Things to Run Away From Really Fast

There are a series of beautiful houses and construction sites. My dad is doing work on his own house.

I'm a child walking with Wednesday and Pugsley Addams. I forgot my sunglasses, so hold up my hands and say "Accio, glasses."

"That should only work if you say 'sunglasses,'" points out Wednesday.

"I knew what I meant," I shrug.

The cast of the Addams Family now fused with the whole crew of lovingly dysfunctional people who raised me. It's weird.

Now it's the finale of this version of the series, and there's a wooden automaton that accepts that it's "his time." He sits in the mud bath and waits to fall apart.

(Except that this was all part of his plan, and the reason that he has bad eyesight is because his real eyes are hanging from the earrings of the trickster god who has been working "with" the bad guys. He has one last chance to take the band of bloodthirsty pirates out before he moves on to the next world...)

Wednesday and I are adults now, and we're talking about getting married.

I'm in my teenage home. I realize that I'm dreaming, and spend some time looking at how weird some of the angles and perspective are in this dream.

09/20/10



We're taking our lunch break. A bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino appears in my hand. It's delicious; the taste is replicated perfectly.

"Are you ready to go?" My dad asks, from the couch. He's asking if I'm ready to go back to work.

"I haven't even eaten yet!" I say, exasperated.

Scare Factor: 1/10
Rating: 1/10

08/08/10

I'm part of a story in a familiar seeming place. Everything's happening out of order, events and dialogue added where I think the story needs it. As I wake up, I see the story written out on a word processor.

I wake up. As I fall back asleep, I enter HH. I'm a younger version of Dean Winchester, and there's something I still need to do. I'm still lucid, but I don't want to wake myself up, so I fall into the dream.

***

I'm a giant, fighting a tiny man as we climb up a water tower. I try to kick him off my foot, but he's holding on, trying to stab my toes.

***

I'm in prison. I'm sitting with a group of people, all handcuffed with zip-ties, our hands wound up in green mesh. My mom and dad are there, part of the dozen or so people jammed into the cell, sitting on the wooden benches where there's room.



Despite the lack of space, I'm not crowded on the bench. I'm also pretty much ignoring everyone in the room, now that the guards are gone. I'm concentrating on removing the zip-ties. I think I might have been chewing through them at some point, but with a flourish, I have them off my wrists. I hold onto the mess of plastic for a second, think about pretending I'm still trapped, but I let it fall to the floor. I'll take my chances.

Finally, we get our own cells. All of the doors are open, so I calmly walk over to the cell by the window and sit down on the bed. Originally, we were supposed to be sharing cells, but there aren't any bunk beds. There is no privacy; everything that isn't an outside wall is made of narrow bars, four inches apart. My mom takes the cell beside mine.

Lights out. A guard comes over to check that we're in bed. He stands too close, but I'm not worried. I sense no malevolence in him.

Which is fortunate, for his sake.

The guard shuffles away and I stand up, moving silently in the shadows. The locked door to my cell swings open of its own accord, and I walk, unnoticed, right out of the building.

***

I'm a hunter. Female, with long, curly black hair. I'm interviewing witnesses, trying to figure out what's going on in this town. Someone recognizes me from an earlier hunt, and claims I'm a cop.

***

Two versions of Dean Winchester sit at different tables at a restaurant. One is just barely older than the other. The younger one approaches him.

"You know, I've had a hell of a time since you got the cops after you again."

***



There are two versions of Dean Winchester, but the age difference is exaggerated. One of them is a child, and the other is an old man.

They're at the entrance of an old quanset on a farm, when I see a flash of something happening in the distance. Six plumes of light grey smoke fly from the ground and hurtle toward us.

Sam and Dean, about five and nine at the moment, are outside. A little piece of narration goes off in my head.

They're after the kids. Demons who steal away children that wander off on their own. It's part of the local folklore.

I'm hardly there at all, so the older Dean has to decide who to save: the younger Sam or the younger Dean. Of course he goes after Sam, and I stay inside, waiting, as the demons approach mini-Dean.

When they grab him, when they go hurtling through the air towards their base, I phase through the wall and take off after them.

"Omnipitus omundi patronus," I mutter to myself, sneaking into an old farmhouse. Wait, Patronus?

Just like that, I'm lucid. I smile, and crawl into the small entranceway. Bits of dust flake off of everything I touch, and I find myself crawling as the hallway gets smaller and smaller.

