The Dreaming - Chapter 1

The Dreaming
Chapter 1

A Dream.
What is a dream?
How can something so complex, something we cannot truly grasp be defined in just a single sentence?
Some argue that dreaming gives a more inner access to one’s spirit and therefore one is more capable of getting questions answered from their inner consciousness and given proper awareness.
Does a dream hold meaning, significance?
During a typical lifespan a human spends about six years dreaming, which is about 2 hours each night.
Do we dream because we choose to?
Lucid dreaming occurs during REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep when the person becomes conscious and aware they are dreaming within the dream. This sometimes enables one to have direct control over the content of their dream.
Some believe that practising reality testing in waking life may lead to one being able to apply it during a dream. Reflections of yourself are usually blurred in dreams. In a dream time often does not flow like real time.
Do we dream to wash away our thoughts and start afresh each day?
Is a dream a representation of personal conception?
It is easier to recall dreams when we wake up directly from them.
If one were to dream of being attacked by friends would this be an expression of fear of friendship?
How much control do we have over our dreams?


This restlessly unsettling dialogue swirled through Tanya’s mind with more questions than answers, and she only awoke from her dream when she heard her father’s voice.
“Tanya.”
She lifted her head out of her text books and gazed at her father impatiently. He had his right hand deep in the fridge, searching for the coldest beer.
“Do you ever sleep?” he inquired sarcastically.
“I’m reading,” she replied, turning back to her books.
Tanya was a young girl of about 17 years of age. She had long brown hair and deep eyes that told a story whenever you looked into them. She was quite slim and wore an old brown jacket that covered her knees as she studied her textbooks. Her father was a short man with an outward curved stomach. He was aging quickly, and his presence felt humble and warming. He was a caring man, and one with many simple motives in life.
Her father turned his attention to his drink for a moment, opened it and walked over to the round wooden table Tanya had her books stretched over before casually taking a seat opposite his daughter.
“What are you studying for?”
“Nothing,” Tanya said, still focused on the books. “Just out of interest.”
Her father took a sip of his beer and placed it on the table, whilst picking up one of the textbooks. He stared at the cover, flicked through as if to be speed reading every section before throwing it on the table.


“Your mother was always the smart one,” he said. “But why are you interested in dreams?”
Tanya looked up at him and stared for quite sometime.
“Ah,” her father said. “Come on, I always know when your hiding something.”
“It’s….it’s…nothing,” Tanya stuttered. “It’s just a fascinating topic.”
Her father was far from convinced.
“Tell me.”
“I’ve just been having weird dreams lately,” she said.
“About?” her father insisted.
“Mum,” she replied.
Her father nodded, understandingly.
“I’m sure it’s all perfectly normal,” her father said. “I dream about her sometimes, too.”
Tanya closed the textbook she was reading and stared into space.
“Do you ever dream about mum’s death?” she asked.
Her father delayed a sip of beer and sat up straighter in his chair.
“Tanya,” he said, in his classic reassuring voice. “We don’t know how she died, and we’ll never know.”
“I know,” Tanya said, rasing her voice. “But I see her dying ever night Dad.”
Harold rested his head in his hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this when it first happened?” he asked.
“I hoped they’d go away,” Tanya said. “But it’s happening every night.”
Her father rose and headed towards the phone.
“Maybe you should go back to the psychologist you had a few months ago dear,” he said, trickling his fingers through the notebook.
“No,” Tanya cried. “I’ll be alright Dad.”
“I can’t have my daughter enduring terrible dreams like this every night,” he said.
“Can I just talk to you about it instead?” she insisted.
Her father understood and, as if following direct orders, went back to his seat.
“Your mother was a beautiful woman,” Harold said. “I loved her and so did you.”
“I know Dad,” Tanya replied. “But in my dreams I don’t love her.”
Her father looked rather puzzled.
“Dreams are just an absurd play out of events in our mind,” he said. “There not to be taken seriously dear.”
Tanya nodded, staring at the wooden table.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Harold inquired, concerned for his daughters sanity.


She had been very unstable since her mother’s death and hadn’t been to school for months. He wished they could find a decent psychologist to help her, but their town was far to isolated from the rest of civilization. It was almost as if their small town was stripped from humanity and well behind in technology. The only reason that kept him living in this way was that he grew up in this town, and he loved the ambience of the people and the environment. Although, ever since the death of his wife, the town had become nothing more than a darkening presence. If they had an adequate police service than perhaps he could find out what happened to his wife. She had been missing for three months and the empirical evidence suggested that she was dead. What was worse than the death of his wife was that he knew every single person living in Opusberg and could not imagine one of them committing such a terrible crime. The obvious answer, and the only answer, was that one of them did it and he has never looked upon this town as he used to in the last three months. Everyone was a suspect, excluding him and his daughter and a few close friends. He spent the nights lying in bed, unable to sleep. He could almost hear her voice calling him in the blackness of his room. At times she would appear by his bed, her hair, long and brown. She would smile at him and when he called her she would disappear. Sometimes he would roll over and place his arm around her and kiss her gently on the cheek but the night air would bring a cold taste to his lips. Melinda’s disappearance was haunting him and his daughter so much he felt that it was time to leave their home and move to the city. Tanya would never approve of a decision like that. The only friends she had in the entire world lived here. Whatever was to happen had to happen soon. The truth could not be hidden, they would never be happy living this way.


Harold had done all the considering he felt he could handle for one night. Another question was floating through his mind.
Whilst Harold was thinking Tanya could almost feel a presence behind her.
She turned her stare from the wooden table to the door where a man stood. He wore a black coat. His face was old and wrinkled. Tanya wasn’t scared for it seemed this man was meant to be here. He looked so familiar. He was smiling, an evil smile. His eyes were glowing as red as a flame.
“Don’t do it Tanya,” he said, softly, almost whispering his words.
Tanya turned and faced her father, but her father did not appear to care for the unusual man standing in their doorway and continued with the conversation.


“In your dreams,” Harold started. “How does Mum die?”
Tanya was silent for a long time.
She stared at the cool night breeze swiftly moving through the open window of their cottage.
She sat there for what seemed like minutes before she answered, working up the courage to look her father in the eye.
“I try to stop her in every dream but she somehow just dies every time.”

To be continued......

"The Dreaming - Chapter 2"