fun with needles

It was an unremarkable day, until the needles came to life. They leaped out of a desk drawer and dug into my arms. I pulled them out and put them away. A few minutes later, they were back -- they dug in and pinned my shirt to my back.

This time they were a bit longer. I was trying to talk to the girl next door, holding the little daggers in my hand. I felt them squirming to get free ... would they hurt her or was I the only victim?


So far, no one else has seen the things in action. They rolled out of my fingers, sailed around the room like a pair of angry metal bees, then stabbed into my pocket with a shocking flare of agony. I let out a shriek, and the girl ran off without a second thought. The damned things wiggled deeper into my thigh. With a groan I yanked them out. It felt like I was uncorking a bottle of wine, except that it was my own blood that burbled out.


I ran out to the kitchen, found an old apple sauce jar, and dropped the gleaming needles inside. I screwed on the lid with precisely the twist that everyone else in the house complained that they couldn't open. The needles started dancing, pounding up and down. I could see them denting the metal lid. I ran down the hall, closed the door, laid a 2-by-4 across the bottom of the door ...


They came crashing through the window, javelins about 2 feet long. I put my arm across my face, and they dug in -- through the flesh and bones of my arm, straight into my eyes ...

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(A dream from 2/20/95, unpublished.)