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February 2002

Feb 3 - Feb 4 - Feb 11 - Feb 21 - Feb 26 - Feb 27

February 3, 2002

It was a bright sunny day with a clear blue, minimally clouded sky. It was summer. Lisa, myself, Sarah and William were driving around in our Mercury Villager. Lisa was in the driver’s seat, I was in the passenger seat, and Sarah and William were in the seat directly behind us. We drove by Wildwood Park, which looked more like the Clear Lake compound instead of Wildwood Park but it was indeed the park. The park area was very open instead of the woodsy place it actually is. There was a nice green lawn with various oak-type trees dotting the lawn. Beyond the initial lawn were some woods but I can’t remember much detail about them. The park was full of people. Hanging from some of the trees were dead, naked human bodies. Their hands had been tied behind their backs and ropes were fastened about their necks and the ropes were tied to branches above them from which they dangled. This should have frightened me a hell of a lot more than it did, and I never really stopped to wonder why the police had not investigated what was happening here because this scene was wide open and available to view to anyone who drove by. The park was to the right of us as we drove by and for some reason, Lisa pulled into the gravel driveway that sloped down into this compound. I’m not sure why she did this but once she had, I knew we were trapped in this place. There were a lot of people around and the ones who ran this place were men and woman who reminded me of Nazis. They didn’t wear any swastikas or clothing that suggested they were apostles of the Third Reich but I just got the feeling they were because of the fear in the air and of what these evil people did to others, such as hanging people from trees. We were directed to park in a gravel parking lot. Lisa pulled into a spot that was slightly sloped uphill, maybe 15 degrees, and facing the road. I remember seeing a lot of white-skinned men and women, all of them in their twenties or early thirties, and there were also a lot of other people around which were people like ourselves, perhaps other motorists who made the mistake of coming into this place. There were a lot of other cars in this parking lot and in this area, some of them cycling around the parking lot behind us and pointing back out onto the road, although I don’t think anyone was allowed to leave. As we were parked in this specific spot, one of the evil Nazi guys, a blonde-haired good-looking man about 25 years old, approached the passenger side door of my van so I opened the door because I knew he wanted to talk to me and I also knew that I needed to cooperate if I ever wanted to escape this place. He indicated he wanted me to open the glove compartment of the van so I did. He produced a small electronic device that had a crystal LED display on it that was about 7 digits wide. This device had several wires coming from it and on the ends of the wires were little alligator wire clips. He took these clips and attached them to something that was inside the glove box and told Lisa to step on the accelerator until the numbers on the display of the device he held turned to zero. Lisa stepped on the accelerator and because the van was in park, the engine just revved up and we continued to be parked there. We watched as the 5 to 7 digit display of black, block-type numbers on the LED exhibit cycled until finally all the numbers were square zeroes. The man didn’t seem satisfied with the results so he asked us how the numbers would react if we had a trailer hooked up to this van. I told him that we had never hooked a trailer up to the van so I didn’t know how the numbers would react in that case. The man then got a very disgusted look on his face and backed away from me. He was upset about something and I got the impression that what he wanted to do was to take this van from us and use it to haul a trailer around, but since it had never been used for that he was mad. I saw this, however, as an opportunity for us to get out of here because if our van had never been used to haul a trailer around then we may be of no use to these people. There came a time when we were out of the van, probably ordered to do so, and we were inside a building that was 50 feet away from the parking lot, further back onto the compound. It was a small dwelling, much like ones that are at the numerous sites where people can gather at Wildwood Park to have a picnic. Around this time I told Lisa to get on her cell phone and call 9-1-1 to get the police here to come and rescue us. At first I considered calling a friend to come here and help us and the first people that came to mind were Gregoire and Helen Henderson. There was a TV screen of some sort that was waist level in this house type of place where we were at, and it was to my left and attached to a counter. Flashing on the TV were names of different people. Eventually I saw the name of Gregoire Henderson, and then Helen Henderson, and then Patsy Henderson. Along with each of these names was a number several digits long, which was the number assigned to us as if we were all being catalogued and systematically being kept track of. I realized that the names of people who flashed on this screen were the names of people who had been detained at this place. Because of that, I knew that calling Gregoire and Helen would do no good because they had already been captured by these people here and were probably brainwashed or even dead. I think I also saw mine, Lisa’s, Sarah’s and William’s names come up on this screen as well. Getting really scared now, I grabbed Lisa’s cell phone and opened it up to use it. I had to first punch in the security code to unlock the phone so we could use it, then I dialed 9-1-1. The phone rang and rang, about six times, but instead of getting a 9-1-1 operator, I got a message that was the usual operator tone that you get when hearing recorded messages by the phone company. The message indicated that all 9-1-1 operators were busy right now and to call back at a later time. I was devastated, because we were in dire need of help and also because I had the feeling that the evil people here would eventually take our phone from us or disable any outside calling so our phone would be rendered useless. I felt fortunate to be able to call anyone but 9-1-1 was busy right now, so that shot down my hopes in flames. Somehow I wasn’t surprised because in this dream I felt that this happens from time to time and could be expected occasionally when calling 9-1-1. I tried calling again but got the same message. Feeling frightened for my family and myself, I looked out over the compound at all the people and what was being done to them. To my left I saw an area where people were first herded to when they arrived at this place. It was a pit or some other area where the people were formed into groups of 15 and organized as a unit to stay together. From there, I saw the group then was led to a picnic table that was on the edge of the parking lot where they sat down and were fed food that was probably the usual picnic-type of food. After having this meal, the people were then led to another area which was vague to me, but I could tell at around this point is when the people were then turned into mindless zombies, like Stepford people, and walked around void of expression and not caring what was happening to them anymore. Each station, the initial pit and group designation, the picnic table, and the place after that, was always full of people being continuously cycled through. The four of us were somehow back in the van and, knowing that if we didn’t get out of here then we would be next, I yelled at Lisa to gun the accelerator and get the hell out of here. The road leading out was a gravelly-sloped road to the left of the parking lot and I kept yelling at Lisa to “Go! Go!” She stepped on the gas and we managed to swerve in front of some cars that were headed out of this place. Lisa wasn’t going as fast as I wanted her to go and I wished I would have been driving because I would have raced out of here instead of taking the sluggish pace she was. However, she did finally manage to fishtail in between some other cars, one of them a long, old Bonneville type of vehicle, and then on out to the road, to my relief. Once on the road, Lisa turned left and we headed in that direction. The road was a wide gravelly road and suddenly I noticed that the sky was getting dark, not quite nighttime but late afternoon anyway. There were gray clouds on the horizon and this gave the area a gloomy appearance. As Lisa raced away, several cars, the same old-style like the one we fishtailed in front of to escape the compound, came racing toward us to try to block us so we couldn’t get away. I remember at least two cars swerving at us, one at a time, and then turning sideways on the road to try to block us but Lisa managed to drive around them without hitting them. I don’t specifically remember escaping but I know we did because the next thing I recall is being in a house. I grabbed a phone and dialed 9-1-1, feeling that my chances of getting through would be better now that I was out of that compound. I reached a 9-1-1 operator and told her that there was a park where people were being killed, and that there were people hanging from the trees and something needed to be done to stop these murderers and maniacs. The operator heard me out and when I was done spewing forth the story, which I thought may have sounded dumb but I didn’t care, she paused for a moment before replying. Instead of telling me she would call the police or have someone investigate the matter, which would have been the proper thing to do, she said to me something about how maybe the people at the park had a reason for doing what they did, or something like that. I was shocked to hear her reply, and she went on to say similar things, trying to rationalize and justify what the people at the park were doing and I then realized that the operator was one of them. I felt like I was in that movie “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” when that guy called the operator for help but the operator knew his name and was obviously one of the bad people.

