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I nearly never have dreams. I mean, I have them, but they're plain and boring. I remember one where I go to school and have forgotten to do my homework. Which would be worse but story of my life, I never do my homework. So having a real dream, I try to remember them when I can. It's one of those times. I'm still shaken. Thought I would take a nap, I was really exhausted at seven (I woke up at 11). And also tl;dr alert.

The house was surprisingly clear. I remember all these things -- the white carpeting, the closets, the sets of stairs. There was one room we went to all the time that you had to cross a beam to get to, and it was weird because it was an intentional thing because the beam was carpeted. I couldn't cross it. I mean, I could, but I had terrible balance and stuff -- so I cheated and went on the tiny ledge in front of a closet to the beam's right and then stepped diagonally into the room.

My mom was my mom, except firmer, you know, with some sort of younger fire in her. She was extremely normal -- I remember her doing laundry in this house, chores, all that. And my dad -- it was strange and backwards, because I think originally Mom hadn't been married to him until later, after I was born. It wasn't said but it was felt, some dream thing. His name was Clitus. Freaking Clitus! I liked to call him that because it was so ridiculous. He didn't like it so much. He was ... different. I mean, he was my real dad, the one from real life, but he acted different, a little lighter, you know, truer to the name 'clitus' or something. He was still Dad, sure, because he could manage stuff, organize big groups and whatever. But that's later. The house.

It was huge, you know, fantastic, but empty, like we'd just moved in a week ago. I was still felt like wandering through it but we were still already doing chores and stuff. But then we left, like on a trip, and we ended up in this field with a big group of other people -- my dad and mom organized them, made them circle up -- I know this because the circle closed around them, and I had hugged them saying 'Mommy, and Clitus' and he gave me this look so I repeated myself but edited in 'Daddy,' and he had told me it was better. Then he had told me a story about my childhood, and how fourteen years ago in 1993... and I'm not sure if it was them or another person that told them what was happening: it was very reality-tv-show-esque, in that at the end we had to pack up because we were going to washington (dc or no I'm not quite sure either). After the cheering was over we each helped to pack up something, and there was a lot of stuff, big stuff -- huge but thin planks of wood, bed mattresses... I helped my father tie up the giant pieces of wood. We managed to lay them on top of each other and were about to tie them up -- in fact were in the process of: I remember him wanting to do it the wrong way, pulling the rope length wise, like down the sides of the long pieces while I wanted to do it correctly so the rope was perpendicular to the face of the wood -- when there was a voice.

Sure, it wasn't exactly a realistic voice -- it was more like a horror movie, less a voice than a whisper that sort of slid into and out of existence. It seemed to come from above, from the tree we stood under.

Help me. Please.

Come on in and find me.

I remember looking up like "what?" and Dad doing the same -- then I saw, beyond the edge of the field we were in, this house, old and brown and forgotten, and my heart started to race. I chose to wake up.

This is the second time I've had a dream like this. Not the same dream. But the same settings, the same house, the same father, the same voice.



And then when I tried to get up and get out of my room my puppy refused to get up (she was laying between my legs, like dead asleep, probably snoring) and like I picked her up and she went flop. :3 I think she's still in my room, actually.