Paradise World

by Dan Edmund

Chapter 13 - On Dreams, Nightmares and Reality

  I did not have to wait for the next day; the drama continued to unfold.

  I took him to our spare bedroom, where instead of lying down and drifting back to sleep, as I had expected, he simply sat on the bed and started complaining about the curse he was under. I saw his hands trembling and I sat next to him, gently patting him on the shoulder. "Oh, Harry, this is not a curse. This is Paradise!"

  He vehemently shook his head. "I've been through these types of dreams before, and I know I'll get through this one also." He sighed, and then in a quieter, more subdued voice added, "I suppose I'd better see the psychiatrist again, and maybe get some more pills to settle my fragile nerves. God knows, I need them now!" He forced a pitiful smile. "Roger, on the other hand, wants to conduct some hypnotherapy on me, but I think more for his own research than for my own good. He paused, again shook his head, then lamented, "Maybe he already has!" Then, staring directly at me, he asked, "Do you know him?"

  "Who's that?"

  "Dr. Roger Farthing. He's in the Psychology Department at Columbia."

  I shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

  He gave a short, ironic laugh. Then suddenly, his whole demeanor changed. Despite his ramblings, he now seemed calm and alert, and his speech articulate, and without the strong Australian drawl of before. "Roger is rather eccentric, not just with his mannerism, but with some of the things he believes in. When I first knew him, I thought he was the one needing a psychiatrist, not me!" He laughed, then heaved a sigh. "However, it seems I might be wrong. Perhaps he can help me with his hypnosis after all. Roger also mentioned something called 'Process Individuation.'"

  Harry then proceeded to lecture me on this facet of Jungian psychology:

  "As far as I could understand, the therapy involves the discovery of our own myths through our dreams and imaginations. Anyway, he always was interested in dreams. He often discussed with me Carl Jung's theory about the 'Collective Unconscious,' which are supposedly unconscious experiences, not just of our own mind, but those of humanity, if only symbolically, or some such nonsense."

  "Yes, nonsense!" I agreed.

  He nodded slightly, then continued with his lecture. "Yes, anyway, on several occasions, even before my nervous breakdown, he had asked me things pertaining to ancient and medieval religious myths and symbols, and how these could relate to Jungian interpretation of dreams. Other scholars like Mircea Eliade, Joseph Campbell and James Frazer had also noticed frequent similarities of myths from around the world, and all had their own theories about that, although, of course, different from the theory Jung had proposed. However, Roger had taken the theory seriously. He even personally believed that through my lucid dreams, I was perhaps tapping into this collective unconscious, or perhaps even into actual spirit realms, which according to Jung at least, were just part of the collective unconscious inside the person himself." He sneered as he added, "Of course, there's no empirical evidence for that, or for an afterlife of any kind, although Roger tries to assure me that William Crookes's laboratory controlled experiments and observations of a medium called Daniel Home, and more recently by the so-called 'Near-Death Experiences,' offer the next best things to it. He claims to have had such an experience once himself when he nearly drowned as a child, having supposedly momentarily left his drowning body." He snorted contemptuously. "Well, that's his story. Anyway, he claims that it was a pivotal event for him, in that it influenced him to eventually study psychology, and later his research into parapsychology, which supposedly pertains to paranormal things like Near-Death Experiences, telepathy, spirit mediums and other supposed psychic matters. He told me that he was also influenced by the paranormal research done by the American psychologist, William James, and, of course, the research by Carl Jung." He abruptly stopped and again heaved a sigh. "However, Roger now wants to study my lucid dreams, you know, dreams in which you become fully conscious inside your dreams."

  "Yes, so you've told me."

  "Did I? Anyway, he told me that although being extremely rare, they're a genuine phenomenon, as I can certainly testify. There have even been a number of scientific studies conducted by sleep researchers, even in modern times. However, Roger gave me a copy of an article by Frederik van Eeden, a Dutch psychiatrist, who wrote about his own lucid dreams back in the early part of the twentieth century. His dreams seemed even crazier than mine. He not only claimed to have spoken to deceased people, like in my dream now, but also of being harassed by demons."

