Close Encounters of the 4th Kind

Nnnn…

My head swam in the telltale ‘drunk off my ass’, multi-leveled spinning that only a night of partying could produce. Christ, I need to lay off the Cuervo. That shit always makes the nights fun, but the mornings suck complete ass. I just tended to forget the downside of Cuervo once I was drinking Cuervo. I sighed heavily. I need to get my shit together.

My bed felt colder than usual. And harder. I flung my arm out to grope for my blankets, but was met with air and something smooth, hard, and freezing.

This…this isn’t my bed. My bed is much more blankety than this shit. I sat up unsteadily, opening my eyes for the first time. Rather than the muted blue walls of my bedroom, I was greeted by a large, ornate stained glass window.

What the shit?

I mean, don’t get me wrong. It was a gorgeous window. Beautifully designed with bright yellows, blues, and reds with reasonably realistic representations of…people I’m sure were religiously significant but whose significance was lost on my atheist mind. I just didn’t understand how I ended up passed out under this work of art, rather than with my head in my trashcan like what usually happened after a long night of drinking.

I took a long glance around myself, trying to orient myself miserably. I was right in surmising the religious…ness of the people in the window. My hungover ass appeared to be in some kind of church. Gothic in style (thanks art history 101) the church was entirely grey stone with stupidly tall vaulted ceilings and intricately detailed support columns. There were more stained glass windows, each matching the craftsmanship and color scheme of the window I found myself under. But the major difference between this church and what I imagined churches looked like, given I knew little about churches since this was probably the first time I had ever been in one, was the absurd amount of office furniture within it.

Yes, you heard me correctly. I said office furniture.

The large open space, where I’m sure those super comfortable-looking benches once sat, was haphazardly filled with upended, metal filing cabinets, desks that looked like those cheap things you get at IKEA, and spinnie chairs. I think that’s what confused me the most, now that I think about it. Why in the world would there be modern spinnie chairs in an otherwise like, old-European-style church? And in this frequency? I closed my eyes and shook my head.

You’ve had weirder booze-dreams, kid. This must just be an especially weird one. When you open your eyes, you’ll be in that sweet Sharknado dream again where you get to attack that kindergarten full of scorpions. Because sharks definitely beat child-sized scorpions. Duh. I chuckled to myself at the memory, and opened my eyes.

Nope. Still in the weird church. Huh. Weeeeeird.

I reached up for the windowsill to help me to my feet. A quick survey of myself confirmed that I was, in fact, not wearing the same clothes as last night, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was freezing in the church, and my beach party clothes would have left me both freezing and probably still too underdressed for church. Even an abandoned one. Instead, I had on a comfy pair of jeans, running shoes, and my favorite sweatshirt. Well, at least something about this dream was comforting. My subconscious was totally fine with throwing me into a really bizarre, almost foreboding environment filled with tripping hazards and probably rife with tetanus, but it drew the line at questionable fashion choices.

Plus, why was I even worried about getting hurt, or getting tetanus? This is a dream! You can’t get hurt in dreams! I could deep-throat one of the rusty drawer-pulls on the filing cabinets with no negative consequences…other than the therapy I would need after deciding to deep-throat a rusty drawer-pull. I shook my head again. Get it together, a-hole.

I began to carefully ease my way through the piles of corporate trash. The floor, while slippery with what I hoped was dew and not piss, was littered with pamphlets and fliers. Most were too ruined by hopefully water to be legible, but one here or there was undamaged enough to make out some information.

“‘The clock is ticking’”, I read aloud, my voice echoing eerily off the walls. “‘They’re always watching’. That’s…really fucking creepy.”

Management at this weird, religious business must have been a bitch.

After managing to trip over a broken fax machine, I had a sudden, yet delayed realization. Why the fuck was I looking around when I could be busy, I don’t know, getting the fuck out of here? I changed direction and headed off towards the large set of double doors at the far end of the church. It’s been real, Corporate Jesus, but it’s time for this kid to get some Chick fil A and a Gatorade.

The doors, at first glance, were your average, everyday, Gothic-church doors. They had hinges, big ass handles, and pretty, angelic figures painstakingly carved into the metal? Wood? Whatever. However, these doors were missing a pretty crucial component to doorhood: the ability to open.

I gripped the aforementioned big ass handles and pulled with what I surmised to be an appropriate amount of strength and vigor to open the door, which resulted in absolutely nothing. So after a brief moment of self-reflection, I pulled harder. This attempt resulted my nearly dislocating my shoulder, and stubbing my toe when I kicked the metal (confirmed) door with all my might. Stupid door.

I turned away in a huff, sliding my back down the length of the door to sink to the ground. My legs and arms crossed in frustration, I glowered at the floor. I was too thirsty and my head pounded too intensely for me to be expected to handle this minor setback like an adult. The floor was cold but, thankfully, dry. I exhaled loudly through my nose, my breath visible in the cold. After repeating this several times to feel like a dragon, I paused to reflect on how actually fucking ridiculous it was that it was cold enough to see your breath when literally hours ago I was on a beach with my friends getting shit faced on Cuervo and winning a pretty racially insensitive limbo contest. I mean, the guys holding the stick were in black face and wearing Rasta caps with faux dreads attached. Could you GET anymore racist? Nope. Shit, focus.

How do I get out of here if something is making the door not work?

Smash the windows!

No. That’s vandalism. And even in my dream, I’m not going to destroy art. Even if it’s religious art. Art is important. Next option.

Look for another door?

That was more desirable, partially because it made sense that there would be another entrance for…medieval fire codes. But mostly I just wanted to wade through more of the office crap. It felt like a building in Fallout 3, and I was dying to be the Lone Wanderer. I put a hand down to push myself up. Instead of feeling the glassy-feeling stone that made up the floor, I felt wrinkled paper. Another flyer?

“‘Get moving. They’re coming for you.’” I read aloud again, my voice a strangled whisper.

Okay, that’s really creepy. I don’t like this dream anymore.

I stood up quickly, rubbing at my arms to try and quell the goosebumps that arose on my arms. I mean, churches themselves are super creepy, but adding these Slender-style notes everywhere? Really amping up the creep. Jesus, brain, what the fuck? I need to lay off the scary game let’s plays on YouTube.

I paced back into the main space of the church, trying to take in as much of my surroundings as I could without lingering on the floor. I don’t want to see more of the flyers. I wanted to get the fuck out of here or wake up. Though it was getting harder and harder to believe that I was dreaming. I don’t remember any of my dreams being this vivid. But it has to be a dream right? I’ve watched way too much SVU to get drugged and kidnapped. There has to be a logical explanation for what was happening.

As the thought was forming and being expressed in my head, there was a loud clatter from across the room. I froze to my spot, every hair on my body standing on end.

What the fuck was that?