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22 April 2008
53. Kidman’s Gift - Prelude
I dreamt that I was in a space-craft last night. Floating alone and with the distant world as my only company.
I looked out of the porthole for solace and in hope that I might see something that might distract me from my own sense of isolation, and from my own numbing, reverberating presence. And there it was. Just hanging there, in the distance, and appearing to stare at me as I stared out. The image of an astronaut.
I grew fearful. I felt vulnerable. Then suddenly the craft began to shake violently from side to side. I held on as tightly as I could and I managed to look back out of the window to find that the image of the astronaut was still there; eerily still, fixed in space, while my craft was buffeted uncontrollably. Then I lost my grip and found myself weightless and unable to control my movement – I put my hands over my head to protect myself and I tucked my legs up to my body. Then, in amongst the shaking of the craft, there was banging, and I could see the image of the astronaut hammering a fist repeatedly at the glass of the porthole. The glass soon shattered and the small pieces of glass floated-off, oh so slowly, as the craft continued to shake. I felt myself come up against a hard surface and I grabbed at it and found I was able to steady myself again. All the while, the astronaut was clambering through the porthole. My fear was rising, deliriously rising. In seconds, the image of the astronaut was hovering before me. Unexpectedly, the violent shaking ceased but there was a dullness in the craft now of depleted lights and dimming energy. I watched as the astronaut raised its hands to its visor and slowly began to lift it.
It was the anguished gurgling sound that I heard first, and then the blueness of skin on a face that was convulsing. A human face, but shaking as if rabid, its tongue ugly and distended, its eyes bulging and pained. The whole head trembling in spasms as if being asphyxiated. All the while, a foul, dreadful gurgling sound came from the mouth and filled the space-craft.
I screamed. I know I did. And I’m sure I woke up screaming too. The face inside the helmet was unmistakeable. It was Kidman’s face.
I know that I have to tell you what’s been happening over the last couple of days. This dream confirms it. As I sit here, typing away on my laptop, I can hear a slow and insistent knocking on the door of my suite of rooms. That’s Kidman also. She’s demanding that I tell you all about her gift. And, if she was paying attention to what I’m typing, she’d understand that that’s exactly what I’m doing. Just in my own way, that’s all.
Tomorrow I’ll tell you about her gift. I’ll tell you all of it.
It seems like she believes me. The knocking has stopped.
Want to read more? Read the whole story by clicking on the first blog called Prelude and start clicking forwards using the tabs above the title.
09:15 Posted in Part Two: Getting Some Answers | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this | Tags: haunted house, ghost story, horror story, astronaut, space, nicole kidman, journal