The soft touch of her hand caressed the back of my neck as I sat upon the bed in the dim light of the evening lamp, a cool breeze coming from the open window, the street noises occasionally echoing in the halls of my room, the dull low rumble of the city layered below. Shivers ran down my spine and the hairs on the back of my head stood up. It was a perfect spring evening with the scent of cross pollination in the air. Budding trees held new shiny leaves just outside the window. She leaned into my naked back and her warmth met mine in perfect contour. She melted into me. I felt the dread of loneliness then. The emptiness of being one, alone, not sharing, no one to care what happens in my world but myself, and sometimes even I don’t care, capitulation being a long tradition running through my life. Scattered pictures of her embrace echoed in the darkness of my dream.
Following is an official OnlineBookClub.org review of “Dream State” by Charles R Hinckley.
4 out of 4 stars
When August was almost thirty years of age, he started experiencing intense dreams of people dying. Initially, he merely thought they were nightmares. Then, a dream about the death of a young woman named Emma began repeating. Because they were incredibly vivid and believable, he started looking for the place of her death, discovered it, and later was able to find her. Regrettably, she thought he was creepy and didn’t believe him. Sadly, dreams of her soon stopped because of her murder. This dream was followed by one of a man named Carrillo, who was observed dying from a car accident. August tracked him down; instead of listening and using the information to save himself, Carrillo threatened to injure him. A short time afterward, Carrillo died in the foreseen car accident.
August is tired of no one believing him and being unable to alter the outcome of his dreams. Realizing he possesses an ability for finding people and wanting to utilize his gift constructively, August decides to become a “Psychic Detective.” Subsequently, he places an ad in the paper. His first client is a creepy, morbidly obese hoarder by the name of Frank, who had something tragic happen in his childhood and has been haunted since. He is hoping August can dream about that event and figure out what to do to get his life back on track. Then, Emma’s sister, Carla, requests his help in apprehending Emma’s killer since the police are getting nowhere. Although she is gorgeous and August feels drawn to her, she is not entirely forthcoming with information. With his friend Mill, a retired computer tech millionaire, August begins trying to solve both cases. However, there is a lot more to being a detective than he had realized, including dangerous situations.
At 301 pages, Dream State: The Sleeping Detective Series Book One by Charles R. Hinckley is a thrilling and suspenseful crime novel with aspects of paranormal activity, romance, and humor mixed in. The author’s prose is highly descriptive and easy to understand. Although the first book in the series, it is a standalone novel with the salient points answered satisfactorily by the end. It transports readers into August’s world and holds them captivated as he solves his cases, frequently making rookie mistakes. The suspense represented my favorite aspect of the book as the novel kept me tense and spellbound.
The character development is superb in the novel. Because it is narrated from August’s first-person point of view, we are able to understand his thinking and motives. Although unsure of himself and frequently rushing into things without a clear plan, he has the best of intentions. His loyal friend Mill supports him every step of the way, even being willing to endanger himself; however, this may partially be because he is lonely, bored, and craves excitement. Their humorous repartee lightens the mood.
Because August wasn’t typically given the luxury of knowing the names of the people in his dreams, he assigned them nicknames like “Skateboard Kid” and “Motorcycle Jacket.” Most of the time, these were not disparaging. Frank’s name was known; nonetheless, August nicknamed him “Fat Man,” though not to his face. This was unnecessary and derogatory, and there are people who will be offended by it. It was one of the few things I disliked about the book.
I encountered a few minor grammatical and punctuation errors, which were not distracting; it was most likely professionally edited. Therefore, Dream State: The Sleeping Detective Series Book One achieves a rating of four out of four stars. It doesn’t deserve anything less because it is also intriguing and difficult to put down. It is enthusiastically recommended to readers who enjoy paranormal novels with suspense and mystery. Frequent profanities, some violence, and occasional sex scenes (not overly explicit) are encountered in the story. Subsequently, it is unsuitable for children and sensitive readers.
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He stood on the trail and waited for the men to tie up and approach. A tall, lean man, about thirty-five came first, followed by a short, stocky fellow wearing a black leather jacket. The jacket seemed out of place on the Maine coast, more appropriate for a motorcycle. They walked slowly toward him and he decided to meet them before they got too close.
“How do?” he said.