  "Harry, you don't have to talk about these things. It's all over now, you're now living in -"

  "What? Heaven!" he snapped.

  "No, this is still the Earth, but transformed into a paradise," I replied. "Remember, I already told you that!"

  He frowned and shook his head. "No, I don't believe that. I know I'm just dreaming."

  "But you're not!" I insisted.

  He again sniggered and gave me a condescending stare as if I was some misguided fool. "Dreams and hallucinations are purely psychological conditions of the brain. Freud was probably right when he claimed that the content of a dream is derived from experience, our own experience, nothing else!" He paused as if to weigh up the balance of that last statement, and then in a low, far more pessimistic tone added, "Yet, I know I've had dreams where this could not possibly have been the case. Perhaps Freud was wrong and Jung correct with his theory of the collective unconscious." Then, with a quiver in his voice, he added, "Hopefully, this crazy dream won't carry on for days, like that apocalyptic dream I had. I was already traumatized enough when I witnessed the horror of 9/11. I had lots of nightmares after that."

  "What's 9/11?" I asked.

  Once again his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the calm and composed exterior. He was again a runaway train ready to derail.

  "What's 9/11!" he roared. "A massive terrorist attack, that's what it was! Two hijacked airliners crashed into the Twin Towers, and a third hit the Pentagon. Close to three thousand people were killed. I had a free day and was in Lower Manhattan that morning, and only two blocks away from the World Trade Center when the first plane struck the North Tower. I was inside a store, but heard this almighty explosion. I, like so many others, were then on the streets, watching in horror as the North Tower became engulfed in flames." He paused for a second or two, his eyes ablaze with horror. "About fifteen minutes later, another hijacked airliner crashed, only now into the South Tower. This time I actually saw the plane crashing directly into the building. It was shocking! Another almighty explosion, fire, smoke, people jumping to their deaths to escape the flames, people on the streets staring and screaming in horror, pandemonium, firemen and cops urging us back, then the first collapse, the debris and the dust, then all of us running for our lives!" He paused for breath, then added, "The South Tower had collapsed, and half an hour later, the North."

  I was, of course, appalled by what he described, but considering all he had told me so far, I doubted his ability to judge what was real and what was not. "But are you sure this was not just another one of your dreams or nightmares?"

  He looked at me as if I was the crazy one. "No, you idiot! This was real! It happened on September 11, 2001. For weeks afterwards I was traumatized by it. I had nightmares every night. Once I even had a lucid dream where I believed I was in the North Tower at the time of impact. It was only with the aid of tranquilizers that the nightmares stopped."

  I closed my eyes and solemnly nodded. I now understood why he was so traumatized. Then I wondered whether he had overdosed on his tranquilizers, but considered it prudent not to ask. "I'm truly sorry, Harry. I had no idea. You see, I died two years earlier, in November, in 1999." Tentatively, I then asked: "Harry, what about you? What year did you...." I hesitated, realizing that he would not acknowledge his death. Therefore, I asked, "What is the date today?"

  He ignored my question and instead related some of the nightmares he had since being traumatized. He mentioned an apocalyptic dream, which seemed to h
ave been especially vivid and strange. Because it pertained to Armageddon, it naturally enough aroused my curiosity.

  "Why, what happened, Harry?" I asked tactfully, knowing how excitable and traumatized he was.

  For a moment he just sat there, seemingly stunned by my question. Then he erupted like a volcano.

  "So you want to know what that was like?" he snapped. "It was hell! Sheer hell!" There then followed a whole string of profanities.

  It was just then that I heard a knock and my father's voice call out, "Hey, son, is everything all right in there?"

  "Yes, Dad, it's okay. Please, just let us talk privately."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure."

  My father mumbled something under his breath, and I heard his footsteps fade away. I then returned my attention to Harry, who thankfully calmed down again, although he still had that wild-eyed, crazed look about him. "This world I'm now in, it's supposed to be some sort of post-apocalyptic world, isn't it?"

