Lost Extracts from Dogtooth Chronicals… Night Terriers & Nightmares

One of the bits I’ve had to delete in my “Kill your darlings” spree, in order to streamline the beginning a little more.

Night Terriers & Night Mares

Wolfgang, Dreamscape

 The little black dog, who could have been Toto with a temper, lunges forward on his leash.  Foolish to get his little muzzle so close to the horses’ hooves which were clattering past…the sound of metal shoes on cobblestones retelling the haunting essence of tales of yore…

But he needs to believe in his tiny canine id, that he could start a rumble with them there horses and somehow ‘win’.  Follysome…some might say, for a frightened horse will merely rear up on her haunches, kick her mighty hooves and come pounding down, and you’d better hope she misses your fragile little skull young pup!

The horses barely treat the little mutt to a sideways glance, but they watch the cows warily.  They know of cows leaping over big white moons and this makes them mighty suspicious of Mrs Cow…and rightly so.  The little dog only laughed after all.  He never performed feats of the impossible.

In Francisco Goya’s ‘Bewitched’, there were no horses (nor cows), but donkeys lurking about on their hind legs, and I hear some chuckle at this (in a demeaning manner).  There is nothing quite frightening about a donkey until you look in the mirror and have the head of one (I should also warn you of pulling up your trouser-leg to find you have cloven feet, this is a time to worry).

Many have studied the sleep of the human being, to tap the potential and untangle the mysteries.  For myself and many other folk, the worst of it all is the night terror, not the nightmare.  For within the nightmare there usually appears some lucidity, some sense that actually this is a dream and I will wake soon and all will be well.

But night terrors occur within the sleeping chamber, you can see all your possessions there, your eyes are indeed open…you appear to be awake and yet paralysed.  Maybe some heavy being presses on your chest and tugs at your hair…or maybe a little terrier tugs at your pyjama bottoms.

These events are so real that folk believe themselves haunted, and not simply prone to the awake dream.  And if you have ever dabbled with the madness potions the pusherman sells in the streets, then you have no one but yourself to blame!

 

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