Are we supposed to post the stories here, on Facebook or how do you want to recieve the entries?

OK, I'll start:

At a point that I was listening to Lovecraft audio books a lot I had a very strange dream, less frightening than weird, but the point just before I woke up really bothered me for some reason. It's quite long, but I'm just going to paste what I wrote for my dream journal after actually having the dream. Re-reading it now I should warn that I did play it up with a lot of fancy talk when I wrote it.


I was walking through a school, looking for someone I think. Crossing the gym and into a small office I assume belonged to the coach or gym teacher. There was an outer door there (symbolic?) and exiting I crossed the field, soccer or football, I can't remember. On the right was a chain link fence and I seemed to be looking for the opening that lay on the far end. Nearing this end I spied a young man or boy, wearing a purple hooded robe and standing in a peculiar circle of stones. His arms were raised to the sky in a seemingly ritualistic fashion. Everything about the boy disturbed me, yet I continued in his direction as it was my only means of leaving the area, the door I had exited was now locked.

As I drew near, his eyes met mine, I can't remember now his exact words but he beckoned me for some help in calling the winds. I made some flat transparent excuse about needing to get home and he did not repeat his request. I did sense a tension afterward however, and it seemed to me he was somehow very upset at my denial. Though I did not bring myself to look back as I turned away from him, my destination of exiting through that chain link fence now a mere few feet away, I felt with a degree of certainty that his eyes, now burning with impotent rage, left myself not for a moment.

I walked the street, passing the school on my right and into a more crowded part of the city. I should note the school seemed in a sub-urban area the likes of which I have spent my whole life. Now I entered an urban sprawl of the kind only media and fancy have ever brought to my eyes. Shunning the large, or even mediate groups of people as I do, this sort of environment holds no place in my heart and I must wonder now why I would be drawn to such an area. As I walked into the densely packed streets, seeming to choke me, at every step moving in closer and closer, I worked with some effort to extricate from my mind the vision and words of the young man or boy who recently invaded them.

Presently I found myself in an entirely different environment, though the buildings, streets, and people were still there, the arrangements were all wrong. The street in front of me seemed to drop off in an alarming fashion, if I had not stopped at that moment, surely the fall would have ended me. The bottom was visible, but of a distance that shakes and dizzies any unaccustomed to such things. It seems an earthquake like force was enacted on the city, though I felt no such disturbance at any point, and the road on which I traveled now had been raised high above it's usual place. I knew this was such due to the building on my right, the sidewalk became parallel with an outcropping ledge of the buildings sixth or seventh floor. For some reason I found myself compelled to walk along that outcropping, though I can not imagine why. Perhaps being the only way forward, since the street here dropped off into a dangerous pit. Ahead I could see that same street ramping up to the level I was on, and below a single man walked toward the urban cliff on which I stood. I recognized that man as a celebrity, famous enough that any would recognize his name given here, which I will not do as it was a trivial fact that serves no purpose.

At that moment however, came the shrill, piercing thing I can only call a voice for the fact it spoke words. In any other sense, I would think it a mechanical or digital buzzing, or screeching of some kind. With literate purpose however, for a moment I imagined it the popular musical artists trend of auto-tuning. The nature of that voice was not the thing that shattered my senses and broke my spirit. It was the content of those words, seemingly innocuous to you now I must assume, however at that moment I could not but fear the possible meaning of them. Perhaps I was more maddened by the thought that though this sound seemed to come out of limitless space, from all directions at once, I somehow understood with unwavering assurance that it was speaking directly to me. The two words, in that mechanical, whispered shrieking that broke my mad dreaming, and even in waking for days to come made me question my full sanity were only this: "Take Prisoners"

Dreamed on the night of the 6th to the 7th of January 2014.
I somehow have a witty, cute and beautiful girlfriend. I feel the love for her. We are at a gypsy-like fair. And I am not sure how but she ends up dead. I might have killed her, perhaps strangulation.

In panic I search for a way to dispose of the body and a flock of creepy harpies flies down, pick me up and, with the corpse wrapped in a sheet, we fly off.
We arrive at a dark ruined landscape, lit up by brazier-like lava-pools. I drop the bundle into one of them and watch as the textile and her body burn away. There is a part with a sinister Kali-like statue talking to me, it might be a about punishment or sacrifice.
But I wake up.
I fall back asleep and the fantastical high-contrast world has made change for a grey, cold and tense world; akin to my wry feelings of loss and panic over the murder.
We attend the burial of the girlfriend, I have conversations with her family in their car about how we will do something to the person responsible. Uncomfortable and dramatic situations follow. I tell my stepfather I think I might be the murder(by this time I was starting to doubt this and as such I am not sure about the actual happenings of the first segment); this goes unnoticed by the family of the girl who happen to sit in the car. While walking back from the burial, my mother asks me if I am the murderer; I can’t answer definitely.