  "Yes, Christ's Millennium, it's -"

  "Yes, I know what Christ's Millennium is!" he retorted impatiently. "A lot of you fundamentalist Christians have vainly been waiting for that since the first century. The character who wrote Revelation must have had dreams and hallucinations as weird as mine, although you people take these dreams as fact when, at best, they only have symbolic value, if you believe all that Jungian stuff." He gave a sudden crazed laugh, then mockingly asked, "So, do you still want to know what my apocalyptic dream was about?"

  I hesitatingly nodded, now unsure whether it was wise for him to go on. I certainly knew I was not dealing with a stable personality. I had a quick, silent prayer and replied, "Okay, Harry, if it will help."

  "What! Tell a crazy dream whilst being in a crazy dream!" He laughed at his attempted witticism. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he gravely nodded. "All right. Who knows," he said, more to himself than to me, "Jung, with his Process Individuation, may have some merit after all, even if only in a dream." He then looked up at me and grinned. "I suppose you, as my dream character within my dream, might be as good a psychotherapist as anybody else." He then looked down onto his feet and said forlornly, "I really want to stop these nightmares. I'm now willing to try anything, even getting therapy in my dream, if that's what it will take." He paused, then looked directly into my eyes. "Do you know anything about Jung and his methods?"

  I shook my head. "Only what you told me."

  He glared at me. "I didn't tell you anything about it! Now listen to what I say!"

  I forced a smile, trying to keep him calm. "I'm sorry, Harry. Please tell me all about it."

  Therefore, once more, I was forced to listen to a lecture on Jungian psychology.

  "All right, although I don't know much about it either, except the little I've read and been told by Roger. However, according to Process Individuation, to become a more complete personality, you're supposed to discover your own myths, as expressed in dreams and fantasies," he explained again. "You see, Jung believed that the Christian religion was part of an historic process necessary for the development of consciousness, and he thought that so-called heretical movements, such Gnosticism and medieval alchemy, were manifestations of unconscious archetypal elements, which seemingly Christianity lacked. The symbols found in these more occult-like philosophies could be helpful in interpreting dreams, at least that's what Jung believed." He paused and looked at me. "Are you still with me?"

  I shrugged. "I'm not sure. But anyway, I don't know how -"

  He again ignored me. "However, Process Individuation, as Roger assures me, has had some good results. This lucid dream has obvious Christian symbolisms, and you're a Christian dream character, and the dream I'm now going to relate also has strong Christian symbolisms, albeit apocalyptic ones. As Jung somewhere said, 'The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul.'" He then gave another sarcastic laugh. "Seemingly even Jung himself had trouble with vivid dreams and fantasies in childhood. But, what the hell! For what it's worth, I'll also attempt to open up my soul by telling you about this dream, and since you're only a dream, I can be assured that this dream will not be spread to others, thus spoiling my reputation as being compos mentis. I don't want my reputation being tarnished any further. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, of course," I agreed. However, instead of telling me his dream, he simply sat there in silence. By his demeanor, I could tell that an inner conflict was taking place. Thus, for several seconds, an eerie silence of anticipation wafted over me like a child ready to listen to some spine-chilling ghost story. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he related the strangest dream I had ever heard. And his rambling dream interpretations seemed no less bizarre:

  "It was absolutely mind boggling, even sinister," he uttered in a low undertone. "It was past midnight, and I had been feeling particularly agitated and unable to sleep. I got out of bed and, having run out of tranquillizers, I decided to drink a glass or two of port. My wife was still sleeping in the bedroom, yet for some reason, I decided to go to our lounge, have the port, but to also listen to Mozart's The Magic Flute on our hi-fi." He paused and stared at me. "Do you know the music?"

  I nodded. "One of Mozart's operas," I replied, then as an afterthought added, "Fernando Sor, a nineteenth century Spanish guitarist, wrote a theme and variations for it. I used to play it."

  "And what do you know about it?"

  "The music Sor had used as his theme was Das Klinget so Herrlich, which was a brief chorus that appeared in the first act of Mozart's opera."

  "What do the words mean?"

  "I'm not sure. I don't speak German, but I think it means something like 'it rings' or 'it sounds so beautiful.'" I reflected on the tune for a second or two then added, "It's a rather delightful tune."

