Creepy

Here is what I remember from my dream last night:

I'm at some event inside a massive building that's a cross between a hotel and a shopping centre; I have to erect a tent to shower in.

As I'm setting up the tent poles, I notice a bunch of junk lying around the mall--boxes, those big under-the-bed bags you store your winter clothes in, etc.

I walk over to one that looks like it's full of cool old clothes (I'm a vintage clothing freak), and in a way it is. Only the clothes are still being worn by the exceptionally well-preserved corpses of their original owners. That's right: a nicely arranged row of 19th-century corpses is lying fully dressed in one of those under-the-bed clothing storage bags.

I run around frantically, trying to find a manager. I finally find one. (They're even hard to find in dreams for Pete's sake.) Impatiently, she tells me I'll have to take it "downstairs." I try to argue--can't she see I'm trying to put up my shower tent? Why should I have to take the corpses down? She's having none of it.

I grab the corner of the bag and heave, following behind her as she leads me to a doorway. Slowly, she creaks the door open. I look in on a stairwell that leads into a dark grimey dungeon-like basement filled with discarded junk. She points over to a far corner full of other bags of corpses. "Just go throw them on there."

I stand there, expecting her to help me down the stairs with the bag, but she says "I'm not going down there."

"Well at least hold the door open for me," I reply. She nods. I heave the bag down the stairs, make my way through all the junk and toss the bag on its pile. I glance for a moment at the bag's occupants. Their clothes are really cool...

...I'm wracked by shudders. I get a cold tingly back-of-the-neck feeling that I haven't got much time to get out of there before these folks re-animate. Just as I turn to make my way back to the stairs, the horrible manager person turns off the light and closes the door. I'll kill her, I think, as I blindly run for the stairwell...

I'm no dream interpreter, but bags of neatly stored, well-dressed corpses can't be good. And don't stairwells down into dark basements represent a descent into the unconscious self or some such crap?

I'm pretty sure that part of it has to do with a recently discovered phobia I have for certain antique hats and furniture. Once in a while I'll come across an item online or in an antique shop and it'll just give me the ultimate creeps, for no esthetic or other apparent reason--and here's the thing: I can't stop thinking about these items' dead owners. My revulsion is sometimes so strong that I can barely bring myself to touch or continue looking at the item--and it's always a hat or a piece of furniture.

The other quality they all have in common is they're always from the 19th Century.

Weird, no?

Er, just thought I'd share...