Dreamt the house was on fire. While everyone else was standing around like drunk Sims, I tried to call the fire department. “We sorry, but your call can not be completed as dialed.”
Fine. I get the hose and the ladder. Get up to where I saw the fire and see a smoke bomb. I throw that out and climb into the attic. Nothing is on fire. But at a different window I see a jet of fire like from a butane torch coming into the attic. A shadowy figure is giggling.
I turn on the water and spray the lurking shadow out the open window.
“Fuck!” The arsonist drops the portable torch as they fall off their ladder. By the time I cross the attic to the scorched window the arsonist has made their getaway. The butane torch has gone out from the failsafe and nothing is burnt.
The fire department shows up. They confiscate the butane torch and give me shit for not staying out like everyone else.
I can’t shake the feeling that they were upset there was nothing burning. I’m even more disturbed at the gut feeling that I was supposed to be personally burnt out of my home.
Someone is up to some shit and I’m not having it.