shout out Kate! (author of GETS SPOOKED)

I’m not used to seeing other dream diary entries on our blog sites, so I was super excited when I saw that this amazing blogger posted her very own recurring dream description. With her permission, I’ll dissect some of the dream and offer an explanation. While I do NOT believe that dreams can be translated into a specific meaning, I know Kate well enough to know what memories and experiences her brain made the dreams out of.

Let’s get started!


  1. UHHhhhhh whenever we hang out we are usually in the basement playing smash brothers or something so maybe your brain took this memory?
  2. Our general friend group has a lot of people and sometimes there are sub-cliques and stuff, and at HOCO we had to divide the people due to the sheer amount (I’m really reaching here).
  3. And for the ending I think Kate just watches too much Ratatouille. remy4life


Let me know what you think @TARAZIKATE ! Hope you like my explanation. Maybe cut back on the Ratatouille.

NIGHTMARE: what parents sacrifice


Image result for burning paper


I’m always aware of how much my parents do for me, and how much of their lives they give up to make their children happier and healthier. I guess this awareness manifests itself in my dreams.

My existence and purpose in this dream was hazy and confusing–what was I doing? What role did I play? All I remember is a castle full of strange people and beings, and full of food and plenty of parties. I spent my time there. A mixture of wonder and delight and fear, the castle was a medley of emotions and colors and sounds and shifting dream-scenes. I DO remember that a demon was following me, one that I couldn’t see, but I always knew was there.

I knew that time was dwindling and that I’d eventually be taken by the demon, but I lowkey just ignored it and went about my life.

Here’s where things get creepy. I returned to my family’s little cottage in the woods, and my dad told me to burn everything that had my name on it. All letters, drawings, everything. He said he had spoken to a witch in the woods and there was only one way to save me from the demon. After I burned everything with my name on it, I had to stay within the house for 6 weeks.

Every day, my dad cut off all his limbs and put them outside the door. The demon would take them and they would regrow back, every day. This went on for 6 weeks. I was stuck, unable to leave or go back to the castle, and my dad had to sever his own arms and legs everyday. I had burned all traces of myself, my dad was in constant anguish, and I wasn’t allowed to leave for weeks on end–it was basically Hell, but at least my soul wasn’t going to be taken by the demon.

I never got to see if we banished the demon or not–because I woke up in the middle of the night all freaked out. I wish this was a dream I didn’t remember.



Umbra on burning paper

NIGHTMARE: baba’s ghosts

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I had never been more sad that the school day had ended. As the chatter of my classmates filled the hallways of my school, I walked back to my house with a heart full of dread and feet made of lead. For some reason, echoes in my head had been telling me all day what waited for me at home. My dad was coming back from the dead.

I walked into my dark house, filled to the brim with overgrown houseplants and strangely colored lights that reflected off the large bay windows. My mom was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, dark violet smoke pouring out of an alcove in the wall. Glowing glass vials filled that alcove, which is where the ghosts of my dad were kept. Peering into the kitchen, it resembled my old kitchen from when I lived in Bahrain–younger versions of my sister and brother were sitting at the kitchen table. This house was a strange medley of old memories and random details I’d never seen before.

Mama led me up the stairs and into a room with dozens of paintings strewn around–some on the wall, some on the floor, some covered with sheets, and others propped up on easels. All of them had my dad painted on them, but all were different. One of the paintings had a version of my dad with just one large eye on his face, and two grotesque eyes on his stomach. Yet another art piece had Baba with long, thin, jagged teeth protruding from his bloody mouth. The others I can’t remember. There were 4, specifically, but I guess the other two ghosts were lost in the depths of my subconsciousness.  

I don’t recall how or when, but I eventually went to sleep in a little cabin outside my house. When I woke up (within my dream), all looked normal but my emotions went off. Fear is a warning sign in my dreams; even if I’m in a serene situation, fear indicates that my dream is about to change.

I was then inside my house, looking for my sister. She wasn’t in her room, and my brother wasn’t in his. My mother was also gone. Their bedrooms were dark, and the silence of the house contributed to my fear.

In my dreams, there are underlying scripts or themes within my mind that tell me what’s going on, even if it isn’t clear in the scenery and visuals. I just knew that my family had left me behind on purpose, and had left me behind for the ghosts to find. As I tried to run upstairs to the room full of paintings, I turned around and the ghost of my dad with eyes on its stomach was there, slowly trailing me. I kept running through the endless house, up and down stairs to evade the ghosts that kept appearing from nowhere–all slightly different in a grotesque way. And the dream didn’t end.

I kept running until I was jolted awake by my alarm, and I had to shake off my fear and go to zero-period gym and play pickleball.


NIGHTMARE: everybody’s dead

Image result for gothic victorian house interior

NIGHTMARE DATE: November 5th, 2018.

All the residents of Sterling had to stay inside their houses. We just knew we had to, and we knew we had to not let anyone in. There was a killer on the loose, and we were not allowed to run–only to hide. My house in the dream was strangely dark, and much larger than it is in real life. A spiral staircase made of the darkest wood accented a dark interior with chandeliers but little to no decor. It seemed more terrifying and sinister than comforting and safe.

After some time had passed, my sister brought in a boy from her school who had nowhere to go; our kind parents couldn’t say no to his lost and weathered face. He walked up the creaking stairs with my sister, and turned around to look at me.

My dreams are usually kind of blurry or fuzzy, since there’s so much going on and the premises of the dream are constantly shifting. But when the boy turned around and looked at me, his eyes were a strange pale blue that stood out from the rest of the dream. His eyes bore into mine for like five minutes, and I was too scared to say or do anything.

When he finally left, I tried to run to my parents about the lost boy being the killer. They didn’t believe me, and I started panicking and ran back up the dark wooden stairs to where my sister and the boy were. Or where I thought they were.

Not being able to find them, I ran back downstairs to where I saw the boy killing both my parents in the kitchen. It was silent, with absolutely no screams or noise or any sort of auditory senses. I could only see what was going on, and I could only see the boy stabbing both my parents with a kitchen knife and turning around to look at me with his creepy eyes once again.

Somehow, he suddenly became frozen in the dream, while I was not. I grabbed my sister and my little brother and dashed out the giant double doors of this dark house that wasn’t really mine. The neighborhood was so empty and so quiet, and I could feel the murderous boy following me.

Finding refuge in a house far away from my own, past hills and field of grass, I finally felt safe. The house was much lighter and brighter than mine. Silver light and golden stairs with colorful art decorated my new home. The mother of the house had hair just as golden as the house and a voice just as bright and welcoming. All should have been well.

However, I soon found out from the news reports that my best friend Cameron was now dead. The boy took my parents and my best friend. I’m sorry to say that the loss of Cameron hit me much harder than the loss of my parents.

The killings weren’t the scariest part of the dream. In fact, the worst part of my dream was the weeks I had to go to school, completely devastated and distraught that one of my favorite human beings was now gone. It seemed perpetual, going to school day in and day out without having my anchor with me. The scariest part of the dream was the uncanny, realistic depression I felt for “weeks” within my dream. I hope you never have to feel that loss, dream or no dream.