Last night I was initiated into the order of Cthulhu by someone who was quite possibly kissycat1000. And zeke_hubris, of course, but you'd expect him to turn up in a dream like this.
I got a written invitation to meet someone in a street somewhere out by King's Cross, which came to me at college (or work, maybe, I don't remember) - by the time I got there, on a Friday night, it was very dark but for the glow of neon signs that were always in the next road, never the one I was walking down. The next thing I knew I'd been bundled into the back of a taxi. I blacked out.
I came to in an enormous hall, shadowy and dark as far up as the eye could see - the hall seemed to be vaulted, but I never saw the roof itself. It was lit by tiny red candles everywhere. When I came to, I think I was already scrubbing the floor. I did everything I was told that night, and I think I was told it by voices in my head rather than any one person. I don't remember sleeping. Then it was Saturday.
It was always night where I was, I don't know that I ever looked at a watch to check otherwise - in fact, I don't think I can have been wearing a watch, given what happened that night. I remember finding myself on a huge bed, the bedclothes made from burgundy and white silk so fine it felt like water, and then there was someone who, as I said, may have been kissycat1000 there, and she explained what was about to happen, but I don't think I heard any of it. I was given a couple of drops of a drug of some kind, from a medicine bottle like the ones my mum used to have. The world became very similar to the boat trip in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory - all blacks and reds and sudden flashing pictures and so on. I came back to reality for a moment when I heard a buzzing noise and felt pain lance across the skin of my back; whoever she was, she was drawing a tattoo, but not with ink and needles - with a laser. It knew where to put the lines even though I was thrashing around, and I ended up with an odd sort of pattern of crossed lines and hooks that looked a little like a gate, or something, burned black into my back. I screamed a lot. I don't know what happened after that, until Sunday sometime, when I was being made to look after a mummified cat by zeke_hubris - the cat was telling me its thoughts and I had to give orders based on them to other people who wanted to join the order, whom I never saw. zeke_hubris would kick me down the stairs if I didn't sound authoritative enough, which is both amusing now I'm awake and very unfair since I was still tripping to a fairly impressive degree.
At some point I passed out again, and when I came to I was sitting on a bus, dressed in my school uniform, with no shoes on. The bus stopped at Liverpool Street and I staggered out, trying to think where I might have left my shoes. For some reason I decided wildeabandon would know, so I tried to get hold of her, but several times I called and she wasn't there and the last time I called, I tried to explain what had happened and she said she didn't believe me. I think it was at this point that I took my white school shirt off - in the middle of Liverpool Street station - and asking them to read the marks on my back.
That was one dream; others last night and this morning included giolla throwing me off a bridge because I wanted to become a goose and needed to learn to fly; something very odd involving porridge; some pikey kids robbing a shop, which ended up somehow as an enormous and horrific traffic accident, which I and my mum were involved in but which turned out to be just part of a TV programme, at the end of which everyone gathered round a puddle and drowned Father Ted in it while he gargled "I'd have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for those pesky kids."
Sometimes I wish I could find someone prepared to interpret these things. Other times I'm really glad I can't.
Edit : Unrelatedly - I'm not saying every cloud has a silver lining, but there is always something interesting around every corner, which is reason enough to keep walking if you can only remember it when it really matters, which I frequently can't. I'd like to thank zellah for reminding me of it. ~s~