Week of Horror

Like my good twisted friend, I suffer from horrifying nightmares. While I've never dreamt of an imp as such, my nightmares usually have a complex plot, a nasty twist a la Night Shyamalan, wicked characters that disturbingly enough, spring out from my tenebrous imagination and usually, an added psychological bent. The so called twist in those dreams has my heart thumping so violently that often I've wished my subconscious would be so kind as to give me some hints, I don't know, a clue, so that when the dream reaches its climax and the horrible scene does unravel, I could at least not die of a heart attack in my sleep, that I could, instead, think, "oh, yep, I like what you've done with that part. Ok, what's next."

So Monday night, I had one of those. And I have to ask myself where, oh where, do I get this filth from? Because I certainly do not watch horror films (well, very rarely) and even if I did, my dreams are far too original to bear any resemblance to existing scripts...thank you very much. So when I finally awoke on Tuesday morning, oh Bliss! I was so grateful to the universe and never in my life did I love my alarm clock so much. Oh, you precious digital thing you.

But something good came out of this.
I have written down some notes about that particular dream. I think it has the potential to constitute a rewarding screenplay. Perhaps when I have time, after all my other projects. Just when you thought I'd actually share the dream with you, it now turns out to be copyright! Believe me you don't want to know. I narrated the dream to Jason and he said that once the script is written, "he doesn't want to read it please". It freaked him out too much.

Oh it does look promising...

But now to expand on this Week of Horror (hey, that's the title of the post!) I have to share what happened to me last night.

Well on Tuesday night, Jason was off in Melbourne for some business trip. This doesn't happen more than once a decade and as such, it was a momentous event. It meant that I would sleep alone. So before he left, I ensured that I would be prepared. I bought myself a can of Mortein. It's not as if we see many spiders, in fact we've spotted only 3 or 4 over the last 6 years, but you can never be too sure...

And what do you think happened on Tuesday night?

Yep. I was attacked by a spider. Just after I bludgeoned it with my black Roman sandal, on which the silly thing left a pulpous mass, (you can tell I'd never be a Buddhist), the paranoia set in. Note this: there had been NO spider activity in the appartment for at least a year. None. And now, THIS!!! So the question was: how did they know??? How did they know that I'd be alone tonight??? They know everything.

They are eight-legged demons.