Monday, August 24, 2009


Edgar Allan Poe Grave Marker (P1010664)Image by orayzio via Flickr

Last night I dreamed about the undead. In two very different dreams.

Totes appropes since I recently found out I'm going to be working on the Neo-Futurist show Fear, which is being described as "a thinking man's haunted house." It's going to be inspired by lots of Edgar Allan Poe, who is all about buried things coming back to life.

I've also been researching/writing about zombies lately, so it only makes sense. The first dream may have been inspired by this BBC article about a theoretical study projecting how quickly a zombie virus would spread.

Very quickly, is the answer. Even if we were dealing with classic slow-moving zombies, and the zombies in my dream were extra fast and preternaturally strong. They were more like a cross between vamps and zombies really -- they're undead status spread like a virus, but they had sentience, not to mention panache. Being in the dream was a bit like being in an action movie with a full, epic plot -- and it actually scared me, rare for me when dealing with a dream that's not a full-on night terror.

People were living under ground in zombie-free zones. A human could leave the zone but wouldn't be allowed to return, and going above-ground was equated with death. Of course the zombies got in, ravaged us. They could only be killed by a sequence of cuts -- three shallow cuts right, left, right, across the neck and then a stab.

Later, the zombie plague had supposedly been suppressed, but it broke out again, with a vengeance. This time I played dead, and acted like one of them. It worked. I even got a romance going with the Zombie Boss, even though he must have noticed how I avoided feeding on humans. In mutual denial, we went happily along until a jealous zombie chick started messing with my story and got a zombie gang together to hunt me down. When a group of human survivors decided to rebel and fight the zombies, I had to choose allegiances.

A classic tale, I know, but they say there are only so many stories, and this one was remarkably well-structured for a dream.

In the second dream, I visited a room in an old house very much like a house my family used to own. One room could only be accessed from a door on the roof, and in that room lay the body of my late grandmother, eerily preserved. I spoke to her ghost, which was interesting since she was incapable of speech during my childhood.

The overall feeling of this second dream was very loving, but I wish I could remember what she had to say.

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