“Fair to middling,” said the tall man. They stopped a few feet from him and looked over his shoulder, to the cottage. The stocky guy seemed agitated and sweaty. He chewed a toothpick, turning it with his tongue until the splintered side hung out, then turned it back again. The tall guy was slick and calm, a wry smile on his face.
“This is private property, I suppose you know?”
“We’re looking for a missing woman. She fell off a boat a few days ago.”
He smiled, and almost laughed at the man’s statement. “A woman fell off a boat? Like a cruise ship, or something? I heard that happens quite a bit.”
“She fell off my trawler.”
“How big is that? A fishing trawler, sport, or what?”
“Sport, I guess. Forty-two foot.”
“Sounds nice. No railings, though, huh?”
The two men stared at him. Stocky Guy stopped chewing the splintered toothpick and spit it out. Tall Guy’s eyes watered, like he was biting the inside of his cheek and was trying to hide the pain.
“Well, I haven’t heard anything from the coast guard. You called them, right? They usually call me right away, someone falls off a boat around here.”
The stocky guy grunted and spit. “Are we amusing you?”
“Are we amusing you in some way or something?”
“No, of course not. It’s just a strange story. Think I’d have heard about a man-overboard situation.”
“Well, we had one. Checking all the islands near the mishap,” Tall Guy said.
“Good plan,” he said. “Where’d you say this happened?”
Tall Guy pointed out at the bay. “A few miles -”
“Who’s the girl?” The stocky one interrupted, and nodded toward the cottage.
“Well, that’s an interesting question. Seems she fell off a boat a few days ago and doesn’t remember much else. Said somebody was gonna come looking for her. That you?”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Tall Guy asked.
“I just did.”
“Is she all right?”
He was looking for signs of relief or joy, but observed none. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“I’m her husband.” Tall Guy said. “I’m Bill and this is my brother, Jack.” The stocky guy nodded.
“Does she have some sort of medical condition, makes her forget things?”
“No,” Bill said. “Why?”
“Well, she doesn’t seem to know where she came from, or remember anything before the other night.”
Bill shook his head, then glanced at Jack, who just squinted. “We’ll get her to a doctor.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Bill started walking toward the house, but he stepped in from of him. “Why don’t I go talk to her, tell her you’re here and we can go from there?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jack asked.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked.
“Well, she’s a bit skittish since she came on shore. Spooks easily. The shock of seeing you might make her worse.”
“Are you serious?” Bill asked.
“What’s your name, again?” he asked.
“Bill. What’s your name?”
“Garrett what?” asked Jack.
Garrett looked at him and then turned toward the cottage. “Wait here. I’ll get Jane,” he said.
“Who’s Jane?” asked Bill.
“Isn’t that her name?”
“No, my girl’s named, Rose. Rose Matheson.”
“Well, maybe two different girls fell overboard. This one’s named Jane.”
Garrett walked up the path toward the cottage. Jack and Bill started to walk with him, but Garrett turned and they stopped. “Just wait here. I’ll see if Jane wants to come see you.”
“If Jane wants to…” mumbled Jack. He took a step closer to Garrett, but Bill grabbed him by the arm.
“Go, go ahead. We’ll wait,” said Bill.
“You sure?” asked Garrett, looking Bill in the eye. Bill looked to the cottage, then back at Garrett and nodded. He turned slowly and walked up the hill.
She was building a fire when he walked in. On her knees, prodding the kindling with a poker. She didn’t look up when he shut the door. “Those two, they the one’s coming for you?” he asked. She shrugged and said nothing. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” She ignored him, poked at the fire with a piece of kindling. “What happened the other night? Were you trying to escape something? Were you pushed off that boat? What happened, Rose?”
She stood and turned to him. “Don’t call me that.”
“That’s your name isn’t it? Rose. Or are they the liars?” She looked at the window, but he knew she couldn’t see them from where she stood. “Why wasn’t the Coast Guard called?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“They want to come up here, to take you back.”
Foot falls rang hollow on the front porch. She turned quickly toward the sound, her eyes lit like firecrackers.
“This is all pretty dramatic, don’t you think, Jane, Rose or whatever your name is?” She wrapped her arms around herself and stood watching the door. “Why don’t we all sit down and have a cup of coffee and talk about it?”
“Fine, I’ll tell them to go.”