  "What else? I mean, about the opera itself."

  "I don't know," I replied, puzzled by his sudden interest in the music. "I only know its setting was ancient Egypt, and supposedly something to do with Freemasonry, or something like that, but I can't see -"

  "Exactly!" he bellowed before I finished my sentence. "You've hit the nail on the head!"

  I had no idea what he meant, however, for the sake of Harry, I kept up my charade as psychotherapist, or whatever I was supposed to be. "Okay. But what do you mean?" I asked, fearing yet again another eruption from this very volatile man.

  "Don't you see, my boy, don't you see? Mozart himself was a Freemason, and this opera symbolizes the ideals of Freemasonry. So maybe Jung was right. I need to find the religious symbolisms of my dream, particularly in those esoteric movements, as Jung had believed."

  There was a pause where he must have reflected on potential symbols. Suddenly, he bellowed, "Of course! That's it! The setting of some of the opera scenes take place by the 'Temple of Ordeal,' and the main characters, who are lovers, must pass a series of tests." He again paused for reflection. "Let's see, there was the 'Test of Silence,' but what could that mean? What about the wicked 'Queen of the Night?' She represents irrational-diabolic obscurantism. Then, there was a serpent that was killed...." He again paused before blustering, "Yes, serpents, dragons and the like creep up into so many ancient myths, including Christianity. Obviously a symbolism of evil, at least in Western and Middle Eastern symbolisms." He paused for several more seconds before adding, "Let's see, then there was Sarastro, the wise priest of Isis and Osiris. Yes, the priest symbolizes wisdom and enlightenment. Then there was -"

  "Harry, please, stop it!" I pleaded.

  "But don't you see? Isis, the famous Egyptian goddess, defended her child, Horus, against the attacks of scorpions and serpents. Even Isis herself was also sometimes represented as a serpent. On the other hand, Osiris was the husband and brother of Isis, and the father of Horus. When Osiris was slain by the evil god Seth, he was resurrected by Isis, and thus Osiris became god of the underworld."

  "Harry, knock it off! Isis and Horus, or whatever, have nothing to do with you being here."


  "Yes! Yes! You're right, I must concentrate on dreams, and this dream has clearly Christian symbolisms in it, although I can see some ancient Egyptian and Masonic connotations. Anyway, the Christian, yes the Christian, I must concentrate on those symbols, like the serpent obviously representing the Devil, or at least some form of evil. The dream I had before this one certainly has a connection, and probably many other Christian symbolisms."

  "Your apocalyptic dream?" I asked hesitatingly.

  "Yes! Yes! Apocalyptic, in this case the 'End Times.' It's a central theme in the study of eschatology. They appear in several ancient and medieval religions and myths, notably Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Of course, it's with Christianity I must now deal with, so I will continue with my last dream. I took -"

  "It's all right, Harry. I don't need to know!" I interrupted, eager that he would stop all these nonsensical ramblings. Again he totally ignored me. He was like a man possessed.

  "After finishing that second glass of port, or third, or whatever, I sat on the sofa and fell asleep. And suddenly there I was!"

  It was no use. I was forced to listen. "Where?" I reluctantly asked.

  "Right in the middle of the campus of Columbia, just below the steps that lead up to Low Library. Do you know the place I'm talking about?"

  "Yes, of course," I wearily replied.

  "I was now all alone on the campus. Not a soul was to be found. I thought I had gone crazy. I then desperately tried to find my wife. She's a librarian, and so I checked both Low and Butler Library, but when coming out of the latter, right in the midst of Low Plaza, there was a huge silvery, glass-like pyramid. It was like something out of Star Wars, so incongruous did it look amidst the historic buildings surrounding it. However, it was not so much the incongruity that shocked me, but that it was actually there at all, as if it had been conjured up by magic. Now I felt I was surely going mad!"

  "But it was only a dream!"

