My Dream

Throughout the night he thought he heard noises, coming from downstairs. He was wandering around a castle; he lived in it. It had all the leisure features, a lot of fun activities: table tennis tables in a huge courtyard, swimming pools with bars, a Holo-TV with a Manchester game running; a team mate kissing the spiky haircut of Wayne Rooker after Rooker scored his fourteenth goal of the year; the season was bound to become a record breaker.

In the courtyard, there was always good weather. Steve just knew this in his heart. He had all the gold in the world and had Tesco, Sainsbury’s and Argos stores nearby. Even a fancy Waitrose. He would never have to go there himself (that’s what servants were for). He owned all the land stretching outside the castle gates, scattered with Loch Ness lakes, snowy mountains and warm Spanish beaches, and his private roller-coasters and other rides stretched and rose all across the landscape. Such was his resort deluxe kingdom.

The noises continued, like from downstairs, from some kind of hammering machine, or perhaps a toy machine gun …

No people could be seen in the castle or in the courtyards. Only ghosts. In fact, all his servants were souls of the dead. But they were not souls who belonged to people now deceased, no … they had always been dead, having been born this way, as misty ghost shapes.

He was sitting on his throne, drinking a good old Twinings tea with loads of honey and milk when one of his ghost servants entered through the ridiculously tall and heavy wood and steel door and told the master:

“My king, they are all … c-crazy out there … my almighty king, you see, they want to rule now.” The servant was on his way out, and turned again, with a sick smile: “Then – hey-ho – aren’t we all a wee bit crazy in here – eh-hehehehe …”

The servant ghost, dressed in a purple eighteenth-century dress, made Steve think of Mozart. The eighteenth-century tricorn hat he was wearing sure could fit a masquerade.

“Thank you, Rob”, he said to his servant (and funny, Rob was the name of a guy working in the sales team he was managing). “That’ll be all.”

“My liege, my-my lord …” Rob stuttered while moving closer to the throne as if someone above held the threads and Rob was the mannequin. He gratefully kneeled before his king, and Steve raised his Twinings tea to salute his servant’s loyalty. This one was to be knighted. Then Rob stood up before King Steve and laughed manically with a terrible face, “Hohoho-HA-HA!” and ran out through the giant doorway at the end of the great hall.

Steve sat there, drinking his tea. He was not bothered. All the ghosts were a bit crazy. Now he’d been informed they were plotting against him. Possibly, he was in a spot of bother.

A rattling sound was heard again, from downstairs. Then he suddenly found himself running through a maze of castle corridors, trying to find a way out. All he could hear was the laughter of ghosts, and all he could see were more horrible faces, skeletons and monsters in the background, inside the walls. They reached out and touched him; he thought his arm was hurt, and when trying to punch one of them his fist went through its transparent figure. All he could do was run, to try to get out of here …

The noise, the rapid hammering of a toy machine gun grew louder, and material was ripping. Ghouls and ghosts of the castle tore away at his great, red curtains, and he didn’t know why he cried out “Her dress, you’re tearing her dress!”, as if they were ruining Essie’s clothing.

The ghosts caught up with him now and dragged him back through the corridors, all the way through that tall door, to put him on his throne. It was now a seat of thorns. The ghosts stripped him naked and even took his crown. His crown, mantle and golden shoes were worn on the body of a monster-ghoul, with slimy tentacles instead of arms, who was laughing, “hehe, hehe …” Someone shouted: “Who’s the king now? Hehe, hehe …”

His buttocks were pushed onto the throne of thorns –

Steve pushed back, and fell out of bed. Lying on the carpet, he touched many times to make sure his buttocks were not punched full of holes. The cover was on the floor, and like the sheets, they were soaked with sweat.

During the moment he lay there, he could have sworn he could hear a rattling noise from downstairs.