The Dream Wolves

I don't remember how we got there, but suddenly me and this other guy were at the house's front door, and werewolves were trying to get in.  The four adolescents looked human enough, but I knew fur and lupine snouts hid under their white skins.  Something about them just broadcast pack hunting and predatory intent.  By similar omniscience, I knew the guy next to me was on my side, stuck in that house facing a bunch of wolf-hearted teens.  My companion didn't look like anyone special.  Sandy blond hair ringed his face in downward spikes, the kind of messy bowl cut half the Irish boys in Boston sport.  When he turned to mouth a warning to me about the prowling young-bloods, blue eyes flashed, though I could have sworn they were brown the first time.  But my debate had to pause, as one of the wolf kids lifted a gun and the warning became clear.  My companion and I dodged three hasty shots that cracked wood and glass in the door.  Then we crashed forward and slammed the front door into the would-be invaders.  It worked.  Our ploy had to, or we'd have been shot, and my all-knowing sleepy brain refused to let that happen.

This was still my dream.

Anyway, my blue-brown pal knocked the gun away under the porch, and some quick wrestling extracted us mostly unharmed from the snarling teens.  I took off for the stairs, letting my companion drift out of focus into that state of dreamy irrelevance whereby all sidebars are ignored till we want them again.  The stairs were great: They climbed up using all four sides of the house's foyer until three floors up they ended in a balcony landing in front of the attic door.  Having ascended that far, and sensing snapping jaws behind me, I did the logical, cinematic thing and leapt over the balcony rail.

Unfortunately the fall hurt, my legs crumpling as I tumbled to the floor.  To compound my woe, the pack had anticipated my action -- the adolescents obviously weened on a similar movie diet -- and one wolf- boy hopped on top of me, ready to tear and bite.  But my egocentric mind had one more epiphany to share: These werewolves were just kids, and I was in no danger.  I could easily win the physical struggle.

At that point, the dream battle lost my interest.  I realized the wolf teens were wasting my time, and I resented their keeping me in that house.  A couple mental twists on that floor, and I awoke.  It's the ultimate expression of control in the night realm, choosing to be done dreaming.

It had been my dream the whole time.

I might have gone through my day and gleefully forgotten the visions.  Except then, my boyfriend woke up and mumbled, "Gosh, Roland, I had the worst dream.  These teen-wolf types were running me ragged through my grandparents' farm!"

And that was my first encounter with the dream wolves.