The Monster of Willow Bark

This is a dream I had on the sofa one weekend. I’d been under the weather and was dosed up, and then this random horror film decided to play in my head.
I blame the bug.

I was travelling, and somehow I ended up in this small town called Willow Bark.
(I don’t know if this place actually exists — if it does, this is a coincidence.)
I didn’t know how I got there or where I was coming from, but I had accommodation in an old warehouse. The building felt abandoned, more like a storage facility than somewhere humans should be sleeping. I was sharing it with three other women.

Our “room” was actually an old shipping container. When I walked in, I realised we were the lucky ones. People were sleeping in laid-down wardrobes.
Someone had opened the wardrobe doors and turned them into tiny coffin-shaped beds with pillows and quilts inside.
Seeing that, I was grateful we managed to get a container.

There were metal stairs in the warehouse, and above them was a small wooden structure built into the rafters.
It looked like a tiny church.

One of the women grabbed my arm and shook her head.

“We can’t go up there. That’s where Mary is.”

I asked, “Mary who?”

They all looked at me like I’d just admitted I’d never heard of gravity.

“Mary. You know. Jesus’ mum? She lives here. But she’s a bit crazy these days. Just don’t go up there.”

We walked toward our container, and a group of lads stopped us. They didn’t flirt, didn’t joke. They just said:

“The Monster of Willow Bark wakes tonight.
If you’re not locked up, it’ll eat you.”

Dream logic: nobody screamed.
Nobody panicked.
Everyone just moved.

I noticed one of the huge garage doors was still open, and a window next to it was cracked.
I said we should fix the window and shut the door as fast as possible. People started pouring out of their wardrobe beds and containers to help.
Even with everyone working together, the garage door wouldn’t close.

We gave up.
The safest option was to lock ourselves inside our containers or wardrobes.

I suggested we warn Mary, because apparently even dream-me cares about strangers living in church lofts. (This time dream-me wasn’t a bitch.)

I got shouted at.

“No one goes upstairs.”

So poor Mary gets no warning and hopefully the monster also respects that rule. Fingers crossed.

That was when we heard it.

A low growl.

It sounded wrong.
Not animal, not human. Just evil.

The monster had woken.

The four of us sprinted to our container and slammed the door. Inside, there were two glass rooms, each with two beds. I grabbed the closest one with another woman and locked the glass door behind us.

The other two ran into the second glass room. One shouted that we hadn’t locked the container door.
So I unlocked the glass door again and ran back to the main entrance.

I got there just in time.

I saw it — tall, skinny, terrifying.
The face was uncanny, like something pretending to be human but missing all the important details.
It tried to force its way in. Somehow, I had the strength to slam the container door, shove the bolts into place, and lock it.

Then I ran back into the glass room and locked that too.

For now, we were safe.

Morning arrived the way dream mornings do — instantly.
I opened the container and stepped out.

The sight was horrific.

Some wardrobe beds were wide open.
Dead bodies inside them.
Some were half eaten, some untouched.
Others were open and the people were still alive — all clutching statues of Jesus in their arms.

Then Mary came down the stairs.

She looked exactly like every church painting of her: blue dress, calm face.
Except she was real, and more beautiful than I could explain.
I bowed without thinking, and she spoke to me. I couldn’t understand the words, but I felt warm, safe, loved.

The lads from the night before returned.

They asked if we wanted to explore the old church of Willow Bark — where the monster lived.
They said we’d be safe because it only came out on certain nights.

So of course we said yes.
Dream logic again.
Why not risk our lives hunting the monster that just ate half the building?
Brilliant day out.

We followed them to the church.
It hadn’t been used in years.
Dust everywhere.
Books, strange tools, an old pitchfork.

We searched for the monster, but it wasn’t there.

And that was it.

No warning.
No reason.

Just dream-me wandering around a warehouse full of wardrobes, Mary living upstairs, and a monster that ate anyone who didn’t lock themselves tight.

© 2025 Louise C Kay. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without permission.