“No,” she said. “I’ll see them. Stay by me.” He nodded and they walked to the door. He could see the men standing on the porch, talking quietly.
“If you don’t want to go, just say so and I’ll tell them to leave.”
She nodded and stood guilelessly in front of the door, waiting for Garret to open it. The men on the porch turned and looked at her as she stepped outside. She let out a little gasp and held her hand to her mouth when she saw Bill. He took hold of her hand and kissed it.
“Rose. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She flung herself against him and they hugged for a long time. Then she turned to Garrett and smiled. “I’ll go now. Thanks for all your help.”
Garrett was stunned by her quick turnaround. He was sure she would reject Bill and wanted to stay on the island. Then he realized that notion was a fantasy. She had to go. She wasn’t meant for him, no matter how lonely he was or how she made him feel alive again.
“Don’t forget your clothes,” Garratt said, and walked back into the cottage. He went to the bedroom and gathered her clothes drying in the bathroom, and returned to the porch. Jane was wandering toward where they’d picked the berries, Bill close behind her, apparently pleading his case. Jack stood near the porch and looked up a Garrett.
“What’s going on?” asked Garrett.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, and sat down on the steps.
“Is she all right? I mean, does she have mental problems?” asked Garrett.
Jack turned his head slowly, deliberately and looked at Garrett. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Her memory. She doesn’t seem to recall anything that happened the night she fell overboard. If that’s what happened.”
“She’s fine,” Jack said. He reached out and snatched a piece of tall grass and stuck it in his mouth, gnashing it between his teeth. Bill and Rose stood high up on the path and talked. Jane seemed frightened, forlorn even. She turned to go further down up the path, but Bill took hold of her arm. She lifted it away from him and he grabbed her by the shoulder and spin her around to face him. Garrett walked down the porch steps and started to call her name, when Jack stood and touched his shoulder.
“Let them be,” Jack said.
“Who the hell are you?” Garrett asked, and started to walk toward the couple. Jack stood in Garrett’s path and looked him in the eye.
“She’s his wife,” Jack said.
Garrett stopped dead and watched the couple continue to argue. Then he called out to her. “Jane, are you all right?” They both looked at him, spoke a few more words to each other, then walked back toward the cottage. Garrett held her clothes loosely in his right hand. Bill walked over to him and grabbed the bundle. Garret held on tight.
“Her things.” Bill stared into Garrett’s eyes, almost testing him to do something about it. Garrett let go of the clothes and walked over to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked her. She looked unhappily at him and nodded, but said nothing. “Is this man your husband?” he asked, pointing to Bill. She nodded, yes. “Are you happy to go with him?” She seemed to think for a second, then nodded in the affirmative.
“I’m leaving now,” she said in a robotic tone. “Thanks for all your help. I’m sorry if I’ve been a burden.”
“No, you haven’t been a burden. I’m concerned.”
She cocked her head and gave him an inquisitive look. “Oh,” she said. Before he could say anything more, Bill took her arm and steered her toward the path leading to the dock. She turned and looked toward Garrett, a faint smile pulling up the corners of her mouth, then she turned away, her hair blowing the breeze. Jack followed dutifully behind, holding her clothes under his arm.
Garrett watched the strangers take her onto the small boat and push off from the dock. They made the rookie mistake of not starting the outboard until they were clear of shore, and the boat started to drift in the current. Bill pushed off a large rock while Jack yanked on the outboard starter rope. Garrett would have been amused, had the circumstance not been so unsettling. The engine finally cranked up in a fit of blue smoke and the boat roared off.
He stood at the top of the trail, watching until they were out of sight, then turned and walked back to the cottage.
Suddenly, he felt alone, and small, unsettled even. He looked up at the cottage, framed against the tumultuous cloud formations running across the sky, and he wished for his wife. She would have made the cottage a home. As he measured his loneliness against the promise off what could have been, he noticed something looked askew. The cottage profile was different. Then he realized the antenna for his CB radio wasn’t where it should be.
He walked to the side of the cottage and stood staring at the broken antenna. It was severely bent down in the middle, the tip touched the ground. There were no broken branches or any indication of what may have brought it down. He’d been through worse storms than the one last night, and the antenna had weathered well. Then he noticed marks on the side of the antenna. They were laid in black, and appeared to be finger prints made with tar. Upon further inspection, he realized the tar he’d laid down at the base of the antenna had been disturbed by someone’s hand and that hand had brought down his antenna. Garrett looked out at the bay to see if any boats loitered off shore, but saw none.
