As I had walked in the February night on the streets of Bloomington, Illinois, I could not stop thinking about the nightmare that I had a few days before -- I had a similar dream while I was ill on a cot at College of Du Page after I decided to donate my blood for the first time. Of what I begin to describe of the dream was that I had been sitting on a seat of a subway car in a Chicago subway -- I was looking outside of the window that was behind me and I was watching someone being burned alive at the stake. No one knew of the reasons why he was being burned, but as I sat there -- I had found out that a rural preacher had made his way to the city and found someone that thought differently than the way one thinks in Iowa, the reason he murdered the individual was that he had different beliefs.
   A belief were of the night had been the driving force of his religion. According to the one’s that were sitting next to me, he was quoting scripture to the nocturnal philosopher because the way the philosopher thought was an act of witchcraft in the eyes of the narrow-minded preacher. The preacher had found great offense to what the philosopher was speaking of there being a metaphysical form of a missing anchorwoman from Mason City, Iowa. In the dream, I had spoken to this philosopher before his untimely homicide that was driven by the preacher’s words, “The murder was in God’s will.”
   As I had been sitting on that subway, time had passed on -- minutes slowly waned into hours as I had watched the preacher walk onto the train. He been targeting me because of the way I had been dressed -- this mirrored something that really happened to me while I was at the Franklin County Fair of July 1998; a minister’s son, about 23 years old -- my age, had made a remark on the lines that I should not be dressing in black because they would pull me out to a cornfield and shoot me as if I was some kind of witch or Mephistopheles. It was like what had happened in Arkansas about three teens dressed in black and listened to heavy metal were accused of killing and raping three girls.
   But as the narrative goes on about that minister, he had cold look in his eyes almost ill with starting a mob rule because of my curiosity toward the supernatural and the arcane. As I had sat there looking out of the corner of my eyes, I had seen another walking along the walkway of the subway train. The individual’s hair had been concealed or secret from the others that had been sitting on the train, but the motions of the individual’s body showed that the being was a female. In the facial features the being looked like the Mason City anchorwoman that had been kidnapped in front of her residence at Key Apartments. The ghostly being had some strands of blonde hair showing from the hood of the gray, velvet gown and her face was covered by an opaque, black veil. The gown went all the way down to her ankles and was very close to her body -- appeared almost as a death shroud. She had gone to lay down across the length of four to five seats, and the long gown had covered her feet like a blanket -- or she appeared as a mummy because the sleeves of her gown had hidden parts of her hands, which were pale as the skin of a corpse. She was cold to the touch and her lips had glowed with crimson.
  I tried to say hello to her, but she had said nothing because her throat had been cut at her vocal cords. A wound of that nature would kill someone instantly, but many in the Mason City area had said that Jody Husentruit’s body had been ditched in the murky waters of Big Blue -- a park that is found on the south end. But there was a dark connection to her spirit and to my nightmares, as I would be a modern version of D. D. Home (pronounced Hume.) Could it be that she is trying to contact me because of my writing ability and the connection that I have to the supernatural. I tried to call out to her, “Jody -- could you tell me what happened, and why are you trying to contact me?” She did not answer -- just appeared that she was laying on her back, arms were crossed and her hands had been covered in blood and they had burn marks on her wrists as where the rope burns were. Beneath the veil, her bluish glowed in a dark, ghostly manner.
   Picturing this dream in one’s mind was pretty fucking eerie to describe, but if one began to relate this dream to a friend that lived in that area, one would surely have me locked up someplace (Someplace, as they would describe a psychiatric ward, or a home for one that had gone demented.) Her appearance was that similar to one who was vampiric in nature -- ghostlike in description. Only I was able to see her, but that scripture quoting preacher did not see her though -- but she was there resting.
   I had to get her out of the subway and into somewhere that was able to see her besides myself. I had my backpack with me, one that I used when I would go camping with and unrolled a mummy style sleeping bag then placed her in it to keep her warm. She was easy to carry once I had her in the sleeping bag, I closed the hood around it and waited for the next stop to get off -- with her draped over my shoulder. She covered most of my left shoulder, but then again -- I am not that big either for a male.
  I stood at 5’10 and weighed 150 to 155 lbs., fairly small individual with a meek, athletic build. I might walked a few miles carry her on my shoulders. “It is okay -- I am going to take you to a clairvoyant who also is specialized in supernatural beings such as what you are.” She was trying to say something, but it sounded like a pale breath -- as one would be gasping if they were ill with a respiratory infection. I could feel her breathing through the sleeping bag, and I found a dark dingy building that no one had been in for many years, it appeared similar to the Marynoll’s chapel -- no pews and a table which was in middle of the chapel, as an altar and five mattresses where placed on the floor of the Marynoll’s chapel. But this building was not the Marynoll Seminary.
   This had been same person into that building was one that had been kidnapped and murdered years before I had known of the story of her kidnapping, while I had still lived in Glendale Heights, Illinois. I slowly laid her down to her back -- her face had a blank expression, as one that had when they are mummified at death. I pulled back the black veil and to my horror, it was the missing anchorwoman, Jody Husentruit. As I sat there with the materialized ghost of Jody, there appeared the ghost of a 19-yearr-old Clear Lake girl that was murdered in Britt, Iowa, sometime in January 1999, and the ghosts of the woman and her four young children who all had been murdered in Addison and Bellwood, Illinois, similar to Manson family murders three months before Husentruit had been kidnapped in 1995.
  I had no idea why I was able to see these people in my dreams -- I don’t see ghosts of people who die of natural causes, but there is a reason why one is able to see the materialized ghosts of individuals that brushed with death in different forms of homicide. As I begin to ask the question of why, I slowly to return to the physical world -- laid up in a hospital bed where I was when I had been in Mercy Medical Center of North Iowa because of an interaction of over the counter drugs and the medications for psychiatric illness.