House of Murderers

I've been having really disturbing, creepy dreams lately. The last one that I remember involved a maniacal couple in their late fifties who lived in an oversized townhouse in a prestigious New York City neighborhood. At first, I didn't think I was physically involved in the dream. It was as if I were the camera person.

The couple, Harry and Frieda, were showing me how they went about their dastardly deeds and where they killed this victim and that victim. It was sickening that they were so nonchalant about the horrific murders they had committed. It was as if I were filming their story for some twisted documentary.

The house was full of torture chambers and killing machines, some of which Harry proudly stated that he had invented. Frieda was complaining of the bloody mess a lot of their victims made and how hard and time consuming it was to clean up after a killing. Yes, a murder!

How many murders had they committed? "Not really sure," Harry answered gleefully with a casual shrug and chuckle as he pushed his black, coke bottle lens glasses back up on his nose.

"Do you have an idea, Dear?"

"Oh, no. No. But a lot of them made very bloody messes, actually. Good thing it was all so fun. Made the clean ups worth it, you know!"

The next thing I know, I'm trying to find the front door. The corridor walls have an Oriental theme done in deep reds, dark greens, faded gold. They are dark, long and narrow and I can't get my sense of direction. There are too many black doors. It's just a huge, overdone maze. There is a heavy stench in the air-musty and could it be rotting blood? I'm running, but every time I turn a corner, there they are, killing another innocent victim for the camera. Oh, that poor pizza delivery kid!

All of the sudden, I hear singing birds. An open window must be near! I run down a corridor towards a spot where I think I see sunlight streaming from what must be a window around a corner. The singing birds become louder. That's odd. One bird is distinctly singing a tune. A hymn? No. But I've heard this song before. I didn't think normal birds could mimic human songs, but I am sure I have heard this song before.

I reach the end of the corridor and sure enough, a large open window comes into view. I run up to it and look out expectantly-where is that singing bird that is mimicking a human tune? To my horror, I realize it is not a bird. There is some creepy, haggard guy with a scruffy white beard and long dirty coat down on the sidewalk whistling, "Oh, Christmas Tree."

Suddenly, he stops whistling, looks up at me with a wicked smile and points behind me. Right before everything goes black, I turn just in time to see Harry with an axe and Frieda clucking not to make a mess.