Between thin rain and the deepening indigo sky, there was little visibility beyond the windows. Alone in my house save for a sleeping child.
Why don’t they use the doorbell?
And yet the knocking persisted, sharp and regular: knock knock!
Back door, front door. French door on the deck. knock knock! No one beyond the curtains. Back door, front door. French door on the deck. knock knock!
I propped myself up on my elbow, limbs sweaty, comforter tangled around my bare feet. The house was quiet except for my husband’s snoring. The knocking so close to the surface of consciousness, I felt I needed to listen for the next occurrence.
At some point my vigil relented to sleep, but the phantom knocking tainted my rest. I woke blearily to my son chirping at my bedside.
A trip down the Google rabbit hole reveals some possibilities, a search for dream symbols and a link to a Jungian dream dictionary:
To hear knocking in your dreams suggests that your unconscious is trying to attract your attention to some aspect of yourself or to some waking situation. A new opportunity may be presented to you. Alternatively, the dream may be a pun that you are “knocking” on or insulting something or someone. Or perhaps there is a habit or behavior that you to stop or “knock it off”.
Further, less academic interpretations point to a need for freedom, to fortune smiling. Such positive connotations from such a sinister dream.
Nearly eight hours later and I can’t shake the notion that a message has been delivered, but I confess, I’d trust the messenger more if it hadn’t scared me half to death in the middle of the night.
Of course, it also could have been the fact that I’ve been reading Stieg Larsson before I go to sleep.
So is it omens and portent or a hyperactive imagination?