following the stalker devil

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was watching a Stephen King movie or reading a Stephen King book. Then I was inside the situation. There was a man, maybe in his twenties or thirties. He seemed to be the proprietor of some place in the mountains, like a ski lodge. The man was tall and strong, with an olive complexion and wavy, black hair. He wore jeans and a dark tan jacket.

The man was in a small room, packing up something like rolls of wrapping paper into some kind of bag with a closeable top. There were something like mystical secrets among these rolls of paper. The man then left the room.

The man seemed to be getting ready to leave this place. He felt like he was being sought after by dark forces because of the mystical secrets. The forces probably wanted the secrets so that they could do something terrible to the world.

I may not actually have been in the scene before. But I was here now. There were a couple rolls of wrapping paper remaining in the room. I was playing with one of them. The roll may have been pink.

A young man walked up into the doorway. He had pale skin, a kind of square, but somehow feminine, face, and black, wavy-curly hair that went down to just above his shoulders. He wore a dark sweater and dark pants. I knew this man was the evil force after the first man. I may even have thought of this man as the devil.

The man didn't come into the room I was in. He stayed in the hallway. But he must have thought I was the man he was after. He asked me if I owned this place.

I didn't know how to respond. I thought for a moment that perhaps I was the man. Maybe we'd switched characters somehow. But I still didn't want the evil man to know this, and I didn't know whether it was true. So I told the evil man something like, I worked there, but in a really vague way that didn't give any clue to what my position was.

The evil man tried to stay calm and patient, but he gave me a sharp, peering look. He then told me to come with him. He said he had some secrets to show me.

We walked quickly -- almost ran -- almost flew -- through a hallway and down a staircase of dark wood. We were now down in a bright, white living room, like in a big, suburban house. We ran or flew over a couch, a coffee table, and a mantle.

The coffee table and mantle were all decorated with little ornaments. The ornaments were made out of some white, stone-like (or ivory or shell?) material and brass or gold. They all were all strange juxtapositions of Asian deities, especially Buddha, with formless monsters or beasts like octopuses. I tried to linger over these forms and get a better look at them. But the evil man was already far ahead of me. I had to catch up.

I ran outside and found myself on a slope of thin grass, a wide field where only this house stood. I wandered up to some small, ramp-like or bridge-like structure where a few people in their forties and fifties stood or sat. The people, men and women, all looked a bit unhealthy and a bit worn out by life. I now got the idea that I was at some kind of retreat, like a mental therapy retreat or a Christian education retreat.

The people may have asked me a question, but I may have found it hard to answer. My throat seemed to be clogged. I may have told the people that I was beginning to catch a cold.

But I was also worried that I had cancer in my throat. I didn't tell anybody that. But I named some strange disease and pointed to the back of my windpipe, on both sides of my windpipe, maybe curling the fingers of my hand softly around my windpipe (?).

The evil man was sitting on one of the railings of the ramp structure. He said to me, "Are you having a pain in your throat? Here. Feel this."

The evil man was about to heal me, to show me the power he could give me if I would just give in to him. But I somehow stopped the evil man from healing me. We were possibly standing around a bunch of people at a Christian retreat. I didn't want to worry them by showing them the power of evil.