Sweet Dreams

I’m of the belief that some dreams have meaning and some have none whatsoever, generally speaking.  But every time I dream about our house or the spirits in it, I wake up totally freaked out,  convinced that our ghosts are trying to send me a message. 

Last night (this morning?), I was having a perfectly pleasant dream where I was with a group of friends at some event, and we were just talking and hanging out.  My mom showed up with a box of stuff she found in the (her? my?) attic.  In it, there was a photo of a man who looked like he was straight out of the 1970s  or 80s, with big, clunky glasses, a sweet porn stache, and thick, brown feathered hair.  I can still see the picture perfectly in my mind, the dream was that vivid.  He was wearing a white polo tennis shirts with a few thick stripes through the middle, and some waaaaay too short white shorts.  He was also wearing a gold chain.  (See, told you….I can still see it perfectly in my head.)

I feel like he was on a bike, or near a bike, and there was a woman in the photo with him, but I don’t remember her face as well.  I asked my mom who he was and why I should care about this picture.  She explained some present day link, which I don’t remember now (he worked in my building, or was one of the paranormal investigators on our case, or was a former teacher of mine or something like that) and then said, “look at his name.”  I can’t, for the life of me, remember what the name was, or why it was written in big block letters on the front of the picture, but I do remember that his first name was Robert.  “I think this is Bobby,” my mom said.  And then I started screaming- this blood curdling, top of my lungs, hysterical shriek.  I was staring at the picture, just screaming and screaming.  And I realized, in my dream, that Bobby was never the name of one of our ghosts, “Bobby” was the person responsible for all of the ghosts in our house, and that every time the little ghost boy talked about “Bobby,” he was trying to tell us about the person who killed him, not tell us his own name.  I screamed so much and so loud in my dream that it woke me up.  I’m 99% sure that it’s the reason for my migraine today, as well.

I woke up terrified.  I wanted so badly to run out of my room, out of my house altogether, and not come back until daylight.  But.  My youngest son was asleep in my bed, and I couldn’t leave him alone in my room with whoever or whatever was planting nightmares in my head.  I know, I’m being overly dramatic.  The dream probably meant nothing.  It doesn’t even make any sense.  But even now, in the light of day and with my fears calmed, I still feel like it meant SOMETHING.  Although what, I have no idea.