Dreamscapes: Last Train to Russia

A tale of survival in the face of great and powerful evil

I am attending a party in a small two-story house. Guests are lounging inside and also lying on the roof. Without warning, malevolent creatures arrive and begin to kill people. We realize with horror that they have no weapons — they are killing us with their thoughts. It is as if a virus is spreading through everyone’s minds. People are dropping left and right, and I am terrified beyond belief. Some people start to fight back somehow after they have already been killed: they open their eyes and start to move in jerks and spurts, and then slump back down, lifeless, only to repeat this over and over. I am not sure if I have been killed or not, but the next thing I know, I am a young man.

I grab my girlfriend’s hand and we jump through a window, shattering the glass. We run as fast as our legs can carry us, scared out of our minds. We see a train up ahead, and we know it is our only way out. It begins to take off, but I scream at the conductor to stop. The conductor is a tough, grizzly man, but he still has a heart, and he welcomes us aboard. As we pull away, my girlfriend and I recognize a dog near the tracks, and we are afraid he will try to kill us with his thoughts. Instead he gives us a look as if to say, “Good luck.” My voice has narrated this whole scene: “I saw the window and I took my girlfriend and ran. We caught the train out of town just in time.”

We arrive at a grandiose train station in the middle of a city to catch a connecting train to Russia. I have a chat with the manager of the train station in his very fancy office, and then go back out to wait with my girlfriend for our train.

A woman wearing expensive clothing and carrying a lap dog walks dramatically into the manager’s office. I know at once that she is evil. She sits down, and there is a silence before she says, simply, “Hello.” Waves of people fall to the station floor.

My girlfriend and I run through the doors to the platforms, not knowing why we have been spared. We now have a dog of our own. I am suddenly imbued with the knowledge that an antidote to the killers’ thoughts has been discovered. It is called “The Liquid,” and it must be taken once an hour to safely ward them off. Those who had died had waited too long before their next dose. We must have taken some recently — it is the only explanation as to why we are still alive. We run past many people who have also administered it properly. My girlfriend, our dog, and I finally board a train, which speeds off to Russia, where we will be safe.