Dream Log

Entry 4: The Gardening

DATE: [REDACTED]
SUBJECT: Kingsmouth Resident 12B

The dream started in my garden again. The petunias were singing in binary, their petals shimmering with oily rainbows. I tried to water them, but the hose sprayed a thick, sweet, black tar that smelled like burnt sugar and gasoline. It coated everything.

A man with a mouthful of buzzing flies for teeth smiled at me from across the fence. He told me I needed to "open up" and "let the signal in." When I looked down, I saw my own hands were covered in the tar. It was seeping into my skin, and I could feel it crawling up my veins, a cold and busy river.

I tried to scream, but only a single, perfect black feather came out. The man laughed, a sound like a thousand tiny legs skittering on glass. *The flowers are so pretty when they bloom in the flesh,* he said.

*Scribbled on a stained napkin. Subject has been chewing on their own fingers again. Requesting increased sedation. - Dr. R. Geller, CDC Field Ops*