Figure This One Out, Dr. Freud!

I should have known it was going to be a wierd kind of night when I woke up at 2:21 a.m.  My internal clock usually gets me up at 6 a.m. but no, it was way too early.  I ran through a mental checklist.  Did I have to go to the bathroom?  No.  Had I heard a noise?  No.  My CPAP was still whooshing away.  The only thing out of the ordinary that I could determine was a pain in my leg.  Hmmm, I thought.  Did God wake me up to alert me to a possible blood clot?  If so, and I went back to sleep, then I could be dead by morning.  But I was really sleepy.  I snuggled back under the covers and was out like a light.


Sometime between 2:30 a.m. and morning, the dream began. I was back in Michigan pulling into the driveway of the house I grew up in. “That’s strange,” I thought. The garage door was partway open. I knew that my dad had already left for work and that he never left the garage door (one of those heavy old wooden doors that slid to the left) open when he wasn’t around. I parked the car and walked over to the garage. This was the old garage on our property. My mom built a second garage that completely filled up the backyard after my dad died just so she’d have something to house all the stuff she couldn’t bear to throw out, but that’s another story for another time. Anyway, I figured that I’d better pull the door shut so no stray animals would get into the garage and I also shut the hasp and locked the padlock, although I wondered for a brief moment if I’d be able to find the key to it in the house.

I went inside and was surprised to find my former boss from the library there along with several other former co-workers sitting around the kitchen table, as well as Caroline, a member of my son’s missionary team. They all seemed to be waiting for someone to make them some lunch and I had a fleeting moment of panic because I had no idea what food Dad or my brother, John had on hand at the house, plus the kitchen was a mess with dirty dishes piled up in the sink. Luckily, I’m able to multitask so I rooted through the refrigerator and pulled out some fixings for sandwiches as I tried to wash up the dirty dishes AND look through the spare keys in the cupboard to find one that would unlock the garage. “Has anyone seen my brother?” I asked the group. “He was supposed to be here.” Caroline piped in that she hadn’t seen him in the two days that she’d been at the house. Very strange.

John on the train.

John on the train.

I left the group eating their lunch and walked out on the front porch to check for mail. The mailbox was overflowing and it was quite obvious that the mail had been accumulating for some time. Now I was starting to get worried. Where was my brother? And why hadn’t he been bringing in the mail? Something didn’t feel right. That half-open garage door was nagging at me so I returned to my efforts to locate the padlock key. Eventually I did find it so I decided to head out to unlock the garage and take a good look inside, just to make sure my brother wasn’t inside there. Maybe he had tripped over something in there and had hit his head and was out cold.

I unlocked the door, pulled it open far enough that some light was able to penetrate into the gloom and peered inside. I couldn’t see much. I looked up into the open rafters and noticed something that caused my heart to skip a beat. A sneakered foot was dangling from the rafter. Oh my gosh! Had my brother crawled up into the attic for something and passed out? Was that where he was? Wait a minute! I was starting to make out other things. What in the world? There appeared to be other feet hanging from the rafters. Yes, feet….as in lots of severed feet all hanging there, not even in matched pairs. Just individual feet still wearing socks and shoes and hung like trophies from the wooden rafters.

I ran in terror back to the house and straight to the phone. As everyone looked at me wide-eyed, I called the police department and said, “You’ve got to come over here quickly. I’m back home visiting from Pennsylvania and my brother is missing. I just went to the garage and there are all these human feet hanging from the rafters…..and…..” And wouldn’t you know that at this point my husband decided to wake me up because the bathroom was free and it was my turn to shower. Aargh! Don’t you just hate being woken up in the middle of a dream? So what in the world would you make of all this? My dad has been dead for over 29 years. My mom is still alive but she wasn’t even in the dream. I haven’t worked at the library in two years so why were my coworkers in the dream and why was Caroline in the dream? My brother is married and living an hour away from the old homestead. Why was he living at our old house? The old garage IS a dark and spooky place with open rafters but no severed feet as far as I know, although there might be a dead squirrel or two up there. Having to hunt for spare keys in the cupboard rings true. My mom was always stashing spare keys in the teacups. Well, students of psychology, if you have any ideas, I’d love to hear ’em. Then again, it could have just been something I ate.


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