A Defrocked Academic
03-29-2019, 02:34 PM
“Seems the last batch got into contact with something”, the neighbor said. “Can't have that if you’re looking to raise good pigs.”
So we got rid of the old pigs and got three new ones and put them in the well. Thought that might keep them away from whatever it was. It was a dry cistern but we called it the well.
At the end of the first day one of the pigs was as big as the other two put together. Wasn’t like that when we put them there. Skin looked kind of pale like you could see straight through it.
On the second day in the morning there was some bumping and shuffling coming out of the well. When we got there we saw there was just that one pig left. Two weeks old and as big as a full grown pig.
On the third day there was a white membrane covering the well about half way down so you couldn’t see the bottom. It looked kind of like the skin of a pig but not that much.
On the fourth day there wasn’t any pig in the well. There wasn’t any membrane either. There was just a black oily surface with rumbling and grinding noises coming from beneath.
“There’s got to be a lot of liquid down there”, the neighbor said.
You could hear the rumbling all across the farm.
Then the surface started talking. “Numbers”, it said. “Numbers and thoughts and emotions.” “Numbers. Numbers and thoughts and emotions.”
On the fifth day I saw a head coming out of the surface. It looked like my face only it was black and oily like the rest of it and the shape was all wrong. The mouth was what was really wrong. But somehow I could tell it was me.
It started telling memories I had from when I was a kid.
And it had a voice like little pieces of metal grinding together, quietly.
“Stop that”, I told it.
Then I got back in the house.
But later I thought about that head at the bottom of the well. I knew it was talking in the night alone in that quiet voice like little pieces of metal grinding together.
On the sixth day I heard a noise and walked out the front door into what I thought was the dark of the night, only it was really that thing.
Well it was coming out of the ground all over so we were done for anyway. Some of it was stretched out covering the door and I walked straight into it.
Never felt a thing.
I don’t know who is writing this right now.
--
This is my attempt at transcribing a recent dream into prose. The dream narrator knows more than I do. I assume the setting derives from “The Color Out of Space” – which I haven’t read for years. Perhaps someone can spot other subconscious inspirations.
So we got rid of the old pigs and got three new ones and put them in the well. Thought that might keep them away from whatever it was. It was a dry cistern but we called it the well.
At the end of the first day one of the pigs was as big as the other two put together. Wasn’t like that when we put them there. Skin looked kind of pale like you could see straight through it.
On the second day in the morning there was some bumping and shuffling coming out of the well. When we got there we saw there was just that one pig left. Two weeks old and as big as a full grown pig.
On the third day there was a white membrane covering the well about half way down so you couldn’t see the bottom. It looked kind of like the skin of a pig but not that much.
On the fourth day there wasn’t any pig in the well. There wasn’t any membrane either. There was just a black oily surface with rumbling and grinding noises coming from beneath.
“There’s got to be a lot of liquid down there”, the neighbor said.
You could hear the rumbling all across the farm.
Then the surface started talking. “Numbers”, it said. “Numbers and thoughts and emotions.” “Numbers. Numbers and thoughts and emotions.”
On the fifth day I saw a head coming out of the surface. It looked like my face only it was black and oily like the rest of it and the shape was all wrong. The mouth was what was really wrong. But somehow I could tell it was me.
It started telling memories I had from when I was a kid.
And it had a voice like little pieces of metal grinding together, quietly.
“Stop that”, I told it.
Then I got back in the house.
But later I thought about that head at the bottom of the well. I knew it was talking in the night alone in that quiet voice like little pieces of metal grinding together.
On the sixth day I heard a noise and walked out the front door into what I thought was the dark of the night, only it was really that thing.
Well it was coming out of the ground all over so we were done for anyway. Some of it was stretched out covering the door and I walked straight into it.
Never felt a thing.
I don’t know who is writing this right now.
--
This is my attempt at transcribing a recent dream into prose. The dream narrator knows more than I do. I assume the setting derives from “The Color Out of Space” – which I haven’t read for years. Perhaps someone can spot other subconscious inspirations.