Vague situations pile up as my discomfort rises and I wake again in the morning, drenched in sweat and severely stressed with the feeling of holding dark secrets.

Dang it GOG! You know not everyone remembers their dreams! Anyway, I'm not in. I can't really remember my nightmares clearly.

In my most puzzling and scary nightmare, I beheld a truly monstrous creature. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was stringy. His teeth were chipped and yellowed. His chin protruded like a bent nail. Caked around his bloodshot eyes was a vile crust, of which minute crumbs had scattered over his clammy cheeks. His chapped lips hung open mutely, revealing discoloured teeth and a lolling tongue. It hung from between his lips like a fat worm emerging from its slimy burrow.

Every muscle in his neck stuck out like a pencil beneath his wretched skin, drawing his shoulders forward involuntarily, stretching out his back and chest like leather on a tanner's rack. His ribs seemed in danger of knocking each other loose, or of collapsing collectively into his cavernous belly. His stomach, swelling and stretching whenever he managed to draw breath, shrank and shrivelled with each exhalation.

The posture of his legs was barely recognizable as human. His feet were slick with moisture, and beneath his skin I saw greyish veins snaking toward his toes. Cracked toenails protruded from long, bony toes, and as he teetered under his own diseased bulk, his toes produced minute ripples in the puddle of fluid that surrounded him. That fluid that pooled around the creature's feet was composed of the same liquid that had formed rivulets running down the entirety of his repulsive body, currents which began in the corners of his sickly, overstrained eyes—for the creature was standing in a puddle of his own tears.

I have never forgotten that terrifying vision, and yet fail to understand what it meant to this day.

This one didn't start out spooky but wound up that way.

I was onboard a Navy destroyer. I think I was some kind of civilian contractor but it never came up. Because of its proximity, the destroyer was tasked with responding to a distress call from a mine complex in the middle of a remote crescent-shaped volcanic island. Far away from any shipping lanes.

The ship was too big to risk going into the bay so docked at a seemingly abandoned port on the outside of the island sending a couple of dozen guys, me included, over the steep jungle terrain to reach the mine on the far side. Like the port, the mine was abandoned. Looked like it hadn't been used in decades. We had to be sure though and very quickly investigated all of the dilapidated buildings in the complex before regrouping and making the arduous return over the rocky, treacherous path up and over the ridge back to the ship.

Just as we neared the peak three loud noises from the direction of the ship could be heard followed by screeching overhead as three missiles arced overhead and blew apart the mining complex.

- In hindsight I have to say this bit is probably the most visually impressive part of any dream I've remembered. Tropical island. Loads of palm trees and deep turquoise waters. Following the trajectory of the missiles as they left the ship and blew apart the complex. This one part wasn't viewed first person but from above. -

The more headstrong among the landing party lead the charge back to the ship. There was no planning and no voice of dissent. We knew what was needed.

The ship was right where we left it. Gangplank still extended to the dock. I lead the party back on board. I was unarmed but it didn't matter. We found the crew incapacitated all over the ship. Still struggling against the forces that bound them. The landing party and I made our way from crewmember to crewmember, placing our hands on their foreheads as we burned their souls from their bodies.

I can't recall when exactly I had this nightmare, but all I know it's a recurring one (albeit with different scenarios and certain events). It goes like this:

It all starts with me, walking down the streets. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, nor why I'm there. But something drives me to keep walking, without purpose. It's always dark, and there doesn't seem to be people around, but I know I'm not alone at all. There's a certain sensation of dread; of not knowing, of being kind of lost, of trying to reach an unknown destination. Maybe I'm trying to reach home, maybe I'm just looking for something or someone. Most of the time I don't reach what I'm unconciously trying to look after. But the couple of times I did find something, it was nothing to be chearful about.

