I often have dreams about my house having a secret room. Sometimes it's just that; a heretofore forgotten room, usually full of junk and other treasures. Sometimes there'll be an entire new apartment hidden behind a closed door, but usually it's just a room.
Part of the reason for these dreams, besides the obvious symbolism, is I think because there are parts of my house into which I almost never venture. Storage areas and a full-blow storage room. Another reason, I think, is this one house I looked at while I was in the market. I ended up in this house, of course, but that house certainly made an impression on me with all its levels and tiny rooms off the basement. I'd have probably bought it, if only there'd have been enough room for a pool table.
Anyway, tonight I dreamed of yet another secret room in my house. Except this was a room the likes of which I've never dreamed before.
I opened the door set into a wall in my basement, and beyond the door was a giant hillside, sloping down into a green valley. A cute little dirt path led from the door at the top of the hill down into the valley where a small village nestled.Then I woke up.
"Oh boy!" I thought. "Look at all this cool stuff to explore, right here in my own house!"
I entered the new room, and started walking down the path. I noticed a fence to my right, and a black bull on the other side of the fence. That bull matched my pace as I walked down the hill into the valley. Not really menacing, but not friendly either.
The village was deserted. All the doors were locked. It was very frustrating, because I knew I'd have to call the people I'd bought the house from and see if they had any old keys lying around. And that would take time.
I started back up the hill, feeling depressed because my explorations would have to wait.
There was a movie playing on a billboard. Funny how I'd missed it before. The movie's narrator was talking about how, in the olden days, rodeos had used black rhinos instead of bulls. And it was only because rhinos became endangered that the familiar rodeo bull had risen to such popularity.
I had to admit, a rodeo with black rhinos would be pretty fucking cool.
Also, near the fence in a place where I really should have noticed it before, was a little tourist stand. Inside the stand were all kinds of things related to various things about bulls. The only one I really remember was a shirt. There was a whole stack of them, actually. Orange football jerseys with the number 34 in big white letters. Little cards stapled to each shirt asked the question, "Will a bull always charge the color orange?"
And then there was some small type that I didn't have time to read. Because as soon as I'd picked up the shirt and the card, that damn bull broke through its fence. It stood there on the dirt path, glaring and snorting at me.
I ran like a motherfucker to the top of the hill, and I ripped the door open, and I slammed it shut. I just barely made it back to safety. I could feel the bull pressing against the door. Trying to get into my house. Trying to get to me. I pressed all of my weight against the door, knowing that it was only a matter of time.