scarves and murder

I was in an old barn with Jessica and some other people, though I don’t know who they were because I just paid attention to Jess. I had a scarf with me that was made of dried grass, but the grass had dried too much and so the scarf had shrunk. I was trying to stretch it back out but ended up just tearing it into pieces. There were bits of bamboo along with the grass.

I left the barn to get something to use to fix my scarf, but when I came back, everyone was gone and the place was dark. I had a bad feeling about it, and then I noticed a small, white fox with glowing white eyes in the back corner. He kept running up to attack me, but I kicked him back each time, kind of lazily. I looked around for something else to do.

The dream shifted and I was in someone’s house, standing at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into a hallway. It was late evening and light from the setting sun was coming in from a window behind me in a bedroom. There was an older man, maybe in his forties, that was standing behind me. He had sandy blond hair and looked similar to Robert Redford. I think I was his mistress, or maybe just the babysitter for his kids, but we had fooled around in the past and now I was a threat to his marriage. He shoved me down the stairs and I saw it from his perspective: I bounced down and finally ended in a heap at the bottom.

The dream shifted again and I was at a party in the same house, walking through the living room. I was dead and a ghost; no one could see me, but I didn’t walk through anybody–I still felt corporeal. I tried to interact with some people but no one took any notice of me. I went over to a card table where four teenagers were sitting. They had piles of paper, multi-colored glitter, and glitter pens; the setup was supposed to act like a Ouiji board. I leaned over between two of the teenagers and grabbed several of their pens, scattering some of their papers. They started to look scared because of the fluttering papers and pens floating in midair. However, they remained seated and continued writing and drawing. I wrote over top of whatever they did, writing, “He killed that girl,” and similar messages. Apparently the man who had killed me was on trial, but everyone figured he was innocent because he was such a respectable figure. The teenagers read what I had written and looked horrified, glancing over at the man, who was in the corner talking with some girl.

The dream shifted again and I was out in the country on a very rainy, gray day. I was climbing into a station wagon with my cousin Shannon, who was pregnant. For some reason, she was able to sense me and could communicate with me. We were arguing about something and I was getting annoyed because she was trying to convince me not to do something.