The Disturbing Dream-Hag

There I stood, a member of the stalwart party of adventurer-heroes. We faced the two ghostly fortune-tellers after battling our way beyond hordes of enemies in order to free them.

The first of these powerful, ancient, otherworldly women was a beautiful vision. She told a singular, positive truth about some facet of each member’s life. The truth she told me was, “You love your wife and children very much.” It’s such a simple statement, but coming from her lips it had the ring of a profound truth which reached out beyond the dream to embrace my real life.

My immersion broke a little at this point. Like various times in my life, I suddenly realized I was asleep and dreaming. I was not totally in control of my actions, nor was I totally in control of what I dreamed about. Such is the nature of my lucid dreams; if I try to control them, I simply awaken.

I basked in the warmth of knowing that this being knew the depth of my love for my wife and children.

The second demi-goddess, a blue-skinned, thin-haired old hag, told things only as they were. She told truths about us that we would rather not know, in a voice that none other than the hearer could perceive. Past her long nose and rheumy eyes, she coldly informed each member of the party one truth about themselves which obviously had painful effect on each of them. One of the male adventurers collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

It was macabre and bizarre at the same time, watching her speak and each party member react with surprise, possibly hostility, and sometimes sadness.

When my turn came around, she peered at me intently and said, “You have not grown since our last meeting. You have stagnated, learning nothing and yet avowing to have learned everything. You will die still having learned nothing, yet vaunting your own self-importance to your final day.” She finished this statement with a sniff, and looked away.

She began to fade away in front of me, her dream-form beginning to thin and shred like wisps of fog. “Hold on,” I said jokingly, realizing somewhere in my mind that this was a dream and I could get away with whatever I wanted, “how am I expected to believe that when I can’t even remember ever meeting you before?”

I was very flippant, and realized the moment the words were out of my mouth that, at least in this dream-realm, I had spoken much too quickly to a being of far too much importance for my station. I knew, however, that it was too late to retract them.

The wispy form of the Fury-like hag coalesced suddenly before me, no longer ethereal and ghostly but suddenly as real as a fist in your gut. Her gaunt face flared with rage. Her eyes blazed red with timeless malice. She closed the distance between us without walking, and I felt the presence of an icy grip on the back of my neck.

Her voice resonated in the cavern, and I knew that this part of our conversation was no longer private.

“Apparently, our previous meeting was not important enough to you to remember. A pity for you. Mortal, I would have you know one more truth which, in that pity, I have spared you.” She spat these words with venom, her face now mere inches from mine. I could smell her fetid breath, the stench of ageless rot and hatred washing over me like a mire of convulsive despair.

“Know this. Beyond this dream realm which you impotently observe, beyond this dream life you have constructed which will fade the moment your eyes open, you have a real life with real consequences. You sit at your computer and play games with strangers, hiding from the wife and children you claim to love behind a false grin in a mockery of a real relationship.”

She cackled mirthlessly at my shocked expression and obvious distress. “Pricked a nerve? Good. Know this truth about your future grim: you will live only long enough to experience your current game’s grins.”

“Nonononono! You mean…” I tried to make her come back and explain further.

She disappeared with a snap and an audible thundercrack.

I awoke.

I sat bolt-upright in my bed and reached for my mobile phone, panting and sweaty.

04:44.

I felt my neck for a pulse. Heart still beating. I’m alive. Not dead yet. I laid back down briefly and stared at my wife’s face, her breath a low snore in the darkness.

Got up, used the bathroom, looked at my scruffy morning-face in the mirror. I was profoundly shaken. I often have dreams about those things I most fear. I’ve had dreams where I murder someone. Where I go to prison. Where I am lost in the woods and cornered by various animals or monsters. I realized it was not death I fear — I have no fear of being dead, but a bit of fear of the pain I may experience on the way there — but lost time with those I love.

In that way, perhaps the “truths” offered by the dream-hag have some real-life consequences. They are things I fear most about myself. I strive to learn every day, yet I often worry that perhaps I’m not learning as much as I ought and that I’m not keeping up. And I worry that, in my pursuit of career and hobbies, I don’t spend enough time with my wife and children.

Maybe she’s right, and I’m kicking off shortly after I get bored with the current crop of computer games with which I entertain myself from time to time (and played way too much of yesterday while home sick from work). Probably she’s wrong, but even with that, she helped me realize that perhaps I should re-prioritize what I’m doing.

Then again, it could just be the fever-dream result of the flu symptoms I’m currently experiencing. Either way, I still feel as if I’m going to vomit.