Allow me to relate the dream I had last night…
I was a character in the Nightmare on Elm Street series.
We knew Freddy was coming to get us. We were all trying to pack up and leave town ASAP. Whoever could get out might be safe as he went after the slower ones who remained.
But things kept delaying my departure. I was getting gear together, disentangling myself from people who seemed to feel I owed them my time, fighting my way through panicking crowds. The crowds got thinner and thinner as people managed to escape, while I still struggled with the logistics of getting myself out.
By the time I reached the parking lot with my bugout bag, there were hardly any people around. The place was dark and eerily quiet. I threw my stuff in the hatchback and hurried behind the wheel.
As soon as I closed the door, Kruger made his move. The car began warping and twisting. The upholstery reached around and grabbed me, pinning me down. The clean lines of the Honda Fit became organic and uneven, full of teeth and blood and claws…
…and I said, “Oh, no, my car does not do that.”
Immediately the nightmare lost its hold, the Kruger-induced contortions ceased, and the car returned to normal. I locked the door, started the engine, and sped away to safety.
Even in my nightmares, I’m too offended by assaults on my car to maintain my suspension of disbelief.