I remember once reaching an abandoned facility, in search of God knows what. It seemed to have an industrial look, with certain sections of it in a very decayed state, and lots of rusty machinery. The place had no electricity at all, so it was pitch-black. Once I get inside and take a look for myself, I noticed something was off: I felt a presence inside. For some reason, I didn't leave that place. Instead, I was drawn to it. I tried to uncover who or what was lurking about.

Bad mistake.

Next thing I remember is me being chased by a strange creature. That humanoid "thing" looked like it was formed out of several tendrils, its visage being dark and viscous, and even though it was big enough for me to think it could not move quickly towards me, to my surprise, it did.

The facility had numerous hallways I could take. I tried to outrun the creature, taking turns whenever I could instead of running straight ahead. After a few seconds of running, I lost track of my persecutor. It was then that I noticed a ceiling I could climb up to, which had an open space for me to hide in. Once I got to the ceiling, I kept myself hidden as much as I could. A few moments later, I saw the creature roaming around in search of me. And then, I saw something else: another one of those things. That's when I realized I was actively being hunted. I was the prey, they the predator.

Thankfully, they didn't notice where I was, so I awaited until I felt they weren't close, so that I could attempt to escape again. I didn't remember where the exit really was, but I tried my best to search the way, my body still full of adrenaline. And be it a miracle or something else, so I did: I had found the exit instinctively without being detected. I exited the place as soon as I could, with the sun slowly rising up after that horrible night, never looking back.

As someone who tries to keep a log of their dreams (and fascinated by others), I'm looking forward to the entries. Here's mine from a couple of years back that I still think about.

In my dream, I am on a farm, and I am busy making some sort of spaghetti dish while my family bicker.

And there is an old man I assume is also family, but I can't tell. And my family are moaning at him, saying that he doesn't ever do anything, that he's useless, that he can't even make pasta dishes like I can. And I'm scared that they may find out that I can't either, and somehow I've always managed to cook pasta dishes without them finding out.

So I feel a strange kinship with this old man, who is supposedly so useless, so I leave cooking and, sitting down next to him on an ancient sofa, ask him what he does. And he gets this look in his eyes, and pulls out a book. He starts turning the pages, and it's the plane emblems of old fighter pilots. "It is my duty." he says huskily, "to find out where they died."

And I don't know if it's the way he says it, but I'm filled with unease as he turns more and more of the pages, with hundreds of epitaphs and photos of old WWII pilots. I'm convinced this old man, who is now staring directly at me, past me, as he continues to turn the pages, is somehow involved, somehow responsible for their deaths during the war.

And then I am in front of a disused vault door, revealed from behind a bookcase overgrown with weeds and plants, and I have been here before. This is a room from an older dream, from a city on the sea with a million abandoned red-clay hovels that look like the cliff dwellings of the Mesa Verde, a vast dead metropolis.

The inside of the vault is infused with a green haze and hanging motes of... something, dust and pollen and debris, and rusted, moss-covered machinery everywhere, and I'm concerned about breathing, being there without a gas mask, without protection.

And my mother tells me I should stop worrying as she pulls a lever on one of the machines, which pops out a metal drawer, that we'll find the documents, but I can already tell that the place has been ransacked. I can see more vault doors inside, pried open, peeled back, vaults within vaults, all broken.

I step out to go talk to the military personnel about it, and the officer at the border post in his three-piece suit tells me it's theirs now, but I don't believe him, don't believe he's part of the REAL military, but he shoos me away.

So I go back, only this time from the other entrance, and there are two women who are sweeping inside now. The one closest to me has wild, matted hair. Her eyes are narrowed, hard. The whites of her eyes glow in the gloom. I can't really see the one further ahead, sweeping in the green, dark shadows of the vault. They terrify me. They are not women but I need to go in, and as I pass the one in a narrow corridor, there is a low feline yowl behind me as she passes out of sight.

And I whirl around, and she is not behind me but in one of the side-rooms off the corridor, but staring at me and swaying, and I begin to back away and then hear another yowl from the other one and she is also swaying now, bending, sweeping but not really, pretending to sweep, gripping the broom handle awkwardly, like she doesn't quite know how to hold it.

And I can tell that I need to somehow keep both of them in sight but they are on opposite sides of me and every time I spin they are lower to the ground, hunched, bowing and scraping, moving further away from me each time, as if trying to get to a dark, unseen corner where I cannot see them and the yowling is constant now and getting closer and my heart is racing and I need to go into the vault but I don't want to because they'll take me.

That's when I woke up.

