A recurring dream

The dream always begins with the fear that I hadn’t buried the bodies deep enough. You see, the floor of the fruit cellar was made of very hard-packed dirt, making it difficult to dig. Especially when in a hurry. I had buried them long ago and was not entirely certain that I’d done a sufficient job of covering my tracks.

Now, the police were snooping around while investigating an entirely unrelated crime. Surely they’ll find something. If they do, there’s no doubt the evidence will lead them quickly to me. A small crowd had gathered in the yard, anticipating something gruesome. Little do they know! I watch helplessly as several officers cautiously descend the small concrete steps leading into the cellar. Maybe it’ll be fine. But then as they pull the short chain on the single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, I can see beyond them and into the darkness. The floor shows obvious signs of being disturbed. My stomach lurches and I begin to run.

That is where the dream always ends. So far the bodies remain buried.