In Your Wildest Dreams

Are you making the most of your nocturnal adventures?

By

Catherine Cavendish

I’ve never understood the concept of dreaming in black and white, yet my husband says most of his dreams are monochrome. Mine are, and always have been, in full, vivid Technicolor, and when they turn into nightmares, they come complete with sepia tones, dark corners and mysterious shadows.

OK, I’m a paranormal horror writer (mainly), so nightmares are my stock-in trade, but maybe what I do transmits itself to my unconscious, so I’m more prone to scary sleep encounters. Perhaps if I wrote romance, I’d have more – well – romantic dreams. Whatever the reason, I’ve learned to take a moment each morning, the second I awake, to drag up any residual memories of that night’s dreams. Some though, are so powerful, they stick with you well into your waking hours, with no effort required.

A few months ago, I woke with a start from a particularly disturbing dream. In it, I had been in some kind of library or museum and opened a narrow display drawer. You know the sort. The long dead owner’s butterfly collection is laid out neatly under glass. Murdered butterflies. Gruesome.

Anyway, this time, instead of impaled butterflies, moths, tiny birds’ eggs or beetles with vicious looking claws, I held a tightly rolled up canvas in my hand. As I straightened it, I revealed a painting of a lake – all murky blues and greens and painted from an underwater perspective. I stared at it and, suddenly, a frightened girl drifted into view. Pale, ghost-like, she was dressed in a long white dress decorated with a pattern of tiny flowers. The style was Edwardian and her long, brown hair wafted around her face and shoulders as she desperately struggled to rise to the surface. But her arms flailed and the despair in her eyes told me she knew she was drowning. She mouthed, “Help me!”

But my dream self just stood, terrified, clutching the painting, as the girl’s dark eyes closed and she sank to the bottom of the lake.

Then I panicked. I rolled the picture back up, thrust it into the drawer, slammed it shut and ran out of the room. That’s when I woke up.

And that’s when I reached for my bedside notebook. We’ve all got one, right? Because, you never know when you’re going to dream up a great story idea. This one has turned into a full length novel, with a working title of, Saving Grace Devine.

Another nightmare has resulted in a half page story idea currently pinned to my notice board, waiting for its turn to develop. In that one, there’s a strange shed-like house with a conservatory full of pictures. All are quite normal and unmemorable, except for one, painted in muted shades of yellow, brown and russet and depicting the house owner’s grandfather (don’t ask me how I knew this, I haven’t a clue, but it all made sense in the dream). He was, supposedly, a benevolent man, but was he? My dream self was scared of him, though he had died long ago.

Then I saw the door of the house was open. It shouldn’t be. It hadn’t been a few minutes earlier. Now, I realised I was the current owner. I must go and investigate. But fear held me back. Maybe burglars had forced their way in and ransacked the place? Or, maybe, he was back…

Yes, you’ve guessed it, just as my hand reached for the door, I woke up. Ah, well, I didn’t say you’d dream the whole story. That’s a distinct rarity, and you probably wouldn’t remember it all, even if you attempted to write it down within seconds of waking up. But never underestimate the power of your unconscious mind to dream up an original and riveting plot – and maybe even some intriguing characters too, if you’re lucky.

And don’t forget to put that notebook and pen by your bed., You never know when they’ll come in handy!

Catherine Cavendish can be found here:

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