Childhood Dream

When I was a kid there was an indian graveyard not far from my house. To get to it you'd walk down a dirt road for thirty minutes or so, until you were far from anyhouses and there it was, a small graveyard, with maybe a couple of dozen headstones in the dirt surround by a chainlink fence. No grass, certainly no flowers and lots of the headstones had been vandalized.
We climbed the fence at least once. It just felt strange to be there to stand on the graves. We didn't do any vandalizm and we meant no harm. We were just experiencing the thrill of doing something that gave us a scare.

The Dream: I dreamt that the Indians, these missing people who had a graveyard but who I'd otherwise never seen any trace of, were having a parade. It was night and they would parade from the hills, from the direction of the graveyard through our suburban housing tract. We would be left alone providing we stayed hidden. The Indians did not want to see any trace of us.
I hid under my bed as the appointed hour for the parade came. But I couldn't resist climbing out and having a peek. I climbed on my bed and parted the wodden shutters to look through my bedroom window. The parade was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen. The indians with their feathered head dresses and brown muscular bodies and mohawks marched proudly, dancing and beating on drums. Then one fierce looking Indian with a tomohawk turned suddenly and looked me right in the eye. I scrambled off the bed and climbed back under it. I knew they were coming. I knew they'd be climbing through my window. I knew I was to meet my end and that it wouldn't be pretty.

I woke up.