In my sleep,

in my sleep last night



In my dream,

in my dream last night



In the dark,

in the dark last night



In the hall,

walked Richard Speck last night



[Going back. Going way back. Rewind. Chichichichichichi. Going way back to 1966.

My mother was talking with her sister about some nurses who were murdered up in

Seattle late in the night. Her description of these murders was vivid, and she

accurately identified with the fear that the surviving must have felt, all curled

up underneath that bed listening to her friends get killed one at a time. Waiting

for the moment she too would be discovered and disposed of.



Hence, in my overcrowded childhood mind, these murders played out time and time again

like a sickly off-Broadway production that keeps getting revived. And so, sometimes in

my dreams, Richard Speck walks the hall at night.]