A Dream of my Grandparents House

I am back again. The house is empty. No-one new has moved in since my grandparents. All the rooms are empty, but as with all dreams about the house, it is haunted. On a cushion are our two old Yorkshire Terriers, Bracken and Bess. Bracken is alive, but Bess is dead, but both are ghosts. It is hard to remember the logic of a dream. Perhaps Bracken did not know he was dead, but Bess did. Bess's eyes drawn and staring, an unpleasant glance betraying a canine and unpleasant knowledge, a bloodshot experience. I am pleased to see them and stroke both their heads. I know that their appearance as these spectres is an effect of the house. An empty attic, somehow situated on the first floor. Brick walls. Darkness gathers in the house, shadows that pool like water. Outside there is still sun, but it is a deep night in here. Fear, nostalgia, and a kind of euphoria grip me; shall I stay in here as it gets dark? There is a sudden image of the gate of a wooden fence, a feeling of terror and panic. The front door is locked. I am trapped in the house and must escape through the garden, if I am to escape at all.