This Is Halloween

Hehehe. Slap-happy right now.

Earlier today, I all of a sudden got Tim Burton's "This is Halloween" from The Nightmare Before Christmas stuck in my head. Cannot wait until December to record the movie on my DVR! *huggles dearest Jack Skellington*

Anywho, I thought I'd go ahead and post the brilliantly creepy lyrics (which are epic to sing, by the way). Hurray for October morbidity! I think I'm going to create a monster playlist now... Maybe I'll post it later. :P

Boys and girls of every age
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?
Come with us and you will see
This, our town of Halloween...

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Pumpkins scream in the dead of night
This is Halloween, everybody make a scene
Trick-or-treat 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

It's our town, everybody scream!
In this town of Halloween

I am the one hiding under your bed,
Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red

I am the one hiding under your stairs
Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween

In this town we call home,
Everyone hail to the pumpkin song

In this town, don't we love it?
Now, everyone's waiting for the next surprise

'Round that corner and hiding in the trash can,
Something's waiting now to pounce, and how you'll
Scream! This is Halloween,
Red 'n' black, slimy green
Aren't your scared?
(Well, that's just fine)

Say it once, say it twice
Take a chance and roll the dice
Ride with the moon in the dead of night

Everybody scream, everybody scream!
In our town of Halloween...

I am the clown with a tear-away face
Here in a flash and gone without a trace

I am the "who" when you call, "Who's there?"
I am the wind blowing through your hair

I am the shadow of the moon at night
Filling your dreams to brim with fright

This is Halloween, this is Halloween!
Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!
(Halloween, Halloween..)

Tender lumplings everywhere,
Life's no fun without a good scare
That's our job, but we're not mean
In our town of Halloween

In this town, don't we love it now?
Everyone's waiting for the next surprise
Skeleton Jack might catch you in the back, and
Scream! like a banshee
Make you jump out of your skin

This is Halloween, everybody scream!
Won't you please make way for a very special guy?
Our man Jack is king of the pumpkin patch
Everyone hail to the Pumkin King now!

This is Halloween, this is Halloween!
Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!

In this town we call home,
Everyone hail to the pumpkin song

La, la, la, la-la (....)

Nightmare

Had a series of nightmares yesterday morning. Pretty shaken up. I found the last one to be particularly upsetting, so I attempted to write it down in order to come to terms with it. Honestly, I'm not sure if it helped. In any case, here's my scribbled account of the dream. Maybe I'll come back in a few days and post an interpretation of it.

* * * *

            I find myself in a new dream, although later I am unable to recall exactly where one dream ended and the next began. I am seated in a basketball stadium. It is well-lit, and not as large as, say, Rupp Arena, but large enough in my own mind. I am not really paying attention to the game, but I do enjoy soaking up the exciting aura of the crowd. I become aware that some of the fans sprechen Deutsch. What’s more, I find that I can understand snatches of their conversations, and I spend the next few minutes translating their small talk with fascination.

            The basketball stadium is in Germany, I realize, though a tourist-friendly section; many are also speaking English. I am thoroughly enjoying myself, when I see several uniformed Germans enter the stadium. A sense of clarity comes over me. I immediately gather up the five or six children in my care (I was not previously aware of their existence; now they are all I can think about). I lean in and whisper in their ears.

            Children, I say in English. We must hurry away from here. They nod. Their anxious little eyes dart toward the soldiers.

We quickly exit the building. I fear that the Nazis (another flash of insight deems them to be so-- terribly stereotypical, I know) will be upon us in a moment. I have absolutely no lucidity at this point. I am not even aware that I am dreaming, which is a major departure from my usual dreaming patterns. As such, I am at the complete mercy of my dreaming self.

I tell the children that we must leave the country. My stomach sickens as I realize how far it is to the border, but I try not to let my hopelessness show. One of the children, a little boy of about five that strikingly resembles a younger Tyler [my brother], protests that he will never be able to travel that far. Another child (this one a girl of about ten) snaps back that she’s not going to be the one to carry him. It would only deplete her strength, and then they’d both be dead. Two of the other young children join the Tyler-child’s pleading. The older children complain, unsympathetically, that the younger ones will only slow the group down.

