I remember very few details. It was night, and I was staying overnight at a House for reasons unknown to me (perhaps I was too gone to leave). I didn’t even know the owner of The House. My mind fills in the holes…. I am pretty sure I arrived here with my brothers, and I think I was told that The House was one of brother’s friends’ place. For some reason, I found the environment unimportant up until a certain point. But what was that point? And who was I then? I was surely not the me that had arrived. Half of me was asleep, passed out in a haze of acid-splatter candy-colored-flavored frequencies of Hendrix and Morrison. The other half was me, and the me that filled the sleeper’s void was a new one.
I had regained a kind of consciousness in the screened-in, renovated patio area. The dark of the night sky told me is was well into the early morning hours but still a while off until dawn. My movements getting to my feet were slow, like fighting weighted balloons on my limbs and peering through petroleum-smeared goggles. I could function, but I was wobbly, breaking into a million pieces and fluttering back together in a fraction of a second. The motion lights in the back yard were on. I don’t remember when or in what succession they turned on. I just knew that something moved close enough to The House to trigger all of them.
As I walked clumsily to the screen door to get a better look outside, I noticed that not many people were on the patio with me, and the few that were had crashed. I was the only awake and the only one to bear witness to whatever it was that was moving outside. Peering out into the yard, I didn’t see anything, not even shadows. I was in full observation mode with no fear in me, just intrigue. While I was searching, I was hit with vague impressions or memories. I had no idea from where or who I was receiving them.
I saw colored paper lanterns, intoxicated Asians, fake gold decorations and numerous incarnations of The Dragon. Was this a Chinese New Year celebration? Music and spoken word mingled so I could not make sense of anything I heard. There was a strange feeling that seemed to loom over the party. The people that seemed not to notice the feeling ended up either leaving the party or falling asleep. Those that were left in the atmosphere showed signs of discomfort or uneasiness. Many did not speak of it at all, but tried to forget or ignore it. During this time, I had become a little more interested in finding out what was going on… was something here, affecting this room? My eyes scanned the yard of The House while my mind scanned the scene in my head. I felt the aire in the yard similar to the one over the room. I saw nothing with my eyes, but images of fire-breathers grew in my head. I took notice of someone toward the edge of the room that I had not seen amongst the louder festivities before the room had cleared a bit. The person sat quietly alone with his/her hair in front of most of its face. Were they rocking slightly? I saw a compilation of people in the person, some particular faces came out more than others. At this time my body had mimicked the scene in my mind; I found myself physically closer to the other corner of the room, diagonal from the screen door. I was looking into an empty corner and a compiled persona simultaneously.
Mentally we had a conversation. I felt my desire to find out “what IT was” (whatever my attention had drawn to.. the feeling, the aire, the creation of tension and unease). This persona likened the IT to a Dragon, but not the Eastern Dragons or Western ones even. IT took the form of a Dragon, but was not a Dragon.
“You’re chasing a dragon that will never help you,” the persona said aloud to me through stringy black hair. I knew they had experience.
I took this comment, knowing that the persona was speaking from experience. I did not respond with a comment, but with action. I dropped my interst in the Dragon immediately, determining that whatever IT was, IT was after whoever allowed it access to themselves. I was not about to end up like this emptiness in the corner. As soon as I had made the decision, the scene in my mind vanished, and I awoke in another part of The House.
I had been slumbering in quilts and sleeping bags on hardwood floors. The TV was on, some Asian action movie was playing in the background. Lights were on all through The House though it was still ~4AM. I heard a lot of noise from upstairs: music, talking, coughing, and walking. I knew the sounds were from my brothers and their friends in one of the bedrooms. Looking around, I saw that some people were still around me asleep or half-asleep on the floor or couches.
I was slightly dazed and disoriented, wondering what had happened in the last couple hours. Looking down, I found a pouch. I instinctively knew it was mine though it resembled nothing I have in waking life. The pouch was solid but was able to change shape, rotating from a tree stump to a small metal box to a card-holder to a glitter snowglobe with a faery statue inside. The items contained within it are still vague to me, but I can remember that they were rare, important and magical.
I heard rapping on the front door so I promptly hid my “pouch” before checking the peephole. Two cops were at the door. I answered, figuring they were called on account of the noise and that I would be able to placate their worries with reasoning with the boys upstairs. When did I become mom or Wendy? Both the cops were friendly enough and seemed to be more annoyed with being called for such a task rather than upset with the party. I was sure there was no problem… but then all 3 of us smelled something… definitely pot, maybe some other smoke as well, coming from upstairs. While they were fine ignoring the possibility of drugs a minute ago, their faces became stony at the smell.
“Ok, ma’am, we have to come inside now.”
In the room I had been sleeping in, there were 2 full glass cases of pipes and bongs next to another glass case of flasks and martini glasses. Strange novelty and antique items were interspersed within the glass cases and posters of old horror flicks, rock bands and Betty Page hung from ceiling to floor. The whole set-up conveyed an aire of seediness that the cops were very perturbed about. They asked whose House it was. When I claimed not to know, they became suspicious. They attempted to hold me responsible for the contents of The House and all the activities within.
I fought their accusations without pinning others responsible. The last pieces I remember were the cops trying to interrogate me while I kept the pouch hidden.