Something Happened

Slept heavily, slept late. That’s unusual for me. I’m usually up at dawn, before the singing birds begin their cacophony in the surrounding bushes. But since I love to sleep, it was a welcome change. I had several dreams but I don’t remember any of them, aside from a few dim flickering images. A therapist suggested I keep a dream journal but I don’t think I will. I’d prefer to keep my dreams in my head. Private and fading and eventually forgotten. That’s the natural lifespan of a dream. Who am I to tamper with it?

I used to know a guy named Danny who had a major bad trip after smoking too much pot (of all things). He was at a party and got very high, people offering him joints throughout the house. Danny accepted every joint and bowlful and he became baked, the varied strains of marijuana putting the whammy on the poor guy’s brain.  

And then a couple of people wanted to explore the basement and they drafted Danny, who was too stoned to decline the offer. So they headed down the cellar stairs. Danny’s life would be changed forever.

Danny found himself walking down a staircase to hell. The faces of his friends had turned hellish, demented, and demonic. The walls held hundreds of misshapen faces, mouthing silent curses. Danny made it to the bottom filled with fear. He collapsed and sat down on the bottom step and began to cry. He was in Hell, he was sure of that. He put his shaking hands over his face and continued to weep.

The other partygoers stood around him. This was serious.

“You okay Danny?” said Donna Haberski. “What’s wrong?”

Danny didn’t answer; he peeked through his fingers and screamed, making the others step back. Everyone was scared now. Danny had become unhinged

Joel Fintelly said, “Shit. He’s really gone.”

Danny remained sitting, sobbing into his hands.

“Shit,” said Joel. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.”

Billy Parker waved away THAT boneheaded idea. “Are you nuts? This whole house and everyone in it smells like a pot factory. We’d all be wearing handcuffs in like five minutes.”

“So, what should we do then?” asked Donna.

     

 “Nothing,” said Joel. “It’ll wear off eventually. You can’t overdose on marijuana.”

“What if it was laced with something? Like PCP...”

“Let’s not catastrophize the situation. He’s just high as hell that’s all, and it’ll wear off.”

They stood around Danny, the five of them. Donna said, “Danny, honey it’s gonna be all right. Everything will get back to normal.”

Donna’s voice was soothing and kindly and encouraging but when Danny  lowered his hands he didn’t see Donna, he saw a rotting monster; its big red eyeballs leaking down its hairy, melting face.

      

Danny screamed and covered his face again.

      

The others decided to stay with him until he was sober enough to go home.

It took nearly three hours before Danny stopped seeing monsters everywhere he looked. He was getting himself under control.

      

Joel and Donna gave him a ride home. Danny didn’t speak. Didn’t say one word the entire drive.

      

They dropped him off at his parent’s house and then took off.

"Bye Danny. Take it easy. It's going to be okay..."

    

Danny went straight to his bedroom, grabbed his Bible and spent the next three days reading and praying. He never smoked dope again. He stopped drinking too. He started annoying people with his little impromptu sermons. He carried his bible everywhere. Not many of his old friends could tolerate his obnoxious new faith and Danny became virtually friendless.

      

Eventually he converted to Catholicism and moved. We never saw him after that.