I dreamed that I went on vacation (?) with two unidentified female friends and ended up staying at a house full of young, beautiful cultists before a major ritual.
We had been led there but it was unclear if they needed fresh blood for their coven or fresh blood for their sacrifice.
At some point we befriend one of the members who tells us that our behavior in that night's ceremony could mean the difference between life and death. She advises one friend how to wear her hair, and the other what to bring as an offering, and she looks at me and tells me who's sympathetic to us and who's not.
I laugh. Everyone stares "It's like a party." I say by way of explanation. She's telling us the theme, what kind of drinks to bring, and who the key guests are. I stop worrying about the rite: I know party.
Now the only thing I'm worried about is my immortal soul.
Night arrives and we enter the ritual chamber through a small claustrophobic chamber. It's a weird mix of people and I see my paternal grandparents across a sea of young, attractive bodies.
It's very "ice storm" meets "the brotherhood".
I stop noticing the nubile after I see them and realize my dad is also there. They're nagging me after I knock a jack o'lantern shaped pumpkin off a shelf. My dad tells me to put it back together but I've already smashed the face.
I leave the room and end up in a pantry with the post-sacrificial snacks. (grandma and grandpa are big into the upstate NY Methodist scene so imagine.) I add chocolate chips to a ritual cookie dough, worry that I've screwed up and doomed my friends and cultist relatives and wake up hyperventilating.
I eventually fall back to sleep and dream that this guy I used to kind of date before he was convicted of murder has served his sentence and wants to hang out. I'm reluctant but eventually assent.
We end up spending an ok day together and he asks if I want to go have drinks with him at his apartment. He's pissed me off off-and-on all day but I still see things in him that I like. I say yes and we get into his rusted-out old van and drive to the liquor store.
On the way there he asks if I'll buy the booze since it violates his parole and then asks for an extremely rare brand of scotch that the ghetto liquor store we pull into is unlikely to have. I am reminded of how his small requests would always lead into big ones and how he just expected everything but gave nothing. I am about to get out when a crazy, maybe homeless man walks up and starts shouting and pounding on the window.
"Oh sh-t," he says, "we need to get away from him." Apparently he knows the guy, but it's unclear if he's ex-cellmate, brother of victim or vengeful ex. I start to regret my decision to give this guy another chance and wake up from the steaming asphalt parking lot
Note: In real life I have never dated anyone convicted or even accused of murder.
This is what not drinking before bed gets you..
