Coil

Things have been busy lately so I haven't had a large amount of time to keep up with blogging. As a result, I am writing up an old dream from some weeks past. I dreamt about a horror film called Coil, straight from the annals of my own imagination. The film doesn't exist, so don't try to search for it. Ewan McGregor was a murderous vigilante with a coiled neck. His origin story was that he met some orphans in Bolivia and became 'the People's Serpent' to protect them from local mobsters. He would protect the children by encircling them with his deformed neck. His neck was a bit like the bloated lekku of Bib Fortuna from Return of the Jedi, albeit more maggoty, sweaty, and viscerally disgusting.

Much of the film was set in a sunny American state, where he played the 'nice guy'/ love interest of the female lead. Towards the end of the film, his identity as Coil is revealed and he is linked to a string of grisly murders they were investigating. He managed to hide his deformity throughout much the film by always wearing a scarf. In the final act, he unwraps the scarf to reveal his fat neck coils which can unwind to strangulate prey. He then proceeded to chase the heroine through the house, where she was alone at night. The film reminded me a lot of Slither (2006) for its aesthetics and practical effects. I don't know what induced me to have such a dream, but I thought it was sufficiently unusual enough to warrant a short post. Perhaps it can find its way into a novel one day, in some form. 

Coastal Exiles

This was a strange, philosophical dream with hints of horror, intrigue, and erotica. I was on an undisclosed, rocky beach which had a network of tunnels chiselled into the cliff face. These tunnels were visited by people eager to uncover mysteries. It involved traversing a dank, claustrophic series of undergound hallways resembling sewage maintenance, searching for clues until a locked wooden door could be opened. On the other side, something profound or distrubing would present itself to the seeker, usually prompting them to live a life of exile on the shore, pondering a specific question for the rest of their lives. But I jump ahead.

I underwent the trials earlier in the dream, but the memory of what awaited me behind the door has now unfortunately fled. This was because I had a busy shift at work today and was unable to write it down whilst fresh in my memory. All I recall is there being lots of dripping moisture, a soggy book, and something to do with fingers. The next person attempting to undergo the trials was a woman I know from real life, called Tamsin. She was excited about the prospect of uncovering the mystery, and was vlogging the experience to boost her social media following. We had some fleeting chats before she entered the tunnels.

After my trial, I was wandering somewhat aimlessly on the beach, which was cold and dismal. A parked double decker bus offered some warmth, hosting pockets of teenage schoolgirls who sat gossiping and eating smelly crisps. I attempted to find a spot on the bus, on both the lower and upper deck, but I felt self-conscious around the teenagers, and was worried I might be mistaken for a sexual predator. I returned to the sea, where I noticed a scattering of people all sitting around on large rocks and jutting boulders, gazing out to sea in the manner of Auguste Rodin's The Thinker.

Tamsin returned from the tunnels, although I wasn't sure if she had completed her challenge. She told me that these people had all opened the door, and were now isolated from society. They had given themselves over to thinking about nothing but one specific question, channelling all their mental energy into it day after day until they died. Towards the end of their lives, they may not have reached enlightenment, but they would be closer to the truth than anyone else in the history of the world, so close they could almost reach out and touch it as a physical object. Then they would depart from the world. I decided to join them in their exile, but what my question would be, I did not know. 

Sea Lion Loft

Lately I've been worried about structural collapse. I have a new build house, and because they tend to be made out of materials similar to cardboard, a lot of cracks have been appearing in the ceiling. More seriously, the outside mortar is crumbling away, and requires an expensive repointing job. With these concerns in mind, I dreamt about my other house in Wivenhoe, which had we had moved back to. Before we moved to Sussex, we had tried to convert the loft to a bedroom, but the architect and builder we hired disappeared after the blueprints were drawn up. This time, we were determined to do something with the space, and we had the idea of turning it into a sea lion pool.

I'm not sure what possessed us to make such a ludicrous decision, but we went ahead with it, and the result was appallingly executed. Five sea lions were bought and transported to the pool, half of the loft area was fitted with a glass tank, and a small window, only the size of the entry hatch, looked into the tank from below. We could see the sea lions gliding past if we stood directly beneath it, but there was no way in and no way out, being hermetically sealed. Once their fish and shrimp food ran out, there was no way to resupply. There was also nowhere for the sea lions to haul themselves out onto, they were trapped swimming in endless circles. 

I began to worry about the weight of all that water pressing down on the ceiling. Being directly above our master bedroom, and the bed where we slept, the nightmare of everything falling onto us in our sleep was constantly present. One day, I inspected the ceiling above the bed for signs of wear and was stressed to discover beads of water forming in a line. The beads then turned to a trickle as a long crack appeared. I had the presence of mind to run downstairs, just as a defeaning rip tore through the house and the floodgates opening. I was looking after my parents' dogs and tried to corral them all into the living room, but I was too late.

They ran upstairs barking, and I could hear the guttural roars of the sea lions as they engaged in battle. Water gushed downstairs, along with all manner of debris, dead fish, and squirming shrimp. It was a disaster beyond my wildest fears. I closed to the doors to barricade myself and my family in the living room as I went through my phone trying to find the contact details of the man who had installed the tank. Eventually I found him, and he agreed to come over to assess the damage. He told us that the sea lions would need to be relocated to the local zoo. The rest of the dream was spent standing outside as the house was cordoned off and a team of firemen and animal wranglers arrived to begin clearup operations.

One of the investigators located an empty wine bottle that had turned up inside the brickwork of the house, which had apparently been contaminating our water supply. Inside the bottle was a giant ball of green mould, which had been freely mingling with our water. I told the man that we always recycled wine bottles, and it must have been carried by a rat back into the house. I did not understand the bottle's connection to the tank collapse, but the investigator insisted it was my fault, no doubt trying to clear the construction company from any insurance cover. The dream was certainly a strange one, but I should point out there is a scene in my novel with a similar scenario, only it's a giant nile crocodile in the ceiling.