The stairs were pitch black. I was building up a picture of the area around me as I descended, mainly through touch, though slowly I could see it in my mind as well. It looked like sort of a dark, dusty colour. As I reached the bottom of the staircase - it was an old, wide staircase, like you'd find in an auditorium, made for dozens of people to go up and down at once - I felt the cold of the corridor ahead of me. It only went a little ways further, but as I reached the door I could sense dampness and ice - like I was entering some sort of waterway, but it didn't smell like a sewer or maintenance area.
As I stepped forwards I felt, and saw it appear - a ghostly figure floating several feet off the floor - it's features entirely blank on a humanoid body. Not face, no nose, no fingers. Like a mannequin in a pale, ephemeral aura that looked vaguely like a dress. It lurched towards me in the air, and I ran. I felt rather than saw the staircase as I grabbed it, but I could hear it chasing, and I could hear other things on the staircase moving I remember thinking to myself "Okay, this is pretty scary but I wonder if it could be scarier," then I saw it in my mind's eye. The staircase was full of those same people - blank faces, no eyes, no mouth, but so many hands. Hands reaching out as they jaggedly shuffled into place to block my escape.
Then I was poked awake by my partner.
The ice rink was dark as I was skating around it. It was then I remembered that I couldn't skate at all, and predictably I lost control and careened into the side of the rink. I was bent over at the waist and, carrying the momentum, I slid around the side of the curve of the rink, before pushing myself away from the edge, and collapsing on to the floor. I slid quite some way before looking back and casually noting the long, spotted trail of blood across the ice and, feeling at my side, I could feel a big gouge the impact had taken out of me, sliding along the edge had cut me open from the front right of my abdomen to the back - a hole large enough to fit two hands into.
It didn't hurt, so I shrugged, and got to my feet. I was Sherlock Holmes, and I was out in the streets, trying to track down my latest quarry. I had deduced with my expert skills that magic was involved, so I was seeking out traces of magic users in the town. Unfortunately, before I could get very far I was rendered unconscious.
It was strange waking up in an unfamiliar house. I came to suddenly, but it took some time for me to become aware of my surroundings. It was an ornate room - high ceilings and lots of paintings on the wall with fancy frames. I was lying on a sofa with some very intricate patterning. I was not alone, and there seemed to be a whole family milling about around me as I woke. When I was noticed I remember the man of the house smiling warmly at me. I returned the smile. I recognised him, though I didn't know who he was. I was also becoming aware that I was not wearing my own clothes. The man sent what I presumed to be his son off to fetch my clothes, explaining that I had been found in a river, entirely butt naked, which had caused quite a chuckle. My clothes were now dry and he would let me change.
I thanked him and as I took possession of my clothes, he ushered most of his family out of the room, but rather than keeping to their own devices, they elected instead to go into the front garden, where they could spy on me through the windows. I chuckled, being a bit of an exhibitionist, but otherwise pretended not to notice as I stripped slowly, until I was fully nude. Pretending not to hear the excited titters of the mother or the mocking giggles of the children. I remember thinking to myself that Sherlock Holmes would probably have a tiny, ineffectual member. It's not like he would even look at the thing, being so grossly un-sexual, so I didn't, as I dressed into my comfortable clothes.
The man of the house explained that he was a magician, and he knew I was looking for one. He explained that magic could only really be used for trivial illusions, so he thought my deduction was wrong, and the crime couldn't have been committed by a magician. Whilst what he was saying was true, it was not the magic, but the nature of it's use that made it so intriguing. I was about to explain why, when I realised I hadn't seen that part of the dream yet, so my explanation wouldn't really make any sense. I shrugged and woke up instead.
