I thought that I had good news to share with you, my dear reader, but
now I’m not so sure.
Last week I slept peacefully and undisturbed for five nights in
succession. Alex has been very pleased and he thinks that our relationship has
turned a corner (unfortunately he said this with such a patronising tone that I
am inclined to leave him in the spare room for one or two additional nights
entirely on principle alone). I was hoping – foolishly now, I realise - that
this was a sign that my nightly torments have come to an end, but I had another
strange dream last night which has led me to believe that my optimism has been
somewhat premature. I haven't told Alex about my dream because he will start to
ridicule me again…and besides, in view of the usual night-time horrors, assaults
and visitors that I am accustomed to, strange dreams are a breeze to cope with!
I awoke around midnight to the smell of a strong, sweet vapour in the
bedroom, much like perfumed oils, freshly cut flowers or a sweet Muscat wine.
Since it is late August and the surrounding gardens are a hive of gardening activity,
I thought very little of the pleasant smell and closed my eyes and fell back into
a deep sleep. I dreamt that I was in bed, lying on my back with my eyes wide
open and staring at the bedroom ceiling above me. I was unable to move my head and
so my vision was restricted to my immediate arc of sight and the room was
filled with a thick white fog that made it difficult to see even the largest objects
nearby. I rolled my eyes to my right and I was immediately confronted with the silhouette
of a tall dark figure standing beside the bed. As I focused on the figure, I
could see that he - and I say 'he' because the stranger had the stature and
presence of a man - was dressed in a very bizarre costume; he wore a long waxed
coat, a leather hat with a wide brim and a mask that covered his entire face
and had a long beak-like nose. He stood perfectly still, peering down at me
through the raised glass eye pieces of the mask like a giant, menacing bird
perched at the side of my bed. I studied him for some time, taking in as much
detail as I could about his appearance, and then a sudden movement startled me.
In his right hand he lifted up a long rod and pointed it towards my head. For a
second I thought that he would strike me with it but he just thrust it
accusingly at me and, in my fright, I woke myself up. The room was quiet and
the strong scent of flowers had dispersed, but I could detect a pungent,
antiseptic-like smell lingering in the air. I lifted my head and peered into
the darkness of the room and, once I had satisfied myself that I was alone, I
fell asleep one again and did not wake until the clock alarm sounded in the
morning.
There was something familiar about the stranger's appearance,
particularly the bird-like mask. It was reminiscent of the character
Scaramouche's mask in the Commedia dell'Arte and at first I thought that the
inspiration for my dream could be found in my fondness for reading about the
Commedia late at night, but after a quick search on the internet this morning I
have discovered that the figure more closely resembled the plague doctors of
the fourteenth century. If I let my imagination run wild then I could easily
convince myself that this is an omen that I have contracted some kind of unpleasant
illness or disease, but that would be unfounded paranoia and I must avoid being
drawn into such obsession and mania. Luke has warned me numerous times about this
and I have no doubt that he will reassure me that the dream was simply the
result of reading too many books and playing with silly masks.