[Neat, I'll play]


It started in medias REM. My body was suddenly in the air, an untold height, and slowly moving in what was to me a downward direction, bouyed by unknown forces. Everything around me was blackness; the assumed space I was dropping from and whatever was at the bottom. The question of if there was even a bottom was just as murky at the moment. My body could have been pushed out of an aircraft, or was somehow being trapped in a black hole alive. I had time to think about such possibilities, their triviality, and my own too-sapient triviality, as the descent continued.

Before very long, the speed of my fall accelerated at what felt an exponential pace. The panic I had been trying to stave off was now fully surfacing, as self-preservation came to the forefront of my assumed needs. I declare I am not a spiritual person, and my chronicle, with its maddening lack of identifiable details, was not allowing spirits to factor into my plight. Rather, the simple, base, egoistic desire to try at all costs to preserve "me" was all I could think of before...and somehow after?...the predictable, bone-breaking thud that made me jump out of my skin.

I did not gain much clarity from the awakening. Which is a more honest reflection of "my" "self"...the broken body, or the addled mind? Are they indeed one and the same? "I" don't know if it can be said that "I" rested in peace, but "I" do expect to keep resting in torment. After all, the "falling until I hit bottom" dream has continued to recur for several years now.

I had this weird dream, which is true. I lived with my parents back then:

It started with me falling trough a cathedral roof. I was lying on the rubble, my body was stuck under a wooden beam. Light from above.
I was trying to fight it, to get myself free. On my arms were some scratches and overall i felt exhausted. From life, from fighting? It was in my mind nonetheless.

So i was lying there and a small child apporaches me. He was crying. I told him that he didnt need to and everything would be okay. Then he said: "I´ll pray for you" and he did? His hands kinda up? Then i corrected him by saying "You´re doing it wrong." then he changed the way he hold his hands different.
He was happy and went away.

I looked around me: Big halls, imagine the mines of moria in lord of the rings but with wooden beams, grey polished stones and darkness around.

I continued fighting, but then something told me "to let go". I was like "yeah..." and i just relaxed.
The light became brighter and some force pulled me up. it was warm. peacefull. I heard a wooshing sound, which became louder.

Then i heard my father cough and just fell out of my dream - lying in my bed, seeing light from outside my door. It was like 5 am and my father went to work.

I still feel this dream - never had anything like it. And it kinda scared me.

I'm not sure if my worst "nightmare" actually counts as a nightmare - technically speaking - but it is definitely the most scariest thing I have ever experienced.

I believe the correct medical term for what I have already experienced several times now in my life, is "sleep paralysis".

During these episodes, I lay (seemingly) awake in my bed, but can't move a single limb.
With which I mean, I am completely paralyzed. Unable to move a pinky. Unable to even blink an eye.
And my surroundings are pitch black.

At the same time a scream wells up.
I'm actually not sure if that scream is within my head or from the outside.
But with that scream also emerges a feeling of threat.

The scream gets louder and louder, it reaches earpiercing volume, my heart races, the feeling of some threat closing in gets overwhelming, any moment now, whatever is screaming will get me...

...and then I wake up, usually drenched in sweat, my heart still racing, and a feeling as if I'd had barely escaped something.

Like I said - probably not technically a nightmare...but the most scariest experience of my lifetime.

It helps if you wake up while you are still dreaming. If you wake up naturally without an alarm clock, there is a better chance you don't remember your dream, at least clearly.

I'm not in for this, I can't really remember nightmares that well. I sometimes do see awkward dreams after which I am glad it was just a dream, like some odd dream where I had travelled to Estonia and then for some reason I had a rental car even though I had also my own car there as well, and then I was supposed to return the rental car to the rental shop which was like a two hours drive away, but then I couldn't figure out:

1. If I drive the rental car two hours away, how the heck do I get back to my own car?

2. I realized the ship that I was supposed to board back home would leave in two hours, so I realized there was no way I would manage to return the rental car, and still board the ship in time.

At that point I woke up and was still thinking "How the heck am I supposed to manage this?", but when it hit me it was a dream, I had to angrily tell myself "STOP fretting about it already! It was not real, it was a dream!". Ah, the time when you can't yet fully decide if you are awake or in the dream...

A dream of my deceased sister.
I was at the front of the house, in the front yard was my sister sitting down with a white calm dog beside her. In front of me was a vicious black dog. The black dog was preventing me from going to hug my sister, who died a few years ago. I desperately wanted to hug her! She seemed worried about me!