Stephen King couldn't even dream this stuff up

But first, let me tell you my recurring dream history. Because there is one. That might mean something too.

I had two recurring dreams as a child and each of them popped up every now and again over the course of my whole childhood.

The home where I grew up had a double backyard, expansive blocks down the stretch of the street, most were fenced off and the back backyards were used to run chickens in, or grow vegetables in, spaces where children would build cubbies or make out with boyfriends out of the line of sight, Ours did all these things over the years.

This one dream involved the back backyard. I'd find myself drawn out there, it was always night, and I would suddenly fall down a shaft in the ground. Sucked down into the netherworld. And in this world beneath the surface there lived this colony of giant rabbits, who would walk about, human like, on their rear legs. They weren't a friendly bunch of bunnies, more like mad scientists, conducting awful experiments on my family and friends. We'd all be stuck in these glass tubes, struggling to get out, each of us sucked down to meet our death.

I had this dream on and off for years. And, when I was feeling brave, I'd venture into the back backyard, always in broad daylight, to see if I could find the holes in the ground, thinking I would be able to board them over, and we would all be safe. But there was nothing there.

Another dream involved this thing that lived in the toilet in our house. Our hallway was a relatively long one, my bedroom at one end, living spaces at the other. The toilet was about midway. I'd dream that I'd be walking to the loungeroom, pass the toilet and then all of a sudden it would appear. This black spheroid thing with legs and a crazed sharp-toothed smile. I'd be trying to run away but I would get drawn back in some gravitational pull, unable to call out to my parents for help. And it would drag me into the toilet and then I'd wake up before my fate was known.

It might seem like my childhood was full of nightmares, far from it, unless you count terry towelling and bad 80s perms. I developed a knack of knowing when these dreams, or indeed any other bad dream, might be about to occur. A physical reaction that involved blackness and hot flushes and bodily tremors. A bit like menopause I'm realising now.

And the other night this happened again.

In this latest dream I am living in some bad motel, the kind of U-shaped two-storey place with a numbered spot out the front for your car, like you'd find in country towns or Narradundah. You know the ones I mean. All there is is one room, with a double bed covered in some brown quilt, a shelf for the white plastic kettle and small television. But the bathroom here is majestic in a Stephen King couldn't even think this up kind of way. There's a huge tree in the bathroom, shedding leaves and debris all the time, the tiled floor covered in rotting brown matter. It's getting progressively worse. For the four nights I've been having this dream, the level of the undergrowth has increased, I'm covered in dirt and bugs and I have to fight my way to the bath. On the third night the bath was full of cherries, the water tinged blood red, the drain blocked, and I'm swishing the cherries away, trying to find a way for the water to escape. But I can't.

And then on the fourth night, I did escape. I walked out of the hotel into a street scape, it was Melbourne, an old suburb, maybe Essendon, obviously monied up, with a cafe on the corner, and old brick houses, tastefully restored. And then I saw an old boyfriend I hadn't thought of for ages. He was with a group of women, none who were familiar, and they were laughing walking down the street. I followed them. He turned and saw me. So I ran back to the hotel, finding solace in my leaf filled rotting bathroom. Curled up in the corner, pressed against the cold tiles.

So there you go. I can't say it's been fun getting off to bed but I kind of want to know what happens, where this is taking me. Part of me wants to know what it all means. But do dreams ever mean anything, like life, should we just let them unfold. But if those pesky rabbits or the spheroid thing turn up, I'm done.