this dream left me feeling sick and disgusted and shaking. don't read it if you have a weak stomach or are super sensitive, okay? i just had to get it out of me.
i was on a day cruise around the gulf islands with another mama and her baby girl (i don't know them in real life). we were having so much fun. the sky was blue, the water green, the sun, so warm it felt as though it was penetrating my flesh it heat my bones. our babies were about the same age; maybe her girl was two? they had fun playing on the boat and their little life jackets made them glimmer like beacons signalling to outerspace.
once the cruise was over, we got into the van we had driven there and i was going to drop my friend and her baby back home. she invited me to stay for dinner. she said she felt nervous about going home to her husband and two older boys. i didn't ask her why, but i soon found out.
the husband was terrible. a true tyrant. from the moment we walked in the door he was yelling at her and berating her. her two older boys weren't much better; they were maybe 8 and 10 years old, or so, and had obviously learned how to treat their mother from watching their father's behaviour. she was immediately set to work in the kitchen, chopping, frying, boiling, baking. i stayed with her to help; my baby girl was asleep in her carrier on the kitchen table, and her baby girl had wandered off into the livingroom where the father was watching television.
we cooked for a while, and chatted quietly, and i was asking her if she was happy in her marriage. she said, no, that she wasn't really, but that she saw no other safe course of passage through life. "i have no marketable skills, i only know how to manage a family, i haven't worked since i had a part time job in highschool." i nodded in understanding and stirred the food in the pot. the two boys had gone outside and we could see them through the kitchen window, rough housing on the lawn.
she excused herself to freshen up in the bathroom while the food cooked. i stirred and hummed and looked at my little girl sleeping, when suddenly i heard strange noises coming from the living room. grunts and moans and tiny muffled cries. with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, i slowly approached the saloon-style swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the living room and peeked in.
what i saw made my entire body clench up in revulsion and rage.
the father was molesting the two year old baby girl. he was penetrating her and groaning and he had his huge awful hand pressed over her face so that the sounds she was making were quiet. she was crying, tears spilling over her cheeks, but her eyes were glazed over.
"STOP THAT!" i shrieked.
he looked over at me but didn't stop what he was doing. he grinned at me. "fuck off," he said.
"YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" i screamed. i blasted through the doors, my stomach in knots, puke rising in my gullet. the baby was limp on the sofa. he withdrew from her and stood up to his full height to confront me.
"who are you?" he smirked, "and what the FUCK do you think you're going to do about this? huh?" he was mocking me.
"i am going to kill you," i said, my voice suddenly calm.
on the end table, next to the sofa where the tiny girl was laying silently, was a large, heavy ceramic dog. i picked it up, an ugly thing, and shattered it against the wall. a hefty sharp chunk remained in my hand. with my other hand, i grabbed the disgusting man by his hair and began dragging him down a hallway to a bedroom. he was yelping in pain but he seemed weak, he couldn't fight me off. i threw him into the master bedroom, and leapt on him, smashing the jagged chunk of ceramic into his face, gouging out his eyes, crushing his skull beneath the power of my blows. blood, hair, flesh flew all around me, hit me in the face, soaked my clothes, and he struggled and burbled beneath me but could not fend me off. i smashed him and pulverized him and did not stop bludgeoning him until he lay silent beneath me.
i killed him.
the bed was soaked with gore. i could hear one of the baby's crying in the other rooms. it suddenly hit me, what i had just done. when i climbed off the bed, completely repulsed by my own actions, i turned to face the doorway. the other mama, and her two boys, were standing there, watching me.
"oh my god," i said. "oh my god. i....i'm sorry."
the mama didn't say anything. but the two boys both shrieked in rage and grief and flew at me. the mama just watched, silently. i threw the boys off of me and they collapsed in a heap in the corner, sobbing. i walked to the mama.
"mama," i said, "mama. i saw him. i saw what he does to your baby girl. i...i had to stop him him."
she nodded mutely, but her face was white and i wasn't sure she was following me.
"i didn't want to kill him. but i had to," i said.
she nodded again.
"what should i do?" i asked.
"i will help you," she said, finally. "he was a monster. i am glad he's dead." she walked into the ensuite bathroom and i heard her ripping down the shower curtain. she came out and handed it to me. "pull," she said, and we pulled, and the plastic curtain ripped down the middle. "the boys won't let this go," she said, "we have to kill them too."
in horror i watched her approach the oldest boy with the clear plastic curtain wrapped around her hands and stretched taut. he was crying and moaning and pushing himself against the wall, away from her. "mama, no," the boys said, in terror, "mama, no."
