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A couple weeks ago I dreamed that I was in a cathedral with several other people, including some of my relatives.  I think we may have been refugees.  In the spacious chapel were two very large, rectangular holes in the floor, each surrounded by waist-high stone walls, allowing us to peer down into a subterranean passageway.

The word “zombie” was never mentioned, but somebody did tell me that this once-sacred structure had been desecrated, and because of this “the creatures” which traversed the subterranean passages were drawn to it as it was the only place they could enter this world.  To show me what he was talking about, this person cracked open a basement door, allowing a ghastly skeletal arm covered with rotting flesh to thrust into the room.  He then slammed the door a couple of times until the arm retreated so that the door could be closed and locked back up.

I then realized that my sister-in-law was missing and went looking for her.  I found her lying on a couch, under a blanket.  She looked sickly, and somebody said that she had been infected.

My sister-in-law was then taken up to the chapel where she was placed in a galvanized wash tub filled with milk^[1].  The tub was pushed into a bright beam of sunlight, maybe a prayer was spoken, and then the tub was pulled back out of the sunlight.  The ritual had cured the infection.

I next found myself in the basement again.  An idiot opened the door that had been keeping the zombies out, and this time a wave of them burst through.  None looked rotten this time, but they were quite pale and shambled about like their limbs were stiff.  Rather than biting people, the zombies carried sticks or boards and tried to knock people down, a lot like the Vulcan “zombies” on Star Trek: Enterprise: Impulse, which I had recently watched on Netflix.

I then woke up.