The violation of his equipment sent a jolt of anger through him. Jack, the round little man, had done this while he’d been in the house talking to the girl. How had he done it so quietly? He remembered seeing a bit of black on Jack’s shirt. Garret had thought it paint stains. Now he knew, the tar had come off the antenna and onto Jack’s hand. The proof was in front of him. On the ground near the antenna, in a tall patch of grass, he found a log and realized it was used to leverage the antenna back into a fold. He was flush with anger as he carried the log to the woodshed and dumped back it inside.
After retrieving a roll of scotch tape from the cottage, he stood by the antenna and pulled two pieces from the dispenser and sealed them together, making a wider strip. Pressing the tape onto the fingerprint, he carefully lifted it from the aluminum tube. Holding the tape up to the sky, he saw they were a good, clean set of prints. He placed two more strips of tape over the sticky fingerprint and sealed it tight. He tucked the tape into his wallet. Inspecting the wires running from the antenna to the cottage, he found a cut line. The wire was cut cleanly, probably with a sharp knife. Garrett began to worry about Jane.
Taking the ends of the wire in hand, he pulled out his pocket knife and carefully cut back the plastic casing surrounding the ends. Once clear of the lining, he twisted the wires back together in a kind of braid that he hoped would hold until he could pull a new wire. He decided to go into town and get a new aluminum pole for the antenna, and perhaps take a ride to the sheriff’s office to see about a missing girl and the two men. No doubt, Jack and Bill were not their real names, just as Rose was probably not her real name.
Looking back on what had happened in the last twenty-four-hours, he began to wonder how any of it could be believed. A beautiful girl shows up, wet, afraid, suffering from amnesia, cuddles with him in his bed. Two bad men come to fetch her, and damage his equipment when he’s not looking. It was crazy. But it was real. He had the proof. Perhaps, he’d take that to the sheriff’s office. He looked down at his boat tied to the dock and wondered if they had done anything to the engine.
Dream State is out on Audible, and it kicks butt! Brett Boles, is funny, and charming and so GOOD narrating this novel! It’s a psychic detective novel, full of fun and characters that…
Well, here’s a review: “…This book was really good. It tells a fast-paced story with an interesting story-line. Private investigators are always interesting to read about, but one that uses his dreams to help find people make the interest level double. This book has action, mystery, intrigue, and great characters…” Four stars!
August Chase is an ordinary man plagued by extraordinary precognitive dreams. When he foresees the brutal murder of a young woman, he tracks her down to warn her. His warnings go unheeded, and the dreamed murder becomes a reality. The victim’s sister, frustrated by slow police work, enlists August’s help, and he is launched into his first case as a private investigator. Delving deep into the victim’s life, he soon discovers a common thread in the shadowy world that may have claimed her. This is book One of the August Chase Mystery Series.
5.0 out of 5 stars A mash-up somewhere between Raymond Chandler and Doctor Strange.Reviewed in the United States on April 3, 2017Verified PurchaseI quite enjoyed Charles R. Hinckley’s novel, Dream State.
The psychic detective genre, in general, is a tricky one, a mash-up somewhere between Raymond Chandler and Doctor Strange. Hinckley pulls it off by writing well. He grounds his characters solidly in a New York I could recognize, and gives them realistic, often humorous dialog. This makes the fantastical excursions into August Chase’s pre-cognitive “dream state” more compelling. On top of that, the writing is extremely visual, forcefully propelling Chase through a complex series of interrelated encounters in both this world and the next, and bringing it all to a satisfying resolution. It’s a book worth your attention. Dream State: The Sleeping Detective Series Book One
Dreaming Wide Awake
The dead steal my dreams. They come into my head and play pinball with my thoughts, my emotions, my very life. Pick a night, any night:
My heart pounds. I can barely make out the digits on my clock as they jump in a frantic dance. Are my eyes that dry? I can barely make out the numbers. My guess is four AM. The ringing in my ears is louder. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Cool air fills my lungs. I open my eyes, a dark spot, like an evil cloud in the shape of a man in a long robes hovers in front of me. As my eyes adjust, the dark man dissolves into shadows. My back is drenched in sweat. I shiver and wrap the sheets around my body. Another clawing death dream has shaken me to my core.