"i'm sorry," she said, and tears were pouring out of her eyes. she gently placed the clear plastic over the oldest boy's head, wrapped it tight around his neck, and then held him down. "come on," she said to me, urgently, tears still streaming out of her eyes, "you have to help. they'll never let you get away with my husband's death. we have to do this."
"i...i can't."
"you can. and you will. now HELP ME. i have a plan."
the younger boy was paralyzed by his fear. he watched in horror as his older brother struggled under the plastic, as his mother kneeled on him and wept, as the plastic was sucked into his gaping black mouth whole. as he cried beneath it, and made condensation. i approached him slowly, feeling as though i was going to vomit from fear and confusion. "please don't," he said, sobbing, "please. i won't tell. please stop it. please. my mama's crazy. don't listen to her."
but i did it.
it took a long time.
and i threw up on the carpet.
the mama looked annoyed with me. "you'll have to clean that up real well," she said. "or they'll catch you."
"i...i...i...can't believe we did that."
"shush up," she said, angrily. "there's one more thing you have to do, to make this right."
she walked out of the bedroom, leaving me alone with the three bodies. it was so silent and terrifying. the windows of the room were high up, almost near the ceiling, and the light of day was fading into a pale blue that cast the room in deep grey shadows. the bodies were still. the bed was soaked in blood. the piece of ceramic i'd used to smash the father's head in lay on the white carpet, gory with hair and blood and skin. i started to cry.
the mama returned, with a large kitchen knife in her hand.
"now you have to cut my throat," she said, matter-of-factly. "i won't die, but it will make it look more convincing, okay? you cut my throat, then you get your baby, and you leave. i will call 911 and tell them some gangsters broke into our house and attacked us. i already buried the money and jewlery in the back so it will look like a robbery. but you have to do this. i can't cut my own throat."
"oh my god, no," i said, sobbing. "i can't."
"you HAVE to. if you don't, you'll get caught and go to jail for murdering two people. do it." she shoved the knife at me. "DO IT."
she climbed up on the bed next to her dead husband. her hand strayed into a deep pool of his blood and she convulsed away from him, but lay down with her head next to the mess that used to me his face. "go on," she said. "it's okay. you'll be too scared to cut too deep. i'm not worried. just do it."
crying and shaking, i moved in towards her. i made a weak-handed slash at her throat but didn't stroke hard enough to break the skin.
"DO IT," she yelled at me, "are you fucking stupid? just DO IT. i told you everything would be okay if you just did what i said. now just FUCKING DO IT!"
i screamed and closed my eyes and thrust forward with the knife, slashing downwards as hard as my rubbery muscles would allow. i opened my eyes immediately and she was looking back at me. for a moment she looked shocked. i watched as red blood welled quickly up to the surface of her skin and began pouring out onto her shirt. "good," she burbled, "good. now get your things and RUN. i am going to call 911 and you have to be gone."
i dropped the knife and bolted out of the bedroom. in the livingroom, the baby girl had fallen asleep on the couch, blissful. my own baby girl was still sound asleep in the kitchen, where the only noises were the pot of boiling soup burbling away and the drip of the leaking faucet. i tried to gather up my things, tried to dash out of the house, but i saw suddenly how bloody i was. my shirt, my hands, my shoes. tracking blood everywhere.
i dashed back into the bedroom to tell my friend to not call 911, because i had to do a quick clean up first. she hadn't even made it to the phone. her body was slumped over that of her husband's, and her eyes were open and glazed over, staring into the unknowable. my knife slash had killed her, after all.
panic rose in my gullet. the proof of my killing spree was everywhere in their house. there was no getting away. there was nothing i could do.
i picked up the knife and chunk of porceline, took them to the kitchen, and washed them in hot sudsy water.
then i waited at the kitchen table for the babies to wake up. the soup boiled. outside, it started to rain. my girl woke up first. i kissed her and cuddled her and left bloody fingerprints on her yellow jumper. the second baby woke up immediately afterwards and wandered into the kitchen saying, "mumma? mumma?" i kissed her too. i put them in their chairs. then i called the police, and woke up sobbing.
