Rooms, Dreamt of and Otherwise

My room is heavy with new / old furniture - desk, drawers, and a 'white thing' Em found in the street last year for storing small items on. This is all stuff from her old place that she does not need in her new place (and Em, in sharp contrast to me is happier the less she has...). I also have the old sofa in here too, as Em's (larger and more comfortable) sofa is in the living room. It was a diabolic process getting the sofa from there to here, and could not have been done without Em's Dad (here to move things) and screwdrivers, drills and trips to Homebase for more screws and (bits for) drills.
My room, vaguely chaotic and looking scatter-brained, feels inexplicably larger but with less space. It has a much more pleasing feel. Through the half open curtains I see sunlight on the houses, and in the coolness of this always-shadowed room, a pleasing day-dreamy serenity. A very familiar serenity, though I can't think from where. It reminds me of sunlight falling through branches in the wind, leaf-shadows on the floor of an imagined childhood room, high up in a much loved and mythical house. Sleep and afternoons, summer stretching on into dusty Augusts. I don't know the room now reminds me of this. Familiar things are often those things we have never seen before.
I dreamt of Woodstock Drive last night, the house I lived in as a teenager on the western edge of London. In the dream the house was accessed through a building that looked very much like the Mews. I was there with Em, and we were staying there over a number of days. The house was full of other peoples things. I was worried in case they were a) either still there or b) had just popped out and would be back to find strangers there. I knew that they had disappeared though and would not be back. I knew that this was because the house was haunted (of course) by a dark and invisible malevolence. I realised that the source of the haunting was my old room. At the end of the landing, the white door closed, hiding something. This was the last room in the house that I was to go into. With trepidation I opened the door - the room was covered with someone else's belonging, but still looked like my old room. I knew that the room belonged to another teenage boy.
That's all I remember.