I turn on the bed-side lamp and grab a pen and look around for paper. I tear the cover off a magazine and take notes. It was dark. Outside, perhaps. In a park. The woman was in her late thirties. Dark shoulder length hair. Somebody was attacking her. Did I see a knife? A mugging? And her scream. The same bloody scream I’d heard in countless dreams. Just remembering it sends shivers down my back.
I sip water from the glass I keep by the bed for just such emergencies, and take another deep breath. My heart begins to slow. I lie back, saying aloud, “Please, Just make it stop….”
But in that clawing plea, the only thing I’d managed to make go away was my girlfriend of six months. She’d had enough of the nightly carnage, the fitful dreams, screaming in the night, pushing her out of bed. After almost strangling her in her sleep, she finally moved on. Because I couldn’t. I’d give up everything, all my measly possessions: my clothes, prized record collection, new computer, TV, bank account, everything I own, if only it would just stop.
Ripping through another person’s fate is exhausting. The violence is terrifying. I’ve seen people hit by cars, shot, crushed by busses…you get the idea.
My last case began with black sedan careening over the side of a bridge and falling a hundred feet into a raging river. Both occupants were killed. But that was my precognition. That was just a dream. They hadn’t died…yet. So, I sought out the victims and tried to warn them. But they wouldn’t listen. (Most my warnings often unheeded.) They were killed a week later in the exact same accident I saw in my dream. But, hey, who doesn’t have quirks? I’m a damn good detective.
Ghost in a Box
It must be the medication. The dreams have been vivid these past few days. Spiders, strange obstacles to overcome, and now…ghosts. This isn’t the first time I’ve dreamed of the dead coming back to haunt me. There have been several that I can remember. The most vivid ghost dreams involved an old buddy of mine. I was good friends with him many years ago. We were young and a bit on the wild side, I must confess. After moving away and many life changes, I hadn’t talked to him for almost 20 years. He kept coming into my dreams and taking them over. He was a rowdy guy, always drinking, carousing, having fun, so the dreams always involved him in car chases, or getting into a fight and beating up somebody. He even threatened to kill me in one dream. Held a knife toward me. Very menacing. After each dream visit, I’d awaken and wonder why the hell I was thinking of him. I began to ask him, in my dream, to leave me alone. I’d be having a very normal dream and suddenly, there he was, riding up on a motorcycle or convertible muscle car. He take me away and we’d find our selves in some drug filled party or elaborate scheme too convoluted to be remembered upon waking. Upon waking, I’d wonder out loud, why? And ask him to please go away. Finally, I did an internet search for the guy and found he’d died the same month I started dreaming about him. That was a little freaky. And sad. It was chilling seeing his obituary photo and realizing he was no more. He died young, but I wasn’t surprised. He’d lived hard and died young, just the way he said he would.
I’d had another series of dreams where my old roommate of four years kept showing up, only each time the dream was about him renting out my room. I’d come home to find a strangers cluttering up my room, my bed gone, a series of cots installed and me, in a state of shock and despair, climbing over people to get to my bed. Variations of this dream repeated for several months, always involving strangers taking over my room, often they were drug addicts and derelicts. I’d moved on and lost touch with my former roommate several years ago. Out of frustration and curiosity, I performed an internet search. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I searched his name and home town, his alma mater, Facebook and found nothing. Finally, I asked him to please leave me alone and I haven’t had more than a few dreams of him in the last few years. I am assuming he has passed. Probably a long time ago, of complications from drug and alcohol addiction. He, too, was a hard-party guy, and loved that life a little too much. (Don’t ask how I found these guys, because I am a wimp. I don’t even drink anymore)
Ghosts have been a theme in my dreams since I was a kid. My first ghost nightmare came in the form of a leathery, gray haired old hag, rocking in her chair and staring at me, a knowing squint in her eye, and somehow forcing me to giver her a kiss. I remember screaming, “It’s the old hag!” and I became hysterical, bit her, then ran off.
