Dreamed I heard a squeaking noise in the kitchen. Called the cat in there so she could find the mouse and dispose of it, but I saw the mouse first. It was hiding under the fridge. As I told the cat to deal with it, the mouse emerged. It was very large and fluffy, also moved very sluggishly. The cat jumped at it and nipped it, and I realized it was not a mouse, so I told her to stop. She licked the mouse to apologize.
I picked the not-mouse up and saw that its neck was torn open. What I thought were beans spilled out over my hand. I felt a terrible pinching and saw that the beans were beetles and were biting me. I pried them off with great difficulty.
The not-mouse was still alive, but only just.
I was too afraid to go back to sleep, just as I had been when a dream taught me the danger of opening a door with a Cthulhu symbol on it.
In that dream, I was exploring a miser’s conservatory. I came upon the aforementioned door, and curiosity overcame sanity, so I went in. There were long hallways bearing some strange slime trails. A small blue-ish creature like a cat-sized slug with a head of tentacles appeared. It screeched in delight and began chasing me, its tentacles waving in excitement. It was unexpectedly fast and nimble.
I ran to evade it but laughed because I thought we were playing a game of tag, though my common sense told me the creature was a deadly guard dog and I needed to get far away from it. Eventually the thing leapt on my arm and in that moment I knew I was about to die horribly, because its slime was hot and acidic, and its tentacles’ grip was too powerful to break.
After weeks of searching I positively identified the creature in that nightmare as a tiny cthonian.
The final dream was not so much a nightmare, so was something of a relief from my usual horrors. I dreamed I went to a class, worried that I hadn’t studied the coursework at all, horrified to discover the final exam was today. The teacher handed out blank paper and pencils and told us to imagine we were writing a novel. The exam would be to begin writing the novel, 300 words or so.
I was relieved because it had nothing to do with the coursework I had failed to study. I walked down the street a bit to try to come up with something to write. I saw a pink van in someone’s driveway and got an idea to write a story about the aftermath of a disaster.
I started writing but misspelled the first three words, “The red sky”. I erased them and tried again, but misspelled them again. On my third try the lead fell out of my pencil. I walked back to used the pencil sharpener, which fell apart when I tried to use it.