Scott’s brother Brian and I walk down a hallway of an old lecture hall at a college. Brian says, “come on, check this out, Kris.” We come down a stucco hallway and approach an old wooden door. Brian calls out, “hey, Grin?” At first I thought he had said “Gram” like a nickname for a grandma, but there was a red thread that had been stitched into one of the walls that looked like a smile.
The door opens; inside it looks like a professor’s office that had been converted into a living space for an old woman. A couch lines one wall beneath a Venetian-blinded picture window. It’s night. The old woman in question opens the door and turns away to walk off before I can see her face. All I do see is wispy white hair and a long satiny house-dress. She has a mystical aspect about her, like she’s also a part-time psychic.
Brian motions for me to join him at the window. “Okay, look down there.”
Beyond the window it’s pitch-black out. The only light in any direction comes from a street light above a small playground about 400 yards down a hill. Beside the sandbox, on a concrete slab beneath the light, stands a muscular white man with a demonic face and at least three arms and three legs. It’s not a costume or statue. It is alive.
We look at it for about two or three seconds and it vanishes.
“See, that’s what happened the last time!” Brian says. “It just disappears after you look at it.”
Grin says, “oh no, it never just disappears. It’s up here now.”
A huge white shape moves across the glass and now stands directly in front of the picture window on the outside. I don’t look at it for more than a second; when I see movement I shut my eyes.
Grin says, “Now, as long as you stay here” — I fully expect her to say that it was safe in this room, but she continues — “it’s extremely dangerous. You need to go now.”
As is traditional in my dreams, I start to wake up and I realize I’m in my bed at home, but the remainder of sleep paralysis makes me think I’m being pressed into my bed by an unseen force.
