Fiction, or not? Hah.

Song of the day: “When the going gets tough (the tough get going)” by…okay give me a sec. I need to look that up. Oh yeah, Billy Ocean…and Boyzone. Right. Well, let’s just say there’s no pun intended with the day’s events.

So, it started out like any regular day, really. The alarm went off, the dogs were being obnoxious, and my eyes were at their presently preferred position: half stock. Grrr.
The sun was shining brightly; birds and cicadas sang and a fresh eastern breeze came from the sea. It all seemed quite idyllic, really, no reason to feel uncomfortable, and yet there was something; something in the air and in my brain, rumbling in the background much like you would see a movement from the corner of your eye, and then when you really look, nothing’s there.

The morning rituals get done, of course; the dogs follow me noisily down to the house…and for some peculiar reason the uncomfortable feeling keeps increasing. It is slowly getting stronger, like a niggling sense of impending doom creeping up on me. My particular mood appears to be shared by both big brother and grandpa when I arrive in the main building, and put my bag away to start on the day’s laundry.

I’m just about done when the dogs start barking, throwing a fit up by the fences and drawing my attention away from the morning chores. Putting on my shades, I head out the courtyard to see what is up the mountain, grandpa, who heard the noise as well, appears in the carport, the hark in hand (he was cleaning some of the reed mess the younger sibs made yesterday).

Calling out to him that I’ll check it out, I climb up the incline, look over the rocky surface to where the dogs are attacking the fence and freeze. Right there, in the bright light of day, a strange distortion in the air hulks behind the boundary of the diamond fence that surrounds the property.

I blink, not sure whether my eyes are playing tricks on me as I watch it literally ooze in the air, sliding right and then left, shying back every time one of the dogs pounced the metal wiring, which appears to hold “it” at bay. Though almost completely transparent…it kind of reminded me of the camouflage used in “Predator”, for some reason…long tendrils of shifting air began to spread out. It moves sluggishly, almost octopus-like, spreading the ten or so dogs thin as they bravely defend the property.

Fear clutches at my chest when finally my brain begins the function and I push farther up the incline while I shout at the dogs to come to me. I don’t know how, but for some reason I sensed that whatever “it” was, it was dangerous, malicious and playing with the dogs, it’s intentions not at all benign.

Knight II is bouncing against the fence, doesn’t appear to hear me, while Amri and Mosha distractedly glance back at me, as if not entirely sure what it is I want. I’m rapidly nearing to where they’re attacking the fence, a peculiar, somewhat sour smell in the air. It is foul, but I pay it no heed while I grab tails, scruffy necks and paws alike in an attempt to get the dogs away from there…it.

Most of the ten are finally paying attention, are backing up towards the narrow path that leads to the house, when suddenly a high screech rips through the air. I look back and see Trin Trin, the Monster Boxer. She has her mighty jaws over a tendril of distorted air, her dark beady eyes fanatical and delighted as the hulking mass ripples massively, sweeps at her and tries to dislodge the hold she has on it.

Desperately I call for her to let go and come to me, while stilly keeping the other dogs at bay and threatening them with bodily harm if they don’t get their butts inside.
Trin Trin sways back and forth, she sails through the air, sturdy paws clawing the air and translucent “it” alike, until the tendril, on which she hangs, whips out and dislodges her at last.

She tumbles away, a tiny squeak indicating her hard collision with the rocky ground before she rolls to her feet, shakes her big head and looks torn between following me and trying another attack. When “it” screeches again, time for vile playing over apparently, Trin Trin feels daunted at last and scurries after me while I hurriedly chase the dogs down the mountain.

“What’s going on? What’s happening,” shouts grandpa, running down from the carport, and hustling the dogs along even though he isn’t sure what’s going on yet. We have the dogs inside the walls by then, but before I can say a single word, another eardrum shattering screech makes us spin to look up at the incline from which I came.

“It” is right there, at the top of the ridge, seeming twice the size it was before, as it comes lumbering down, much like some sort of…heck, I don’t know what!
Grandpa’s eyes widen, blink incredulously, before he stumbles through the gate right behind me. The rest of the pack, they too have heard the commotion, gather around us, howling and barking as through the trellis we see “it” come ever closer.

“What the---” I glance back to see big brother stand over by the olive tree, he’s scowling severely, squints at where we and the dogs are clustering by the gate. Slowly his gaze slips beyond us, settles on where the air distorts as if too few pixels are available. “Crap!”
“Uh-huh,” I counter, absently bringing the second lever down…never realizing that it is ridiculous, what with the courtyard being open overhead and the trellis, openings in the walls. If “it” wants to come in, the lever is not going to stop it. Especially since it had gone through the fence, rather than over it.

We stare as “it” decreases speed, throttles down to a near crawl and then stops just a few yards from the gate. It lies there, long tentacles…still barely visible in the bright light of day, almost fragmenting the sunlight, it seems…tentatively creeping closer, running lightly over the rocks of the wall and then shying back as if shocked.

By this time the younger sibs appear, the commotion just too much to ignore. Very few words are exchanged when suddenly the…well, for want of a better word, the creature begins to move sideways, appearing to search for something as it trails the walls like some sort of stalking predator. While grandpa opts to stay by the gate, we edge with it, keeping a weary eye out as we try to figure what it wants.

Suddenly, really out of the blue, “it” suddenly roars and leaps straight at the wall. Since it was the spot where I’d been peering over the edge, I stumble back, land flat on my back and blink up as I see the large tendrils hover overhead: It is trying to get over the wall, and I can actually see the stones shake in the cement.
Backpedaling, scared dogs scuttling out of the way, I can see the distorted air heave like a wave, gathering momentum in it’s attempt to cross the boundary. I won’t make it; I know it when my feet keep slipping on wet dirt and smashed plants; the sibs are shouting, the dogs barking and howling and just when it’s about to land on top of me…I wake up, with the dogs making a racket, of course. So darn frustrating when dreams don’t get completed.

But that’s what I was talking about when I made a wish for having something interesting to talk about on the blog, the other day. Doesn’t that read much better then just the daily toils? I have to admit that I thought just writing the dream down was vastly entertaining, so I’m not going to spoil it with chores, projects and whatnot but leave it at this instead. It was just wheeling something like 25 wheelbarrows of dirt up the mountain, hauling old materials up to the gate, etc. etc.

Gawd, it’s been ages since I had a decent enough dream to write about. Seriously, real life cannot compete with fiction like that. Hah.