A woman attacks me out of nowhere. By all rights, I shouldn't be able to move in the small hallway I've wedged myself into. I won't consider myself trapped, though. I lash out, grabbing the woman by the jaw and the back of her head, and I twist.

The woman falls to the floor, her neck broken.

The house is normal sized again, and I walk into the bedroom, see the young Dean lie sprawled out over the bed. "Omnipitus omundi patronus," I repeat, but nothing happens. I sigh, and pick the boy up, ready to run him back to his brother and older self.

Claustrophobia. Scare Factor: 2.

06/16/2010

The problem with world-class assassins is that everyone wants to kill each other.



An old woman hums tunelessly, pushing her squeaking cart along the grey-flecked tiles. Her nails tap tap tap against the stainless steel handle, along with a beat only she can hear. She slows the cart down, the wheels shrieking their protest, and smiles at the young man behind the desk, pointing to the ID clipped to her shoulder. He glances up, looking bored, and barely glances at the ID before waving her along.

The hospital room is single-occupancy, dim and empty except for the bedridden patient. He wakes up from a doze, looks at the woman in scrubs as she enters the room. She slides a platter off of the food cart and slides it onto the tray sitting across his bed.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Burke?" The woman smiles.

"Horrible," he manages, glancing up blearily as she injects something into his IV. "Anything good to eat?"

"Of course, dear. There's tuna sandwiches, if you like those."

He perks up a bit, and nibbles at the sandwich. It's decent for hospital food, he decides. He'll be glad to get back to his normal life, with four-course dinners and world-class chefs.

The woman is still there when he finishes the sandwich. "That was actually pretty good," he tells her.

"Well, it is my own special recipe."

His mouth is dry, and he can feel his heart beating faster. Burke frowns. He's sweating. "Excuse me," he says, "But could you get a doctor? I think the symptoms are coming back."

The woman is unhooking the machines monitoring his vital status.

"Don't worry," she says. "It has nothing to do with your heart attack, Mr. Burke." She smiles kindly at him. "My special recipe is called Chalk Tuna. The compounds I've used in your sandwich are reacting with the drugs in your IV. It's untraceable, almost completely undetectable during an autopsy... rather brilliant, if I do say so myself."

Burke's fingers twitch. He wants to reach for the button, to call a nurse, call anyone, but he can't move. He tries to shout, but his mouth won't open, his voice won't work. An icy sensation begins to crawl in from his extremities, cold and burning at the same time.

"It's also a paralyzing substance," the woman muses, "and it's an incredibly painful way to die."

She smiles fondly down at the man seizing on the bed. "Have a nice day, Mr. Burke."

The cart begins its squeaking journey back to the elevator. Burke shuts his eyes and tries to scream.

---

Matilda has approximately four minutes to return the cart and exit the hospital. After that time, the real nurse will make her rounds and find Mr. Burke dead, the machines having shorted out due to faulty wiring. The doctors will attempt to resuscitate him, but the poison in his veins will prevent this from taking effect. There will be questions for the young man at the desk in front of the elevator, but Matilda plans to disappear long before any suspicion can fall on her.

Without a suspect or a murder weapon, the incident will be written off as a simple heart attack, and Mr. Burke's son will inherit his company.

Stepping out into the sunlight of the alley, Mathilda allows herself a moment to bask in the enjoyment of a job well done. She feels a shift in the air, a chill, and a blade burrowing into her skull.

I sheathe the wrist-blade and let the body fall, watching impassively as the infamous assassin kicks up dust on the dry ground. She twitches slightly, extending a hand in a clawing motion before going still.

I leave the body where it is. There's sure to be a complicated frame-up job involving several people who want to take power, but I've done my part. As long as Matilda is dead, I can get out of here and -

I'm throwing myself to the side. A line of throwing knives hit the brick behind me. I take cover, diving behind a dumpster, throwing a fireball in the direction of my attacker.



He's on the roof across from me, I reason. I came down from the hospital fire escape, but he was hidden by shadows - damn! I don't have an escape route, and we need to get out of here before they start looking for Burke's killer. Unfortunately, the owner of those throwing knives is not someone to be reasoned with.

"Simon?" I shout, stepping out from my hiding place. He's on the roof. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Everyone's in town, Sam!" That's Simon, all right. He looks giddy, sounds like he's on a sugar high. The man's more of a sociopath than I am. "Haven't you heard?"