February 4, 2002

I was at a campground and my family was probably there with me. We had picked a campsite where we were near some water. Although we weren’t right on the water, the water was just a few feet away down a path and therefore we had quick access to fishing; I kind of felt like I was at Lake Wenatchee. Sometime later I went in search of a better campsite, to see if there were better spots closer to the water. I ended up walking through some woods to my left and came out to an opening where there were numerous campsites lined up along the bank of a river. I walked along a trail next to the campsites trying not to bring attention to myself and to look just like someone who was out walking around to get some fresh air or something. I passed several sites, again trying not to make it look like I was checking them out so I could get one of them next time I was here. People were fishing right from their tents and I wished I had chosen one of these sites instead of the one my family was at. I recall one guy casting out his line into the water and the water seemed calm and like a better spot to fish at. I think earlier in the dream I had tried fishing from my own site but the water was rough and when I cast my line out it went into a wave that rushed toward the shore. Here, at these other sites, the water wasn’t like that and seemed better all around for fishing. I continued walking along the path and none of the other campers here seemed to pay me much attention. I finally came to the end of the line of campsites and reached a road which reminded me of the road on the far side of Wapato Park, by where those pipeline bridges are. I kept walking, however, still trying to make it look like I was out for a walk and just because the campground ended didn’t mean that I couldn’t continue walking on, although I didn’t really want to.

