Indeed, I had had many sleepless nights in my parents’ house. Nightmares haunted me incessantly as a child, resulting in hours of early-morning reading time as I awaited the dawning of a new day. Sister and I thought ghosts dwelled in our house and were determined to get us. Sometimes we would hide under the covers holding hands, praying our collective strength was sufficient to ward off evil. By morning, we would rise joyfully, relieved the previous night had not been our last. However, I must have fallen asleep at least briefly, for I remember having had the strangest dream. I was seventy or eighty years old, walking with a cane down a dusty dirt road. The sun was shining resplendently, and suddenly I found myself entangled with a host of beasts. The first was big and red, with one eye. He had alligator skin and tigerlike teeth. The monster stood at least nine feet tall and weighed well over a ton. I was swinging my cane with all my aged might, but the red beast was clearly my physical superior.
What do You think about They Tell Me Of A Home: A Novel?
