I am currently basing part of a book on this dream… a combination horror/fantasy genre book. Enjoy!
I am in a town, hiding in an attic with 4 other people. One of us heard that this town was cursed a long time ago by someone who decreed that the effects of the curse would begin the moment that a baby beginning the town’s 7th generation was born, which is today. We were at the hospital when it was born- immediately upon being placed in its mother’s arms, it burst into thousands of tiny faintly glowing wasps that looked like day flies. So we ran to hide in the attic of the town tavern, owned by one of the people I am with. The wasps seemed to infect everyone they stung, dropping them on the spot, where moments later they would explode into more wasps.
From the attic, we can see the main street and hear fairly far. The air is filled with screams of panic and after maybe 20 minutes the sound of screams is replaced by the deep thrumming of millions of wasps making their way closer to us. They find a way into the attic through various cracks and two of the people with me instantly drop. It’s a middle-aged couple, and they end up falling on me, effectively pinning me. The other people with me run out of the attic and bar the door, thinking I was stung too. I feel the bodies lurch above me as tons of wasps burst forth from their chest cavities. The wasps break through the metal slats of the small window and swarm outside looking for more prey. I’m stuck under the remains for a few hours, afraid to move.
Then the other people who were with me return to the attic to hide. They see I am still alive and help me up, but some wasps are still lingering in the corpses, munching on them, and moving the bodies startles them into flight. We rush out and bar the door again. We run downstairs to the empty tavern and notice someone banging heavily against the front door, which is made of solid, heavy wood. We assume it’s a survivor seeking refuge, so I open the door a crack to be sure no wasps will get in. It’s not a person, it’s an unnaturally enormous grey-furred bear. It easily muscles the door open and swipes with its torso-sized paws. I jump back, avoiding the force of the blow, but its claws catch me and rip the skin right below my neck to ribbons. We lure it around the bar and then leave the tavern, shutting the door so it’s trapped inside.
We head down to the church and lock ourselves inside. I tie some white material over where the bear swiped me, noticing that the wound doesn’t hurt at all. Looking around, we see more people farther up the aisle. They are mumbling off to one side, in a line. We start to greet them, and one of the kids in the back leaps at one of us and bites the front of his throat right out. The kid howls with blood pouring down his chin, elated. It alerts the others to our presence. Our now-dead companion has what appears to be an MP-5 tucked inside his coat, so I take it out, tip a pew over for cover, and fire into the crowd, which is 90% children wearing children’s choir robes. I realize as they continue running for us that they can’t be killed, so I aim for their legs. The ones in front fall, tripping up the ones behind, which buys us enough time to exit. I give the gun to my friend and run outside, where actual survivors are running through the streets. I ask an older woman if there has been anything on the news or radio, and she says yes, they’re telling everyone to evacuate.
All the people are running for town limits. I shout that there may be survivors stuck in the church, and a surprising amount of people offer to help save them. We burst inside and the survivors grab anything that can be used as a weapon and go to town bludgeoning the zombie people with vigor. There are indeed survivors in the church, huddled in a robe closet. Eventually all the zombies are down and everyone resumes evacuation. Some groups begin looking for survivors elsewhere before evacuating themselves.
The street is now empty, save a few horses which must have escaped during the chaos. All but one are running single-mindedly toward the edge of town. The lone horse is milling about, looking lost. Getting closer, I see that the horse is VERY skinny and somehow got tangled so badly in its tie-down reins that they are wrapped tightly over its face, neck, and torso. It looks like a rubber band wrapped too many times around a finger. Its fur is shiny with oil or sweat and it doesn’t have a mane or tail. It sees me and stares intensely. I back up to the wooden sidewalk and my last surviving friend steps in front of me slightly, like a shield, with his arms outstretched. He’s about the size of a football player. It starts to charge, and, flinging the guy aside, headbutts me in the chest. It knocks the air out of my lungs and slams me against the outside tavern wall. The horse rears up to trample me, but my friend kicks it hard in the throat, knocking it down.
The End!