  "No! No! Much more than that, it was a lucid dream. I had become fully awake in my dream. Like now!" he emphasized. "You have no idea what that is until you have one yourself. Only there, unlike the other lucid dreams, I did not know I was dreaming. For me, it was total reality, only that I now really thought I had gone mad. For quite some time I just stood there and stared in disbelief at this glass pyramid. Finally, I had the courage to enter. Once inside, there was this strange greenish light. I also saw an elevator, and for some reason, I was driven towards it. I went up the lift but found nobody. Then, on another floor, I found what was called a 'Holographic Virtual Reality Viewing Theatre.' I had no idea what that was, but still I went to its control room. It was all space-age looking, but somehow I managed to trigger it off, and there it came."

  "What?" I heard myself ask.

  "This holographic image of a woman. She looked absolutely real, except a little ghostlike, in that you could see right through her. However, it was not her that was the greatest shock, but her message. She said, 'If anybody is out there to hear me, thank God for that! At least somebody has survived!' That's exactly what she said." Harry was silent for a moment, as if reliving his nightmare. Then, with his face contorted, he continued. "I wanted to scream. You have to understand that one moment I was there on the sofa at home, listening quietly to Mozart's opera, then POW! Suddenly there I was, half a century into the future and facing doomsday!" He paused to drive the point home. "Then you know what else she said?"

  I only shook my head, wondering what other bizarre nonsense he would relate.

  With glazed eyes, as if in a trance, he continued: "I remember every single word. Every single word!" he emphasized again. "The holographic image was now fighting back her tears. She then stated, 'The date is May 22, 2055, and this is my last testament, and perhaps the world's. I'm the last one here in Columbia.'" Harry's eyes widened; he looked crazier than ever. "She then said, 'The order to evacuate New York City had already been given two weeks ago. I had no reason to evacuate. I have already been infected, and I know I will die. This airborne strain of Ebola had become a global pandemic, and it had no mercy. In case you are not of this world, but from some other, or from some distant place in time, then my testament will serve as a history of how our world had died!'"

  He paused, looked up, and noticed now my stunned expression. Satisfied, he continued with his narration:

  "Crying, she now added, 'The first outbreak of the Ebola virus was in 1976, and then again in 1995. For decades it remained a dormant sleeping monster, but then it reappeared in 2055. We thought that we had developed a suitable vaccine for the virus, but not for this type, which we thought had something to do with the green mist that had been approaching our Earth. This new version of Ebola had mutated into a far deadlier airborne strain, with a longer incubation period, but still with all the traditional symptoms of Ebola, of massive internal hemorrhaging of the vital organs such as the spleen, liver and the brain. Death nearly always resulted within fourteen days after first making itself manifest. However, having now a four to five week incubation period, and being airborne, the virus could rapidly spread to all parts of the world without anybody being aware of it. Then, when we became aware of it, it was too late!'"

  "Really!" I exclaimed.

  Harry, thinking I was mocking him, glared at me. "Why? What's wrong? Do you think I'm just making this whole dream up?"

  I vigorously shook my head. "No!" I replied hastily. "However, the spread of a global airborne Ebola pandemic is exactly what did happen, and in the year 2055, exactly the way you're telling me!"

  He smiled with self-gratification. "So, you're starting to believe me, hey? Good! Because this dream I'm having now is connected somehow. But why and for what reason, and what its symbolisms are, I don't know." He heaved a sigh then continued his long-winded but nonetheless intriguing narration of his dream. "I raced out of the auditorium and out of the building in sheer terror, trying to get as far and fast away from this crazy place as possible. I ran across Low Plaza and down College Walk towards Amsterdam Avenue. I started running south. However, all this time I didn't see anybody." He then looked at me in utter terror.

  I tried to reach out to him. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to tell me your -"

  He brushed my hand aside. "Don't patronize me! Listen to my dream!" he demanded. "I finally reached home, but everything looked so different, more modern. Many of the older buildings were gone, and the roads were different too. However, I found my way home." He paused for breath, then continued. "I pounded on my front door. 'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' I shouted. However, there was no reply. I took the keys from my pocket, and with trembling hands, managed to unlock the door. 'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' I yelled again as I entered into the house. Still there was no reply. I stumbled through the hallway and up the stairs into our bedroom. I noticed that so many things looked different, as it did throughout the house. You know, everything looked so modern, including contraptions that I had never seen before!" He shook his head in dismay. "Neither Elizabeth nor I liked modern d?cor. We both liked antiques, you know."

