Sometimes I have really weird dreams. Writing short stories about them seemed like a fun idea.
Consciousness fades in.
We wake up trapped in a cave. Or at least, we seem to be trapped - it’s a dead end with various bits of equipment lying around, and the only way out seems to be a pool of water in the corner. We might be able to swim for it. It’s our only chance. We either die trying to swim out or we die here. We might as well try swimming.
To improve our chances, someone has the idea of using some of the bottles that are lying around to carry extra air. We attach some straws to them so we can breath for them. We also add some more straws which go into…another bottle? And in the other bottle is brown sugar. The idea is that we can suck on the other straw and it’ll draw water in, through the brown sugar, and it’ll be sweet. Is it to give us extra energy for the swim?
The swim is a blur, but somehow we make it. But wait, it emerges into a house we’ve been in before. It’s a mansion. It’s some kind of secret tunnel to this dead end cave?
And we know the owners of this house. Were they the ones who put us in the cave? Is that cave where they put their enemies, to rot away - separated by the water of the tunnel?
Apparently we got out of there, but we come back later. Opening the door, I’m weary that the butler might still be around. There was something slightly odd about that butler. Something not to be trusted. I shout out, “Butler…?” but no one answers. It’s safe.
We head to the second floor, where we gather up possessions we’d left there. But ghost noises start. I tell myself, “I’m a rational person. I don’t believe in ghosts. Surely these noises have another explanation.” but no explanation presents itself other than the paranormal. Looking up, I notice there’s some kind of a frosted skylight in the ceiling, and we can see movement beyond. But this is supposed to be the top story of the house. It must be a hidden floor!
There’s a woman involved. We’ve seen this woman before. We know the movement we can see through the frosted skylight is this woman’s. Everyone else is implicating her - she must be the cause of all these strange occurences! We finish gathering our belongings. Someone suggests we use a ‘ghost gun’ - a gun which fires some kind of special bullets that work on ghosts? Everyone is in support of this idea. We rush back down the stairs.
Consciousness fades out.