It’s not actually on I95, actually a little off the beaten path, out in south carolina somewhere. The band Sejayno has a certain leg of their tour to drive from DC to Sarasota in two days. Halfway there, weary, we stop at a Knight’s Inn in an unknown part of south carolina.
Not a complaint against Knight’s Inn per se; their administrative machinery cannot possibly fathom what happens psycho-spiritually when you pour concrete over burial grounds. First, the land is cursed. Second, certain types of sensitive people, on spending the night in a room there, can pick up faint whispers of unknown vortextual energies, culminating in a disturbance.
Now seve, having drunk fine wines, was numbed enough, purposely, to not notice what was going on in that room. If he was to be sobriety that night, he might not have handled the goblins too well. In fact I think he knew ahead of time that it was a bomber time, because of the heat, the congested hi-ways. Carson, with a good intersteller overdrive; perhaps his astral body decided to vacation on mars, avoid south carolina all together. Me, Peter B, being a worldly, but sober, man, was stuck with the job of absorbing all the wilde and cursed colonial murder energies.
Here’s how it went down.
My dream started after I fell asleep in the pitch-dark room. I stood up from the bed in a perfectly day-lit room. The door was partly open, and the guys were eating and shaving.
A skater kid walks in, a boy, with a skater’s cut, long straight hair over shaved neck and sideburns. He even is carrying a skateboard.
He comes at me quite aggresively, and with his forefinger, reaches out to my left cheek.
Quickly, vigorously and full of some sort of unknown hatred, he strikes, wiping some sort of “snot” on my left cheek.
Immediately I am queasy. the boy disappears, and so do the other guys. I stumble out the door, where i vomit on the threshold, a glowing red substance not devoid of “tape-worm material”. I must emphasize that my puke was glowing not just in a fluorescent way, but in a time-space bending way, almost like it is a portal to another world.
I wake up, it is morning, I am sweating. I immediately tell the guys my dream, and they’re like, let’s get out of here.
On the way out, we look at the front sign for the Knight’s Inn motel. It has a spritz of blood on it.