  "Yes, Harry, I understand."

  "Then I saw it!" He paused, then went absolutely pale.

  "Saw what?" I asked, now totally absorbed by his dream.

  "It was a photo of Elizabeth, but it was not Elizabeth, at least never the way I saw her before. She is sixteen years younger than me, only forty-eight. But in this picture, I saw a woman of perhaps ninety. She looked so old, so different, but I knew it was Elizabeth! So I started to scream. I couldn't control myself any longer. I dropped myself onto the bed, and with my face onto the pillow, I sobbed myself to sleep."

  Harry once more stared at me with that same dazed look. However, I remained speechless. It all seemed too fantastic.

  "Just before I fell asleep," Harry continued, "I comforted myself that this was all just a crazy dream, and when I wake up, everything would be back to normal. But it didn't. When I woke up the next morning, I was still in my nightmarish world. I again started to scream, I mean hysteri
cally. You have to imagine what I was going through, although I know you can't because you're just a figment of my imagination. However, after several minutes, I started looking for some tranquillizers. Luckily they were there, even if only in my dream. Anyway, eventually I found them. For a minute I was tempted to take the whole bottle, trying to end my life there and then. However, I forced myself to take only two tablets, double the amount prescribed, although, of course, not enough to kill myself, but enough to calm myself down, and hopefully stop this cursed hallucination. I had never been diagnosed for hallucinations, only for post-traumatic stress. However, I now believed that I was hallucinating, and not just dreaming. So I just sat there in a chair, letting the drug do its business. I sat watching the digital clock on the wall. An hour passed by and still the nightmare continued. Then another hour, yet still the scene did not change. However, I was now a lot calmer, and no longer hysterical. So, in this calmer state, I now concluded that perhaps I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating after all. I thought to myself, perhaps I really had traveled half a century into the future, in a world that was in its death throes. I knew it was illogical, but what else could I do? I recalled certain astrophysicist's theories about the potential of time travel through wormholes, and also Einstein's 'Theory of Relativity,' in which time was relative to motion. Of course, I have also read HG Well's The Time Machine. However, Roger had also recently spoken to me about strange conspiracy theories concerning time travel, like 'The Philadelphia Experiment' during World War II, and in more recent years, the so-called 'Montauk Project.' I thought at the time that this was all just total nonsense. Even Roger did. However, in my dream state, I now thought that this could all be possible." Then, challengingly, he glared at me. "Of course, in dreams all things are possible!"

  I shrugged and murmured, "Yeah, sure, I guess so."

  "However, you have to remember that unlike some of the other weird lucid dreams I had, in this dream at least, I was not aware that I was dreaming. I thought it was reality, and during that time, everything certainly seemed real. Yet, after taking the tranquillizers, or dreaming that I had taken them, I was now much calmer. I recalled former Ebola outbreaks were not airborne, but could only be spread through contact with infected blood, semen and other body fluids. However, I remembered reading something about airborne strains of Ebola having once existed in a laboratory at USAMRIID, the American army infectious diseases institute. So I could believe Ebola could have mutated either naturally, or else been genetically modified. Then, suddenly, in this dream state, I thought perhaps I had not traveled forwards in time, but more plausibly been asleep or in some sort of coma all these years, like in the story of Rip Van Winkle or Well's The Sleeper Awakes. More importantly, I have read of actual cases where people had really been comatose for years, even decades. At least it was a possibility! Anyway, all I now knew was that I suddenly found myself in an apocalyptic future, and now in this calmer state, I wanted to live. I thus went downstairs and rummaged around our kitchen and found at least some food and drink. In our lounge, I found a lot of modern electronic gadgets, including this giant semi-circular TV screen, probably a plasma screen of sorts, although I wasn't sure. Anyway, I wanted some news about where to go, areas which were still virus free. I tried the TV, but of course, everything was dead. No power, you see. Then, on a small nearby table, I saw a tiny silvery disk-shaped gadget, about the size of a silver dollar. I reached towards it and picked it up, noticing that it had some sort of LCD display, or something like it. Two miniscule buttons were on one of its side. I depressed one of the buttons and the gadget sprang to life, displaying some kind of menu system. I then realized it was a miniaturized computer, as well as a television and radio. By manipulating the two buttons, I soon learnt to navigate around the system. I finally found a signal from Canada. I now realized I was not the only person alive, and what was more, I learnt that central and northern parts of Canada were still not infected. So, of course, that's the place I wanted to go." He stopped and then looked hard at me. "Are you still listening?"

