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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.]
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