February 11, 2002

I was trying to get a job as a mailman. I drove around with a mail guy in his little US Mail truck and we were in downtown Tacoma around 13th Street. We actually drove around several routes that were to be my new route, all of them in this general vicinity of downtown Tacoma and 13th Street. I can’t remember much about the guy who was teaching me my new route, other than he wore the usual customary USPS uniform with its little navy blue shorts and he had short brown hair, you know, what the average human male in all my dreams looks like. I was back at the post office later and someone came up to me and asked what routes I had been trained on. I told this guy, who may have been a supervisor or other authority figure type, which routes I had been on. Then, either he or someone else approached me and placed a yellow, 3 x 3 inch sticky Post-It note onto a regular 8-1/2 x 11 piece of paper I had been holding. The Post-It note indicated some information on it about a different route he wanted me to try. He went on further to explain that I would be doing part of the route and he would be doing the other part of the route. He referred to the part of the route that I would be doing as LL23. The job sounded pretty cool. It appeared that the hours I would be working were the night shift and I thought this would be great so I wouldn’t have to worry about day care because I would be home during the day and, therefore, not have to hire someone to watch my kids. The next scene sees me walking toward the vehicle that I am supposed to go out onto my route on. I am walking with the guy who is probably the one who showed me the Post-It. I imagined that the automobile I walked toward was the ’87 Nissan truck I used to own, the one with the license plate number of UL 8754. It wasn’t, however; it was an old Bonneville type model which was, of course, probably exactly like the one I owned when I was 16. In the driver’s seat was a woman. Who? I don’t know—someone with shoulder length dirty blonde hair like Sarah Conner in Terminator. I remember casually walking to the front of the worn, light blue car and glancing at the license plate to see if it was UL 8754, to see if what we were going to be driving in was my old truck. The guy that was with me, whoever the hell he was, somehow attached himself to the back-end of this car. He was sitting in a wagon-type thing and this wagon-type thing was attached to the back bumper of the car. He sat there on his ass and looking forward while holding on for dear life. I went on to explain to the Sarah-Conner-looking driver that the guy attached to the bumper was going to travel this way on the way to wherever we were going instead of being inside the car with us. No comment from her.