  "Yes, I am. To every word!" I truthfully replied. "It's incredible

  that -"

  "Good!" he snapped. "Then help me look for symbols, or anything that could be of help."

  Harry then explained that he had gone into their garage to find an electric car. It was fully charged. After finally working out how the voice controls and 'Hand Geometry Recognition Systems' worked, he packed what supplies he could, including his tranquillizers. He then drove out of New York City and headed northwards to Canada. All the time he had been driving, he had not seen anybody, alive nor dead. Then, just south of Kingston, in upstate New York, he saw the first human. A corpse. However, he explained that he then saw many other dead and dying people along the road, but he kept on driving until suddenly he had reached a roadblock that was choked for miles ahead. It seemed everybody was trying to reach the safety of the uninfected areas of Canada. He then told me something else about his dream that truly shocked me. A number of helicopter gunships had arrived and were attacking the traffic jam with napalm. He had only just managed to escape by flinging himself out of the car and running into the safety of the woods. He managed to stumble through the forest for a couple of miles before he finally collapsed into a coma. Then, in his dream, he remembered waking up the next day in some kindly old man's cabin in the Catskill Mountains. It was here that he had been told about some strange green mist that had been coming towards the Earth, a mist that astronomers, according to his dream, had already been seen for many weeks before the Ebola outbreak.

  Harry, becoming increasingly excited, suddenly stood up. I saw his knees shaking, but he continued narrating, words flowing now ever faster, ever wilder:

  "Seeing now this weird green mist heading towards the old man's cabin, I wanted to get the hell out of there. However, the old man kept telling me that it was no use trying to escape, that this was God's war of Armageddon. Only if I was found to be righteous could I be saved. I thought the old man was crazy, but then through the window, I saw the mist, now no longer high in the sky, but reaching the ground. It was forming itself into greenish figures, and they were then changing to a fiery red color. They looked like demons from hell, and they were now coming directly towards us! They were coming through the window and into the cabin, filling the entire room with their blinding red light. I clenched my eyes shut and screamed over and over, 'Please, God, help me! Help me!' Even with my eyes shut tight, and my hands covering my face, the blinding light was tearing through my eyes and into my brain."

  Harry shrieked a spine-chilling scream that jolted me onto my feet.

  For a split second, I imagined I saw these demons as well, so engrossed had I been in his dream.

  "Get away from me! Get away from me!" he screamed

  Then, suddenly, there was silence.

  Another miracle, but this time in our room. An intense white light formed itself into a human form, and once again I saw an angel.

  "Be calm, Harry. Everything will be all right," he said, and instantly Harry became calm.

  The angel then looked at me. He was only semi-materialized and radiated a tremendous aura of light, but I could tell it was the same angel I had seen on Mount Anastasis, and within the Divine Light. He looked at me serenely and again telepathically relayed the message that Harry needed my help. The angel then drifted towards Harry and placed his ghostly hand upon his head. "With the power of God, and with the help of David and this world, you will completely heal within a short time." He then radiated a wonderful smile, and suddenly we were all engulfed within the Light. I was no longer afraid; I was at peace, a peace that once again pervaded my entire being.

  Then, just as suddenly as the angel and the Light appeared, they were gone. Harry was now lying in bed, peacefully asleep. I simply stood there for several seconds, too stunned to move. However, I eventually went to Harry and took off his sandals. I reduced the bedroom light to a soft, gentle glow, and shut the door behind me, bewildered but stran
gely still at peace.