I get chased by the living dead.

After an office party, I packed up to hit the road for the day. On my way out, I realized I left a stack of books inside the building. I went back inside to retrieve them.

The office was empty, except for one editor, me and a room full of Halloween costumes, cardboard cut-outs of characters from horror flicks and a set of tables covered with medieval weaponry. While the editor and I tried to fit all my books into a bag, a guy and a girl walked in -- both blonde.

"I'd like to subscribe to the newspaper," one of them said.

"I'm sorry, but no one is here right now who can help you with that," I said. "So you'll have to call or come back tomorrow, earlier in the day."

The two weren't satisfied by my answer, but they didn't argue. Instead, they took the liberty of walking further into the building to explore, convinced I was lying to them.

"Seriously," I said. "No one here can help you subscribe to the paper."

Neither acknowledged me. I followed them, reminding them all the while that there was no one there who could help them. While they explored, their heads of hair turned black and so did their clothes. We passed a table of cakes, left over from the party. The couple dug in with their hands before meandering into the room full of Halloween and weapons. Finally, the couple left. I walked home after that.

While I walked, I passed the scene of a car accident. Out the broken window of an overturned yellow Honda Civic crawled the now-dark haired girl who had earlier refused to leave my office. Only now, she was dead. And a zombie. Horrified, I hurried home. On the way, I found I was being followed by a pair of guys, one of whom I recognized:

the now-dark haired guy who'd earlier refused to leave my office.

Clearly, I thought, he holds me responsible for the death and zombification of his girlfriend. By the time I walked up to my house, the guys were close behind me, taunting me.

"You won't win this fight, you know. You may as well quit!"

But I walked into the entry through a screen door, and into the house through the front door and locked it behind me. Inside, I told my mom about all that had happened.

"Who is trying to harm my twins?!" she asked, in a fit of fear. I didn't, however, have time to ask her whether it's true that I have a twin of whom I'm unaware. I ran to the front door and swung it open upon realizing I'd locked my dog outside. The dog, brown and scruffy, stood barking at the guys from behind the screen door.

"Rocky," I said to him. "Get in the house!"

He didn't even notice.

"Rocky! ... Wait," I said. "That's not your name. Rocky! Wait. That isn't your name. What is your name?!"

The clock is ticking, I thought, watching the guys find a way to break in through the screen. What is my dog's name? It hit me.

"Ninja!" I shouted. "Get in the house!"

Ninja ran inside.

But for me, it was too late. I froze, terrified and face to face with the guys who had followed me home.

"Mom!" I mouthed. No voice. I tried again. "Mom!" I whispered. No good, as she couldn't hear me. Finally, I found my voice. "Mom!" I yelled.

Then, I woke up.

- - - -

I originally documented this dream upon waking myself up by yelling "Mom" in my sleep at 5:15 a.m. on June 19, 2009. I have never had a dog named Ninja.