I dreamed that Cathy and Chris from Flowers in the Attic (think Cersei and Jamie, but in 1980s America, not fantasy land) were important and influential members of my town. There had been a string of murders, then Cathy died of self-poisoning because she knew we were about to realize she was the killer. She took some sort of white, powdery poison that falls out of old book, and her body quickly began to fall apart and decay rapidly, until we were forced to scramble around, gathering all of her bones to lay on a bier. Chris carried her skull over, with the long blond hair and tatters of rotted flesh still hanging on in patches, and, before he laid it down with the rest of her, kissed the skull on the mouth, hoping to poison himself and die, too.
I was trying to figure out how the murders had all occurred, and what horrible poison she had used, when I accidentally dropped the book, and some of the powdery poison flew out from the pages and into my mouth. I began rinsing my mouth out in a panic, but I could still taste the poison. Here I woke up for a bit.
I went back to sleep and dreamed that Cathy's bones and rotting flesh were gnawed by rats, and infected them, and they had started a plague. The sickness turns people into super-strong zombies who finally die when they rot completely apart. But by then, they've normally managed to infect someone else.
One little girl got infected, and her voice got low and evil as she started to torture her mother. Her mother's boyfriend was one of the doctors looking for a cure. He got a video message from the little girl, showing her pushing her mother's head under water over and over, then cutting her skin with a knife and rubbing her own infected saliva or putrefying flesh into the wounds to infect her mother.
Meanwhile, some friends and I were out singing karaoke with some people we'd just met. They were from England, and those of us who had traveled there were sharing stories. I recounted the time I changed euros for dollars in the Gatwick airport, and somehow ended up with a crisp $5 bill that had never been folded, and seven pence, and the clerk and I just laughed and laughed. Then our group all went out for a walk, and one of the guys kept trying to hold my hand and steer me away from the group. I looked up and found we were alone, and the only way to get where he wanted to keep walking was to crawl through a narrow cage of wood and wire. I was going through, and getting almost to the end, but the cage was getting very narrow. I knew I could make it, but I scratched myself on a wooden splinter pretty bad and started bleeding. The guy wasn't behind me in the cage after all. He came up to the side and spat on the scratch and began rubbing his saliva into my wound, and I realized he was a newly infected zombie who had now infected me. Then I woke up.
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