Radio Induced Stigmata

I had trouble sleeping last night. I woke up around 1:30, and ended up listening to all of Coast to Coast on the radio. Host George Noory interviewed John Zaffis, some sort of paranormal investigator, on hauntings, posssions and exorcisms. Between his stories and all the tales from the crazy callers, I got more than a little creeped out. I eventually fell asleep around five and had a wacked out dream.

In the dream, I was lying down when my childhood dog walked into my room. She was mutt through and through; her mother was a pure bred boarder collie, but the dad was a mutt. My dog ended up with the red-brown fur with white trim of a collie, but the face and floppy ears of something else. Maybe a beagle. Anyway, in the dream she looked like she did towards the end, the hair of her face turning pure white. Her eyeballs were missing, so you could see straight through to the moist-red sockets, and her mouth overflowed with oatmeal.

She barked a raspy but forceful kind of bark and walked out of the room. For some reason I followed. After walking out of my bedroom I was in my gradnparent's old house in Wisconsin, a place I haven't been to or seen in at least 25 years. The lights were off, and it was cold. Clouds of air puffed out of my mouth. Although I couldn't see her anymore, I heard my dog's claws click-clacking on the linoluem floor somewhere up ahead. So I kept walking.

Being dark, I couldn't see much of anything. I walked slowly, navigating myself by touch around chairs and sofas that shouldn't have been there. I finally made it to the kitchen. A red light shone from the ceiling, and my dog was there slowly wagging her tail. After standing there a minute or two, she got impatient and nosed her food dish.

"Hungry, I guess," I said.

I looked at the kitchen table and saw a raw side of beef. I reached out to start tearing flesh off for my dog when I noticed something odd about the back of my hands. Both hands had tiny pinpricks on the back; I held them up to my eye, first one, and then the other. Both were punctured clear through. If I placed the whole up to my eye, I could see through it like a pin hole camera.

I then flipped over my hand, and became sick to my stomach. My palms were bloody and torn, and the deep wounds seem to grow as I watched. Before long, my entire hands faded away, to be replaced with nothing more than the empty space of the pinprick hole.

Although I feel like there's more, that's all I remember.

Excelsior.