Knock, Knock, Knock


I have this recurring dream.

It’s only been coming since I moved into the apartment. (At least, I think it has. It’s possible it happened at the old place in Nanaimo, too, and I just don’t remember. Let’s not forget that I’ve had way too many concussions in my life, so my memory is not what it used to be. I do know that it doesn’t happen when I’m at Ogre’s.)

I can’t remember what actually happens in the dream.

I only know what happens at the end. Because it always wakes me up, and I always forget the dream almost instantly.

It’s a knocking.

A sharp rap rap rap against my front door. Or, sometimes, the door to my bedroom.

It’s loud, though not angry, and it sounds like it’s actually happening. Insistent, confident, with a presence that tells me there’s someone on the other side of the door.

Depending on what time of day it wakes me up, I either lie under the covers paralyzed with terror, heart pounding, sure that my death is near, or groggy and sleep-logged, blinking in the sunlight, waiting for whoever’s at my door to call out “Katje, wake the fuck up!”

But neither ever happens. The silence stretches, and I either go back to sleep eventually, or get up and start going about my day.

Knock, knock, knock, from some invisible creature, some specter that lives here too. Knock, knock, knock, asking me to acknowledge its presence. Knock, knock, knock, from whatever haunts my dreams, the ones I can’t remember, the ones that still terrify me. Knock knock knock: they’re here in the real world now.

Knock, knock, knock.

Wake up.

You’re no longer dreaming.