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Dear diary,

Here’s a nightmare I had last night.

There was a town high up in the mountains and deep in the woods. The town had a name once, but it doesn’t anymore. It was all built around one huge mansion surrounded by a garden full of roses and apple trees. I was a gardener in the orchard and I worked all day planting secrets in the ground and watering them so they would grow.

The secrets were seeds that looked like owl pellets, or maybe like those little sponge capsules that grow into dinosaurs in the bathtub. The seeds I planted in the orchard grew into little people.

Except some of them didn’t grow right. I started digging up dead ones. Misshapen hands and bones and stuff. There was a hand with nine fingers, a long spine with a pair of eyes hanging off the tailbone, and a bunch of tiny heads without faces held together by roots.

Then there was a woman with a white bag over her head in the garden shed, and when I saw her I was really, really scared. She turned around and there was a dark wet hole where her mouth was supposed to be, and she rattled when she talked. Here’s what she said:

“What is beneath the town beneath, what swallowed by the woods?”

I told her I “hoped I wouldn’t find it,” and then she got angry and stormed away.

Then in the dream I was using a shovel to dig up something that felt like a big rock. I got the dirt off it and reached in with both hands to pull it out of the ground. When I turned it over, it had my face, but it wasn’t me. It was a different me. Another me. I dropped it to the ground and it opened its mouth, and opened it, and opened it even more, and it screamed and screamed and screamed until I woke up, and I was screaming in real life.

I had to turn on the light and everything and I couldn’t stop pulling at my neck to make sure it was still attached to my head. I’m writing it all down, as much as I can remember, because Uncle Ben says that helps get the fear out of your head and pins it where you can see it.

I don’t feel better at all. I might have to throw away the page.

I hope it doesn’t mean anything. When I had the dream about the crawlspace I didn’t think it meant anything, but then Mom told me Uncle Ben was stuck in one when he was little. She believes me about being able to sense things other people can’t, like when she was on the phone with the lady named Jane and I could tell she was listening from the kitchen.

There’s a word that keeps coming up when I’m reading, and it’s important because I keep noticing it the same way I notice the number 409.


OK, so like, I know what memes are. This isn’t that. Wikipedia says “Memetics is the study of information and culture based on an analogy with Darwinian evolution.” I have no idea what that means. Mom just laughed when I brought it up because she knows all the old internet memes and stuff and it just makes her think of that.

Memetics. Memetics. Memetics. I’m seeing it everywhere. It makes me think of the game Telephone we used to play at school. You whisper a message into someone’s ear and it goes all the way down the line, and by the time it reaches the last person, it’s not the same message anymore. It’s all distorted.

Maybe the dream just has me kind of worried but I don’t know if

                   I’m not as sure anymore that Uncle Ben is ok.

Love, Simon

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