But last night. That was a good one. It involved a ghost on a television. I and my family, who were a mixture of my current family and the family I grew up with, rented a haunted house by the sea. It was an old, white Victorian home, with many large rooms, all trimmed in wood, with great windows and high ceilings. We were unaware of the ghostly residents, until in the middle of the night, the lights came on, a cold wind ripped through the house blowing everyone’s hair around like flopping wigs, and the TV came to life, depicting a wailing ghost, screaming for us to get out of her house. The feeling of fear, panic and anxiety was palpable. As we scurried to leave just as a fire broke out and dashed past wind whipped flames and laughing specters.
Later in the dream, I was talking to another friend about the experience and he suddenly become very serious and wanted to know all he could about the screaming, fire-starting spooks. I remember telling him about the ghost on the TV, who was young, maybe about twelve, a girl, with wild hair and crazy eyes. I also mentioned that the fire department had come, and that we’d gone back to the house only to wander through the partially singed, smoke scented rooms. The Victorian stood on a cliff, near the ocean, next door to a boyhood summer home we’d had. (This configuration was impossible, but so was the dream) I suggested we rent the other house, but no-one seemed to know or care about that, because, as usual the dream began to decay into a unfocused jumble. And then I woke up.
I immediately went on Facebook to look-up the friend who had shown an interest in the ghosts, but he hadn’t posted since November. I’m sure he’s fine, alive and well. It’s not knowing for sure that stays with me, in the back of my mind. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is. Maybe it’s the sleeping meds I took last night. I don’t know. Seems I always tend to dream of dead people, whether medicated or not. And spooky kids in a box.
If you want, you can read more about ghosts and dreams in my psychic detective series, Dream State, on Amazon.
The Lucid Spider
This is the spider I saw on the ceiling this morning. I drew him in ink and took this photo to show you what he looked like. I’m calling him Gray Ghost. He appeared above my head and walked toward the bedpost before fading away. I closed my eyes and quickly reopened them, to see the spider back in original spot. It walked toward the wall, again, as if on repeat. My first thought; It’s not real. Probably a lucid dream.
Lucid dreaming is when you become aware you are dreaming and sometimes even begin to actively control your dream. (Comes in handy with certain types of dreams, but I won’t elaborate) Although, each time I become aware I am dreaming and try to control my lucid dream, it quickly evaporates into the ether and I awaken. Apparently, lucid dreamers have a more highly developed area of the brain that allows for self-reflection. If what I’ve been thinking lately can be called self-reflection (rather that self-deprecation), then yes, I would lean toward this notion. I tend to self-reflect quite a bit. Not because I’m self-absorbed, as much as the fact that I am a writer, a thinker and an artist. You must think to write and paint.
However, upon some research, I realized this was probably a Hypnagogic Hallucination. I’ve been having that type of hallucination for years. Several times I have awakened to find a dark figure standing at the edge of my bed, and although I can’t see a face, the figure is apparently staring at me, as if this ungodly creature was wanting something unfathomable.
Another particularly vivid hallucination came after playing a video game entitled, Red Barron, a WWI bi-plane aerial combat game. I awoke to observe a small red bi-plane fly into my bedroom and come straight at me. It was so tangibly real, I sat up in bed, threw a pillow at it, and yelled, “Get out!” My wife did not understand, nor appreciate my reaction.
The thing that’s strange about the spider hallucination though, was after closing and re-opening my eyes, Gray ghost reappeared, in the exact same spot on the ceiling as before and began its short, spidery journey toward the wall. I know it wasn’t real, because of the way it looked. It was a ghost. A large, Gray Ghost of a spider, crawling slowly across the ceiling. And yes, it was as creepy as it sounds.
Why a spider, I ask myself? Why not something else, like a flower or a beetle? I have no hatred or fear of spiders, beyond that of any normal person. I haven’t been bitten by a black widow or nuclear infused spider. I haven’t been seeing them in the yard or the house, lately. And yet, I saw the damn thing in my strange half-sleep state. So next time, if there is a next time, when it comes, I’ll be ready. I’ve been training myself to lucid dream. Part of which is to remind yourself (if you can, it’s quite difficult) that you are dreaming. If Gray Ghost spider comes back, I’ll be ready. I’ll remember to remind myself to fall back into a lucid dream and then I’ll kill the little bastard! I wonder if Gray Ghost spiders leave any splatter?
Get Dream State on Amazon! A Gus Chase, Sleeping Detective, precog. novel. Fun read.