Saturday, Feb. 05, 2005 - 05:31

Hello gentle Reader.

Late afternoon Friday, while having a nap before work, I dreamt about a woman in her 30’s. She went to visit her grandparents’ at their home. An argument broke out between them. The woman broke down into tears and yelled at them: “You know what you did!”

She ran from the old weatherboard house and out onto the street. From there she sped around the corner where she stopped to gather her composure.

And then things changed; the 21st Century was peeled back, like an onionskin. As the woman in her 30’s turned round, Time moved backwards.

It was now the 1970’s .The woman was staring at her grandparents’ home. It looked pristine and new, the white weatherboards gleaming in the sunshine, while out on the busy road behind her, a variety of ‘old’ Ford and Holden model cars zoomed to and fro.

No longer an ‘outside spectator’, I stood beside the woman who had now been transformed into a little girl. I guessed her age at approximately 7 or 8 years.

“Let me show you,” she said, and then lead the way back to her grandparents’ house. The little girl was dressed in a pale pink flannelette nightgown that went down to her knees, spotted with tiny white and yellow flowers. Her long and wavy dark hair was messed up, as if she’d just woken from sleep and stumbled from her bed.

“I’m going to keep them,” the little girl informed me, as if I should know what it was she was referring to.

She continued to lead me through the interior f the house, then looked back over her shoulder and said earnestly: “They’re mine.”

We arrived at a small bedroom and it was at this point that I noticed an extremely vile stench; something putrid and covered in filth was near. The thick aroma of rot tickled my gag reflex at the back of my throat, stinging my eyes.

The little girl climbed into her bed and lay down. She didn’t pull up her bedcovers. She looked at me with large, dark eyes that shone with her sincerity.

“I’m going to get full custodial rights to them,” she explained. “They’re my little babies… mine,” she reiterated.

At that point, she gently lifted up her nightgown, above her knees and up to her waist. As it rose above her body, exposing her, a wave of gut-twisting foulness filled the air, striking me in the face and pushing me close to vomiting. Yet at the same time, I could not drag my eyes away from the little girl or the grisly secret she had revealed.

From her knees up and beyond her belly, the little girl’s flesh was caked in a fetid combination of shit and large, writhing maggots. Glued to her body by this disgusting concoction were several malformed fetuses of puppies.

At this point, the ability to control my gagging was lost and I felt the need to vomit… and subsequently woke up.

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