It always helps me to write them down or tell people, but more than anything, it was so utterly and completely insane that I feel honour-bound to share it with you. I know there are still some of you who love what the inside of my head comes up with while I'm asleep.
Meet Wibsey. Wibsey is a nondescript, early 20s student from, possibly, Scotland, though his accent varies between Midlands and Chicago. Wibsey has rented two rooms from a mate of his in Edinburgh. In his spare time at university, Wibsey investigates paranormal phenomena and solves cases for the police. This led to, once, some ghosts or something stealing a body, dressing it up to look like him, and leaving it in his bath for him to find. But that didn't do more than faintly shock Wibsey. He's Wibsey. He's genial, affable. It takes a lot to frighten him, and the paranormal equivalent of a med student prank isn't nearly enough.
So, a few years after this, Wibsey is in a car with the friend who rented him the rooms, although he's found other digs now. Never mind where they're going - it's something to do with another of Wibsey's investigations. Which may or may not be connected to the fact that, for the past few weeks, dinosaurs made of metal have been coming out of the sea.
They're driving along the seafront, but not expecting to see more than the usual crop of newly-emerged dinosaurs - these are weird things, at the most eight or nine feet in length and made from what look like car parts - exhausts, chains, doors, engines, whatever. Steampunk dinosaurs. The angle the press have been focusing on is that they have no eyes, but even so can tell what kind of dinosaurs their neighbouring creatures are and react accordingly - though small, the predators chase the prey and the prey burns rubber back into the ocean. There have been no attacks on humans.
But as Wibsey + 1 drive past the sea, they see bigger dinosaurs than before drag themselves out of the water and onto the shore. One looks to be a creature made entirely of metal seaweed. This spooks them a little, and then Wibsey's mate says "You'd better look out for that...elephant?" and all hell breaks loose. Wibsey's driving, and he looks up and sees not elephants but woolly goddamn mammoths coming down the seaside road towards him. Calmly and at a stately pace, mind you, but woolly mammoths all the same, so he says "There're mastodons on the highway!" and then the cast of Firefly show up and take on the mammoths, leaving Wibsey time to escape.
He drives like the wind, ignoring everyone from Firefly except Jayne, who has managed to aggravate one of the mammoths so much that it charges the car, but he gets away, past the string of ancient elephants and into the countryside, which is now somewhere in North America, near the border with Canada. It's coming on for evening when he finds the Stephen-King-novel-like sleepy, creepy town, ravaged by the mammoths on their way past. The local authority stops him - they've heard of Wibsey. They beg for his help, and he can't refuse them. He says he'll help, he just needs somewhere to stay, and the chief of police gives him directions to a hotel out of town.
Once out of sight of people and near the hotel, Wibsey stops the car and looks wearily at his mate. It's been a long day. "Are you going to do your thing?" asks the friend, and Wibsey nods. To solve paranormal problems, Wibsey often calls on the help of another friend of his, Kyle from Tenacious D. He gets out of the car and spreads his fingers, listening for a noise the same as that which you get from those machines which measure radiation. He follows the noise, which is only in his head and under his skin, to the hotel doors. Kyle from Tenacious D's way of telling him to get some sleep and call him in the morning.
So, he says goodnight to his friend, who claps him on the shoulder and goes back to sleep in the car, and Wibsey goes into the hotel. From the outside it looked several storeys tall, but inside he finds he goes up two flights of stairs and then the only other staircase goes down again - at which point he realises this is familiar. This is the flat he rented from his mate all that time ago - he remembers it as 'his mate's student flat', not 'the place where I found that body'; the latter is irrelevant. Bit odd that the flat should turn up in a hotel in the middle of North America, though. He pushes the door open anyway. Wibsey is used to 'a bit odd'.
Inside all seems as he left it - he passes almost without noticing it the huge ornate double - triple, almost - bed in the main room and finds the stairs up to the bathroom, which was a tiny room in the roof in which he'd set up a makeshift bed to sleep in. At the top of the stairs, he blinks. A girl is sitting up in the bed, listening to a walkman. "Oy!" says Wibsey indignantly, "This is my flat!"
The girl jumps and pulls her headphones off, staring at him incredulously. "No it ain't," she says, and he can see she has no idea who he is, so he starts explaining about the flat, and says he's got paperwork in the car to prove it, but reasons with her that he only needs somewhere to crash for the night and if she'll move and sleep downstairs in the main room, he can sleep in his cot. "What's your name?" she asks him. "Wibsey." She blinks. "Well, then I'm definitely not moving for you." She grins. He grins back. "All right, it's Sam, or maybe James."
That seems more satisfactory, and she clambers out of the cot wearing, he notices vaguely, a shirt and some rather tight underwear and nothing else, and heads down the steps back into the main room. He's about to climb into his bed when a thought rises like a bubble in his mind and he backs down the stairs enough to lean round them to see her settled in the vast double bed and ask, curiously, "Hey, with that huge double bed there, why were you sleeping up in the bathroom?"
The problem is that as soon as he says it he realises dimly that there's an answer he might not want to hear - it's only a vague feeling of unease, but it's enough to make him start up the stairs again when she says, a smile in her voice, "Because they're so lovely." He stops. Freezes, really. Backs down the stairs again, feeling the pull of inevitable damnation of some kind he can't quite put his finger on. "Who? Who are?"
He's standing in the doorway now, looking at her in the bed, and she's got this dreamy faraway grin as she says, "Your uncles." No. Something in Wibsey's head snaps. It's that feeling you only get in nightmares and horror movies, that feeling where he knows there's something he's about to realise or remember, and he doesn't know what it is yet, but when it arrives in his head, when he remembers, when he realises, he is going to go stark. staring. mad.
"Your blue uncles." He stares at her in horror. He falls to his knees. She begins to sing, huskily, "Blue uncles...blue uncles...", the notes falling, summoning. From out of the walls and behind the doors come two-foot-tall, smiling cartoon blue things. They look a little like the Blue Meanie, and they're all smiling, and Wibsey starts to scream.
Then I woke up. More scared than I have been in months.
For the purposes of context, it should be mentioned that when Wibsey was 17 and staying in that flat (and indeed in other flats) he smoked a lot of dope and used to hallucinate these little blue guys coming out of walls. There wasn't anything all that scary about them, but he was tripping, so they freaked him out - something about the way they floated instead of walking, and had these fixed smiles - and his friends started teasing him about it when he explained. They got given the nickname of 'Wibsey's Blue Uncles', and his friends would ask "Seen any blue uncles lately?" until finally Wibsey stopped smoking and started investigating real supernatural stuff.
The blue uncles were just an hallucination.
Unless, as it turns out, they weren't.
PS WTF, seriously.