Zombies, Dreams, Hitler and No-One at the Door

Two recent dreams...
1.
There had been a zombie apocalypse. Living corpses on every street. I am worried about walking the street with a shotgun in case the police see me and think I am a criminal. Society continues to collapse. Law breaks down. I join a group of survivors holed up in a bunker. The leader of this group is Adolf Hitler. I think to myself that 'this could lead to trouble' but, despite a less than good Historical record, decide that he 'might have changed'. More survivors gather outside the bunker. Hitler is quite cross about this, and refuses to let them in or give them food. Out of the periscope I can see women washing their babies in taps that grow out of the ground. I am shocked by such poverty. We convince Hitler that they need some food. He agrees, and installs a giant flexible tube that will run from the bunker to the other survivors. This will dispense a grey/green tasteless mush that is called 'Grunge containing all the necessary vitamins for survival. 'If they're not happy with their grunge' rages Hitler 'they can go somewhere else!'.
2.
I am at my grandparents old house in Stone, Worcestershire. I am in the living room with Bracken, our old Yorkshire Terrier. The living room is full of shadows. It suddenly strikes me that I might be spending the night here alone. The thought fascinates and terrifies me - the house is haunted after all.

The last dream I had yesterday afternoon when I had got back from work. When I woke, I lay on my bed, thinking about what I would have done if I had to spend any nights alone at my grandparents house (I used to think the house was haunted when I was a kid). I began to day-dream (nearly slipping back into sleep-dream) of spending summer nights in the garden, building a makeshift shed, being afraid to go anywhere near the house at night for fear of glimpsing something. Perhaps, even, during the day, the house might adopt an increasingly malevolent atmosphere...
As I began to get caught up in these waking fantasies of avoiding haunted houses there was a sudden knock. Someone at the door. There is little that is more unnerving than an unexpected knock at the door on a Saturday afternoon. I elected to ignore it. What if there was another knock I thought? Then there was another knock - urget, insistent - I decided to answer it and leapt off my bed, grabbed my keys and looked down the stairs at the frosted glass of the door...
There was no-one standing there.
Whoever it had been had quickly left, and I never found out who it was.