The Cul-de-sac Lady

The Cul-de-sac Lady

Thomas P. Walton

(A true story about my dream travel and manifestation in the waking world)

No sooner than I had thrown myself into the bed had I fallen into a fast sleep. The body trembled, the air buzzed or chimed—I cannot recall which--, and a great ring opened behind my eyelids, like a vortex or whirlpool of the blackest pitch.

The great eye in my forehead rolled in upon itself, much like a stigmatism—a Charlie-horse in my soul. From here I leapt out into a cool, but not cold, air of ebony and silvery clouds. I flew for a short while, enjoying the absolute freedom of the fluid astral winds.

Like a magnet I found that I was suddenly attracted to an interference in the blackness. A wide house with an extensive property for the backyard spread too far apart from its neighbors on either side, and it was fixed in a lonesome a cul-de-sac. A scent of dog whiffed through my nostrils, which hung upon my dark garments like humidity. But the sent of a woman lead me to the house. I was compelled to walk the earth.

As I landed, I came near. She waited. She returned to the home, eager for me to follow. And, as I approached, quite suddenly a great wolf-man leaped upon me from the shadows of the backyard.

We fought, tooth to tooth, claw to claw. Then I awoke.

My neck was like a rubber chicken. For some time I could not move. The familiar buzzing greeted me before a great popping sound brought me to full wake.

((1 WEEK LATER))

I’m in summer school. The world continues to roll through all the same direction, regardless of what angle I approached it in my wake. Teachers spat out orders, quizzed the students, and the students jumped through the same old hoops. I didn’t. I walked out of class frequently, ever needing to feel the wind upon my face, and breathe in the mid hour of sun through my pores (always excited about the approaching nightfall).

Then I saw her.

Anjum stood in a small group. I was timid ordinarily of clicks, but something compelled me to approach the girl. Ah, yes. It was the sub-humans patch on her flight jacket (or something familiar to me of that sort).

I asked her if she’d heard of Citizen Fish, the band after the Sub Humans went unheard of. From that point on, we became friends, exchanged phone numbers, and started hanging out.

One dark night while we were both unable to sleep or find anything else to do, we got together to enjoy a ride out after midnight.

As we drove through some rather wealthy neighborhoods, my car came up to a crossroad, where-at Anjum asked me to turn in left.

We came to a cul-de-sac. I didn’t think much of it until we parked, and I had a good, long look at the street. It was pretty much a dark, quiet neighborhood. Then I saw it—the house in the cul-de-sac.

It was a wide house. The cul-de-sac was extremely round, almost a perfect circle.

I mentioned the dream to Anjum; explaining to her the oddness of the pitch, colors, and so on. She blew me off. Wouldn’t you know! She was a New Yorker. Shit like that isn’t real, she’d say.

As we got out of the car, I inhaled a thick smell of dog through my nostrils. Anjum, of course, did not smell it. But, she did warn me that her friend that lived in that very exact house was a bit flirty, and that unless I wanted to find myself a new girlfriend (we’d been going out for a week or so), then I should keep my guard up around the little hussy.

The occupants of the house invited us in. A young man with long, black hair stood next to Anjum’s friend—a thin, spidery fingered female, with jet black hair, long bangs, and sexily cropped tight in the back. I felt hungry just at the sight of her, not to mention her irresistible scent, which emanated from the pores in the back of her short curved neck. (My sense of smell has always been very keen).   

We made ourselves cozy in their assortment of stuffed hides, furry sofa chairs, and thick blankets (it was an unusually cold midnight).

At length I needed to relieve full bladder. We’d been provided some drinks, and nature called.

The lovely female directed me down the hall, running her fingers down the back of my neck, and calling me “Lovely” (I think she was European, but I’m not certain).

I walked the rest of the way down a very dark corridor in her home. On the right, there it was. A door leading into a bathroom. And, on the other side was a door leading to—who knows.

As I conducted my business, standing before a rather lavish sink and toilet, looking into a mirror which covered the entire wall of the bathroom, which was several feet wide, I began to smell that terrible animal scent again.

As I urinated, I felt a sudden quiet. I can’t rightly explain it. It was as if all the silence on this side of the house quite immediately become ‘more’ silent.

Then the side door burst open. And I saw out into what was utter blackness! A great, hairy beast roared through the opening. Luckily the door did not open fully due to the toilet bowl—however, my position was so close to the door that I had to try to finish peeing while kicking back at the door. It was a nightmare!

Urine sprayed everywhere, I’m ashamed to say. But for the life of me I truly believed that a werewolf had found me out, leaping straight out of the void and into my very unfortunate reality.

At length, the lovely girl with the black hair rushed down the hall and opened the door to the bathroom. She tried to help me close the door. And then apologized that the dog has never been trained.

(A dog? Did you just call that big fucking ‘thing’ a dog?)

I thanked our host, and apologized for spraying her bathroom with my urine. Her lip curved, and she winked. Then she told me it’s okay, anytime you like.

(Wolf! Woolf! I like this girl already!)

Starting the engine in my car, the cassette player suddenly turned itself on. TSOL’s Black Magick rocked the speakers. I bent to turn it off, already irritated by the whole ordeal. But, my girlfriend, Anjum asked “I like this. Just let play.”

Before dropping her off at home, we hit the park and rolled around in the back of the car, then on the bridge of some garden, and the playground monkey bars.

On my own way home, I listened to the song over and over again. I could swear that a pair of beautifully dark eyes watched me in the rear view mirror—making my skin crawl. I smiled to myself, enjoying the chill of the alien presence. I lit a cigarette, adjusted the treb and the bass, then cranked the volume. I slicked back my bangs from my face in the mirror. The warm heater on my feet nearly lulled me into a good sleepy drive back to my dark bedroom.

(Now listen to: Black Magic, by TSOL)