"Yes." Goddamned council didn't even ask before invading my city.

"And you got Matilda first! I've been wanting to take her down for ages."

"Creepy?" I ask.

"Creepy." He confirms.

My fingers twitch, ready to call up another fireball. Simon tracks the movement, and I change my mind. "Simon," I say, "Would you like to play a game?"

His face splits into a grin. "First to a hundred?" He asks.

"I was thinking the whole conference."

Simon laughs. "I like the way you think," his smile widens even further. "Shame I'm gonna have to kill you."

He lifts up a hand and I'm running before he presses the button. I round the corner and the alley explodes.

I love my job.

---



I'm on top of a mountain, looking down on the valley. The city is sprawled out below. I take a breath, feel the cool mountain breeze drifting through my lair.

Some days, it pays to be evil.

I turn around to where my mom and dad are sitting at a stone table, looking around and seeming confused. My brother is there, too, but he just looks hungover.

I go to sit across from them at the table. My mom's eyes narrow as she gets her bearings, and I can feel her light-based aura sparking unpleasantly. I try not to flinch.

"It's in our best interests," I say carefully, "to wipe out all of the assassins as quickly as possible. They'll be gathering at the convention centre. Now, we can't all go in -"

"Why is that, exactly?" my mom snaps.

I roll my eyes. "You're a Reader. They'll spot Your Holiness from a mile away."

"How exactly did you get into this mess?" asks my dad.

I paint a look of surprise onto my face. "You mean you don't know?" I ask incredulously. "Our family - your side of the family - have been Assassins going back hundreds of years! Well," I trail off, "The last one was in the sixteenth century." Good times, as I recall. Reincarnation can be so much fun.

My mom's aura is sparking angrily. I try to ignore it.

"Look, we need to wipe as many people out in one swoop as we can." I have a thought.

"Mom... isn't your cousin doing the catering?" I ask.

She looks at me suspiciously. "He is. Why?"

I let a smile form. "Have you ever heard of Chalk Tuna?"

Conferences. Scare Factor: 4.

So ends the 100th post special edition of Things to Run Away From Really Fast! I've been meaning to write this up for ages...

The only thing I can remember from last night's dream is that I had an extra pair of running shoes. They were orange.

A house from start to finish.

Before me is a hole in the ground, a basement that's just been dug in the middle of a field. On the other side of the basement are my mom and dad (who I work for), talking to a customer. I have to crawl under the sheets of poly to make it to the other side.

I'm in the same location, but it's shifted to become some sort of self-sufficient compound. I'm a new character, older. I feel a timer go off in my head, telling me it's time to begin classes. I'm a teacher.

Houses. Scare Factor: 1.

Misha Collins advances his plans for world domination. Parents do not approve.

So, I'm sitting on the couch in our old apartment in Ixburg. My dad and I are making fun of an awful movie we rented, which makes for the majority of our father/kid bonding time. Minus work, of course.

The phone rings.

My dad picks up the cordless, and I can hear the voice on the other end, asking for Jack. I recognize the voice and make a grab for the phone, but my dad holds it out of reach. Why is everyone taller than me?

"Who's calling?"

It's Misha, says the voice on the other end. My dad scowls and hangs up on him.

"What?" I say, waving my arms. "Why would you do that?" I snatch the phone away and look at the call display, then throw him the phone and stomp off to my room.

I send a text to the number I read on call display.

Yeah, sorry about that. You should probably just call my cell.

Telephone. Scare Factor: 1.

This is getting out of hand.

I was amused to note that my tag cloud this morning said "boring sex".

I go grocery shopping in the kitchen.

I'm cooking dinner for my family, but I'm missing a few ingredients. Fortunately, our kitchen is in the middle of a grocery store.

I run around the grocery store, grabbing vegetables mostly. I'm very happy when I actually manage to find some sesame seeds (which are in short supply around here).

I start scanning the items through an empty checkout, but one of the employees says she needs to help me with that. We try to figure out if we should scan the eggplant, which has already finished cooking.

I'm in the living room of my oma's old house in Ixburg. We're playing a game that's kind of like pictionary or sharades, except you're writing keywords on a chalkboard. My dad throws a VCR tape of Star Wars under the chalkboard, and I try to remember what the rules are.

"Dutch word for 'father'", I write on the chalkboard. My teammates don't get it.