February 21, 2002

I was in high school. I had a large amount of school supplies, too many by far. I can’t recall exactly how I toted these around with me, in a backpack or what, but I remember seeing numerous pens, pencils, paper, tape—all that and more. I was in my first class, which looked just the regular classroom setting, perhaps a bit smaller. There were around 15 desks, three rows of five. I sat in the first row. There was an issue with the clock, I’m not sure what, but I was never quite sure of just what time it was. The teacher, a woman in her mid-30s, placed the clock on the window in a door that led to a classroom that was on the other side of the door. She placed the clock so it faced out the window so the next classroom could see the time instead of the clock facing us. This indicated, somehow, that we knew what time it was and, therefore, did not need the clock facing us. There were four of us sitting in the front row and one of the students sitting next to me in that front row reminded me of that guy who was hired at Microchip the same day I was back in November of 2000. I can’t remember his name but he was the geeky-looking guy with the backpack that eventually accepted a position at Microchip in Arizona. Anyway, I looked up at the clock, which was now facing our way so we could see what time it was, and the time indicated that it was 25 past an hour. The class had actually ended sometime earlier than that, like at 10 after, but the four of us in the front row somehow missed out on that and were now late for the next class. I looked behind me in the classroom and saw that all the other students had left and there were only the four of us in the front row left in the room. For some reason, because we had been in the front row, then we missed out on knowing what the correct time was and the teacher never reminded us when class had ended so we were going to be late getting to our next class. I left the room and went in search of my locker so I could grab what I needed for the next class, whatever that was. I somehow knew my locker was #275. The hallways were laid out strangely in this school. There were short banks of lockers, maybe 15 in a row, then there would be a gap and you could see into a gymnasium or some other part of the high school through these gaps, then there would be another row and so on and so forth. I kept looking and looking for locker 275 but could never find it. Once I came across a row of lockers that looked like my locker might be in because the numbers were at 270, but the row ended at 271 so 275 wasn’t there. I was stressing out, walking around the high school, down hallways and in and out of these gaps into other rooms looking for my locker. I did know that my next class was P.E. so I figured I would just try to find that. I came across Jake Means who was walking around. His hair was a little shorter than what I remember it being. He was strolling along the hallway in front of me from left to right and I asked him where the gymnasium was because, of course, I had no idea where that was either. He kind of stuck his thumb out and motioned in a direction behind him and then quickly walked off, as if not wanting to converse with me but he at least would grant me the info I needed. He did the motion quickly so I asked him again: “What way?” and he thrust his thumb over his shoulder again and then walked off. This was pretty much how he and I interacted with one another, not really conversing much but at least communicating when necessary. So I went in the direction Jake had indicated and on my way I came across a large guy who had been in the class I had been in where the clock on the wall indicated 25 past an hour, although he had not been in the front row of students who stayed late—he was one of the students who had been sitting further back and had indeed left the class on time. He was very large, about a half foot taller than me, and he looked solidly built and had short hair. He said “Hi!” to me in an intimidating way as I walked by and I knew he was some kind of bully who was probably going to try to threaten me. He briskly walked along with me and said, “I heard you crapped out!” meaning that he heard that I had left the previous class late. Apparently, he knew someone who was in the class and I was supposed to leave with that person but since I did not, this meant that I “crapped out.” This bothered the big guy because the person who I was supposed to leave with was a friend of his and, therefore, his friend was also late to his next class because I had not left on time. Finally, I found gym class and around here I also located my gym locker, which was locker #59. I found the locker somewhere in this gym area and it was a 2 feet wide by 1-foot high metal box recessed in a shelf type of compartment. There was some kind of indicator on this stack of lockers where mine was, a tag or something that indicated that lockers #59-63 were here in this stack. I noticed that there were already clothes in these lockers, #59 as well, which meant that either someone else had their clothes in my locker, which I kind of felt was the case, or these were my gym clothes stuffed in there. A group of high school guys walked up to the left side of me and I was wondering if these were going to be more bullies to try to intimidate me. There were three of them, all of them shorter than me, but I only remember one of them semi-clearly. He had shoulder length brown curly hair, short at the sides, and he reminded me of that guy who hung out at that convenience store in that movie “Ghost World,” which I hadn’t even seen until March 7th of this year. How weird is that? Anyway, he had his hands in his pockets as he talked like Keanu Reeves about something that was happening outside. The guys indicated to me that I needed to be a part of the something that was happening outside. They said it was part of gym class and I needed to be out there participating in whatever was going on. I was leery at first because I thought that these guys were playing a joke on me, like if I went outside to see what was happening then I would end up getting embarrassed somehow and being made a fool of, but then I got the impression that these guys were really my friends and were just trying to help me out on where to go for gym class.