Despite initial misgivings, I realize that they are right. Bringing the younger children will only bring a death sentence upon the entire group; yet I can’t abandon the younger children to their fate, either. I tell the older children to shut up the hell up. Fear has made my temper short. I tell the younger children that they will have to keep up. I tell them that there will be no one to carry them when exhaustion overtakes their frail little bodies. I promise that no one will be left behind, and secretly wonder if this is the right thing to do.

Time is running short. We have tarried too long. I grab the hand of one of the younger children (a little girl of about four) and hurry from the place. We are not traveling nearly fast enough. There is nothing I can do about this.

We have not gone far when we hear signs of a chase. My heart sinks; we will not escape on foot. I glance about, desperately, and spot some police vehicles that vaguely resemble motorcycles (though there’s something alien about them, too). I tell the children to grab some, though I know very well that they’re probably bugged. We set off again, two to a vehicle, in a matter of seconds, disguised as policemen. The children seem relieved at this turn of events, but I am more anxious than ever.

A chase scene ensues, the details of which are fuzzy. At some point, I become split up from the other members of my party. The majority of the Nazis follow them out of the city, while a few stragglers are left patrolling the city. I silently wish my companions the best of luck, and hope that they will be able to lose the soldiers in the countryside. Intuition tells me that no such happy ending will occur.

I realize, with dread, that my own partner-child is no longer with me. Instinctively, I pull into a side street. I look up and see the little girl (who does not have a red coat, I might add) standing on the edge of what seems to be a parking garage of sorts, though it is warped beyond recognition (and continues to change form while I watch). Even now, I lack any sort of lucidity.

A sense of déjà vu knifes me in the stomach. I have had this dream before—or else dreamt of having this dream. And I know the ending.

I scream, uselessly, Get away from there! Yet it is far, far too late. She teeters dangerously on the edge before losing her balance completely. Down, down, down she tumbles.

For a moment, the difference between life and death, success and failure, happiness and misery, is all up to me. I can change her fate. The impact from a three-story fall is enough to kill her, regardless of whether she hits pavement or lands in my arms. Yet, maybe, if I reach her in time, I can try to absorb some of the impact. Maybe if I can prevent her head from slamming into the concrete at sixty miles per hour, she’ll escape with only a few broken bones. After all, maybe she doesn’t have to die.

With these thoughts racing through my mind, I dive forward. With more energy than I’ve ever felt before, I soar through the air, arms outstretched, with my precious target in sight…

…and fall short. I stare, wide-eyed in horror. I am forced to watch as she lands only seconds later, barely beyond my reach. There is a sickening crunch as her skull cracks on impact. Flecks of blood spatter my face. I am dumbstruck.

Slowly, I begin to gather myself together. I drag myself toward her motionless body. Tears stream down my face. I scoop the crumpled form up, cradle her. Her head hangs oddly in my arms. I move one arm to better support it. It is smeared with blood that oozes from her skull. I am shaking with grief. I can hear police sirens, but they seem very far away now.

I look up. Through bleary eyes, I notice a woman sitting a few feet away. She is familiar, yet I do not fully recognize her. I sense she is only visible to me.

Why? I choke. Why can I never save them? I try so hard! Why do they always die?

She shakes her head sympathetically. She reminds me of the fairy that appears on the game over screen in video games.

This is the way things must be, she tells me. You were never meant to save them.

I sob harder. I want to tell her that she’s wrong, that things will be different if I try again, but I am vaguely aware that I have had this dream many times before. Sometimes, my choices are able to postpone the inevitable—sometimes I leave the stadium earlier, sometimes I hide instead of immediately running, sometimes I follow the girl into the parking garage—but I am never able to prevent her death.

I’m rocking back and forth, crushing her body against mine. I cannot stop shaking. As the dream begins to dissolve, lucidity dawns on me, but it is the bad kind. I feel that I am to blame for her death, that it was my dream presence that caused her to die. Worse, even upon waking, I cannot shake the feeling that the little girl was in some way real. I feel like a murderer. I’m unable bring myself to crawl out of bed for another two hours.