a record, but it was just the radio…)

I know my radio wasn’t on. I hadn’t been in my office yet, and it was off when I went to bed. Plus, it made no sense why the radio would be on but then suddenly get loud when there was that noise.

Totally. Strange.

But here’s the thing that made it ever weirder – when I did finally come down to get to work in my office, the top shelf of my cabinet of curiosities was open.

I think my office is haunted.

*Did you know the full saying is curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back?