It was a country lane, a simple dirt track, that began across the road from a solitary old house. The house really existed in the waking world, the lane did not. The fabrication from my mind was called ‘Love Lane’. I knew its name because a faceless voice told me so. The voice also warned me not to venture down ‘Love Lane’, because it was full of sorrow.
Needless to say, I did. After walking for a short while along the lane, my gaze fell upon a peculiar tree. The odd thing about the tree was the fact that there were a number of children sat high up upon the branches. All of the children were crying, and after a few confused seconds, so was I.
The Blood Glacier
The glacier was far off in the distance, across a cold and barren wasteland. I walked towards it. As I drew near, I could see darkness at the foot of the creeping mountain of ice. I slowly continued on, moving closer and closer, until I realised that the darkness was actually an enormous amount of blood.
Awash, many tens of feet across and equal in height, of deep crimson, covered the bottom of the glacier’s sheer face. The macabre blood art also had a vast scattering of bones, skulls, and other human debris.
Just the rambling mind of a ten-year-old boy
‘Love Lane’ and ‘The Blood Glacier’ are names that I gave to two separate and, as far as I know, unrelated dreams I had when I was a young boy (around ten years of age). The slaughter at the foot of the glacier was a recurring dream I had on at least three occasions, and the dream was always the same.
Thirty-odd years later and I can still remember them both with near-perfect clarity. It’s strange what remains among the chaos and cobwebs upstairs. By the by, the old house was of the haunted variety, but that’s a story for another time.