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  • Writer's pictureDamiaan van der Werf

Entrées de Nuit: III

Dreamt the night of the 4th of February 2023 and recollected as follows:


I found myself standing atop a blackened, ashen hilltop amidst a raging thunderstorm. The sky was charcoal in complexion and pocketed by streaks of vibrant, scarlet lightning and booming thunderclaps. Howling currents carried flakes of ash and dust high into the air, which were illuminated against the night’s sky by a spectral moonlight and by the intermittent lightning. 

A stone door stood before me at the hill’s summit, formed of square slabs of black-grey stone. A pulsating and electrical-looking light coursed through the grooves in between the stones in multicolour. The next moment, the door had been transmuted into a gate, the middle of the black stones that formerly composed it having become hollowed out, producing a grill with bars. I passed my hand through the gaps in the grill, and put my phone through to take pictures of what was on the other side.


Through the gate I could see a stone bridge—made of the same black-grey material as the door—that extended over a roiling sea, leading to an island on the other side. Atop the island stood a volcano, billowing plumes of black smoke into the sky and glowing red with lava at its peak. The bridge was fearsomely unnatural, bending up and down radically—whipping impossibly quickly between great heights and lows as though contorted by the work of some aberrant and demonic possession. The “sea” over which the bridge crossed appeared to be situated in a canyon, for it too was whipping up and down in synchronicity with the bridge, and as it reached its lows the sheer and nauseating depth of the canyon became clear.


As I appraised the situation, I heard voices from beneath the ground screaming and berating me; the voice of my parents. Beside me, a female figure appeared and assured me that the photos were good.

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