February 26, 2002

I was with some other guys, about four of us total. I think my brother Charles was there, as well as JJ (the guy I work with) and also my brother Trent. The four of us were on some kind of secret mission, like agents carrying out a top secret operative plan for the government or something like that. We approached a building and entered. We walked throughout the hallways of this building, which was like a large office complex of some sort. It was dark and I don’t think anyone else was in the building. There was a room we approached and this room was where we needed to go to perform our mission. When we first approached the room from out in the hallway we were all very apprehensive, as if there was great danger in there and were wondering which of us was going to have the guts to enter first. Eventually I was the one who made the first move and entered a threshold that led to a dark stairwell. This eventually led me to the room we needed to get to. I walked cautiously down the dark steps, feeling kind of cool because I was the one who had made the first move to go inside this place to get to the room. Next after me was Charles and eventually he passed me up and was the first to actually reach the outside of the room we had planned to enter. It was still unclear to me what we were doing here, either on a mission or just planning to rob the place, but whatever the case we were all very cautious and there was tenseness in the air you could cut with a knife. As Charles walked into a small hallway that led into the room, it was dark so I turned on the light inside the room. After I did this, I spoke into a walkie-talkie that I realized I was holding and said into it: “The light is on,” relaying this message to the other guys in our group, JJ and Trent. The place was rather large, like a huge penthouse type of room. There was a large, vast living room with a three-cushion couch that was on the edge of another space that could have been a dining room and/or kitchen. Charles and I started going from room to room, looking for something but I don’t know what. The next thing I recall is talking on a phone that was somewhere in this place. I was speaking to a woman who was around 20 years old, and this woman was actually someone who lived in this apartment. I guess there were some people with her and she spoke to me and said that she knew that we were in her apartment. She said that she was outside the building but knew we were inside, and all that she wanted for us to do was to come on out and exchange keys with her. By this she meant that if we just came out of the building and gave her the key to her apartment then she would act like this never happened and she wouldn’t call the cops on us or anything like that. All we had to do, she told me again, was give her the key then we could just walk away and we could forget all about this little incident. I had the feeling that I knew who this woman was in the dream but I can’t recall now. After this I became frantic, worried that this woman knew we were in her apartment, and I started freaking out and tried to find a way out of the place without the people who lived in it seeing me/us as we escaped; I wanted to avoid her altogether instead of confronting her to give her the key. Therefore, I found myself on the outside of the building scrambling down the fire escapes and steps lining the outside wall. There was one set of steps that I jumped over and hung from the outside of then dropped down onto the ground below. From here I ran along the street and toward a curved portion of the road where there was traffic, the street lower by at least 2 feet, beyond the upper, bordered lawn where I was. A half-foot cement, light-gray border, surrounded the lawn on which I ran. The road beyond reminded me of the rounded roads like those at the parking garage at SeaTac Airport. The road I approached had traffic going from right to left. To the right and on the near side of the road was a large support pillar, three feet round and made of gray cement. Right behind this post, down beyond the lawn and on road level, was where the pay phone was where the woman who lived in the apartment was, along with whatever friends she had with her. I knew that if she saw me then she would recognize me. I continued running as fast as I could toward this road and large cement pillar. As I did, the woman who made the phone call and her friends (who turned out to be her mother and father) emerged from behind the pillar. As they did, however, I ran toward then leapt over them quickly, thus preventing them from getting a good look at who I actually was. Since I was already higher than them, them being on the road level and me on the lawn level, leaping over them was a piece of cake. The girl who knew me kind of ducked as I leapt over her so as to not get nailed from me as I sailed over her head, but her mother and father, her were just off to the right of me, did get a good look at leaping dude. This was all right because the mother and father didn’t know who I was and so they couldn’t tell that this guy who had leapt over them and was continuing to run away was the one who had been in their apartment. Had the woman who was their daughter seen me she would have known who I was, but I kept running and didn’t turn around so she never saw my face and, therefore, had no idea that this guy who leapt over her was also the one who she had just talked to on the phone that was in her apartment. I remember viewing this from behind me as I ran, the trench coat that I always wear flailing away behind me as I ran. I continued running beyond the road and onto a beach where I remember there being pebbles mixed with the sand as a vague ocean crashed small waves onto a shore to my left. Around here is where I saw JJ. He was walking toward me after coming out from behind a large pillar or some type of wall. Apparently this is where he and Trent had been hiding while Charles and I were in the apartment. JJ approached me but I continued running, yelling at him: “Go! They’re right behind me! That’s them!” As I continued running, I could hear behind me JJ talking to the family. Apparently he decided to just casually walk along like he had nothing to hide because, I suppose, it would look suspicious if, after the family saw him, he suddenly bolted off and ran away also. Nevertheless, the family was suspicious of him anyway and they asked him who he was, wondering if he had also been one of the guys in their apartment. JJ had his hands in his pockets and just casually strolled along, and said: “Oh no, I’m just looking for my boss,” and that seemed convincing enough to make the folks he talked to not suspect him of being one of the culprits who had been in their apartment. JJ knew these folks had never seen him before so this wasn’t a bad move and, I think, he had made it feel like the guy who just ran by them, who was me, was his boss, thus making it look like that he really was out here looking for someone who existed instead of just pretending to be looking for a made-up human.

February 27, 2002

I was with some people and we had decided to go skiing. Although there was a hell of a lot more to this dream than just us going skiing, that is all I can remember. Initially, I gather, there had been snow on the ground, plenty for skiing on, but I encountered a hill where there was no snow on the backside of it. I vividly recall skiing down a path that was made for skiing, but since there was no snow, there was only the brown dirt lining this two-feet-wide path as it snaked down about 30 feet then up to the right up another hill. There were trees surrounding me, like a forest in the middle of a mountain. I skied fast down this snowless hill and still managed to have a good run because I was going downhill and gravity made the skis work anyway. It was pretty vague how the events of this dream progressed, of course, but the next thing I recall is being on top of a ledge where I may or may not have still had my skis on. On this grassy ledge were some of Lisa’s belongings, some of her clothes and things like that. Valerie Costerfenin was there and she reached up over the edge of this ledge and started grabbing Lisa’s stuff, like Lisa’s purse and her wallet, apparently taking them to put them away for safekeeping so they wouldn’t be out there in the middle of the woods scattered about.

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