ETA: Also, a Sailor Moon-related fragment. Serenity may have been involved. I don't know; something was trying to destroy the world again.

Eggplant. Scare Factor: 1.

In which Dad's driving lands the family in deep water. I think I saw this on Mythbusters once.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Give me five minutes, Dean - I just got off work."

I head inside and pull off my white t-shirt, and get changed into a black t-shirt and jeans. When I come back outside, Dean (and his dad's truck) are gone.

I call Sam, because Dean never answers his phone. He's laughing at me.

"Did he just ditch you again?"

"Apparently. That bitch."

***

Uncle Roy and his daughter, Natasha (who appears to be about three, here), are running up backwards escalators that are taking them to our family reunion. I join in, jumping over railings and taking the most efficient route.

I'm at the house, looking over the food table for vegetarian stuff. A younger version of myself is standing on the other side of the room. I go over to talk to zir*, but zie's avoiding me. Eventually we have to pose for a picture together, arms thrown across each other's shoulders. Well, the universe didn't explode, so we're doing fine.

I think up elaborate reasons as to why there are two of us, but I don't remember what they were.

***

I'm in the car with my dad and Roy's three daughters. They're all under ten in this dream. We're driving through a city, maybe Halifax, and I'm giving my dad directions from the back seat.

"Okay, now you're in the wrong lane," I tell him. "Turn right here."

The road takes us down to the harbour, and I tell my dad to turn left.

Instead, he decides to do a powerslide down the dock.


Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die.

We've almost made it to 180 degrees, and I decide to trust my dad, because he's a better driver than I am, really. I'm still gripping tight onto the seat, watching the world spin around us.

The momentum throws the car right off the dock. We land with a splash in the deep water, and I have a moment of disbelief. Seriously, my brother just totalled our last car.** Now this?

I'm searching for my bag, knowing that there's something important in there.

Found it. I'm holding a flashlight.

My dad tells me to aim for the window controls next to me, and smash them with the flashlight. Three of us start pounding away at our respective window-ledges with our respective flashlights. I stop for a second and see pedestrians on the boardwalk, watching us dumbly. The car is half full of water by now, and I hope one of them has the sense to dial 911.

I smash through the controls and the important wire. The window disappears. I help the girls out of the car, as the water has almost reached the window. I slide out of the window, and my dad is right behind me. I swim to the dock and pull an unresponsive (but physically unharmed) Natasha from the water.

Later, I talk to someone about the reason I didn't panic. I shrug and tell him that I figured someone would rescue us if we couldn't get out. He's doubtful, but I tell him that it didn't have to be true - it was something I told myself so I'd be able to function.

Sinking Cars. Scare Factor: 4.

*ILU, gender-neutral pronouns.

**No, really.

Alone. Bus trip. Ferry ride.

I've found myself on a road trip with my brother, mom, and dad, in our old Ford Truck. It's rather cramped. I have my laptop-sized bookbag with me, and it's stuffed in with me in the back seat.

I hassle my dad to stop at the Husky/Tim Horton's along the road, and am surprised when he relents. I go inside and say "Hi" to the person at the counter. For some reason, I'm surprised I don't recognize her. I have to step in behind the counter a bit to get a look at the donuts and bagels, and I happily choose one with purple icing and rainbow sprinkles. I count through my pocket chane; I've already used my debit card (and I recall swiping an identical one before realizing it wasn't mine). I ask what my total comes to. I have to ask a few times, because I can't understand her and the number above the register keeps changing. Also, I only have about 75 cents.

Finally, she tells me that the price is 9 cents plus tax, so I should just give her a dime. I thank her and take my brown paper bag, heading to the car.

"Sorry I took so long," I say, knowing full well we won't be stopping for a while now. I open my bag to find three donuts and a pack of gushers. Weird. I start in on the gushers, deciding that junk food is the point of a road trip anyway and it's hard to find vegetarian stuff at all fast food restaurants.

We're trying to figure out how to get out of town, because one of the main roads switches over regularly and we seem to be cut off at the moment. Several-point turn to get out of a dead-end. People playing in the water in the ditch ("A good way to get hepatitis," my dad notes). Asking for directions at some kind of a hunting lodge.

We drive out of town, but the road seems less like a road and more something you'd do to wreck vehicles on GTA. Driving through parkades or something. Graffiti. Stairs.

Family Vacations. Scare Meter: 2. Boring as long as you skip the horror movie casting.