in my dream, we moved into a huge, rambling, old mansion in the middle of the city. living there was the murderous ghost of my stepfather, or at least, i thought he was a ghost. but when he came to attack me, i started to bludgeon him with the leg off of an antique sofa, and he fell, and bled, all over the moldering tile of the kitchen floor. then he vanished. that night, all of the rich elite and socialites of the city came to our mansion for a housewarming. everyone knew the history of the place except us. we were newcomers to this world and they weren't shy about letting us know that. outside it was raining violently. when i stood near a chifforobe in the third-floor library, talking to some well-heeled matrons about our plans for restoration of the house, i felt dripping and looked up just in time to see the ceiling swelling and buckling under the pressure of too much water. i stepped out the way just in time to avoid the falling plaster and enormous gush of rain water. everyone turned their eyes away from the scene, embarrassed for me. in a huff, i rushed through the house looking for leon, my skirts clenched up in my tight fists, my stepfather's blood still drying on my forehead and cheeks. leon was standing near the bar on the first floor, smoking a cigar and talking with other men in suits. i smiled at the men and asked if i could excuse leon for a moment, and when we were alone in a corner i told him about the crumbling ceiling and leaking, and he flushed and said he'd forgotten to hire an inspector to tell us the state the building was in before we bought it. we fretted for a few moments about how we could not afford to actually repair anything in the house have the roof replaced, but then the party was still raging on around us, and we had to let it go for the time being.

the house was so large, and on such a small lot, there was virtually no yard around it. the next morning, we woke up and climbed up to the top floor where, at the end of the hallway, there was a small door that opened onto a narrow staircase that led first to the attic, then beyond, to a door that opened onto the flat roof. it was here that we had our gardens and yard. the lawns were bordered at the edge of the roof by wrought iron fencing, and hedges. the sun was shining. i took my coffee there, sitting at a wrought iron table in wrought iron chairs while the children ran through the grass with a man i have never seen before but who in the dream was their uncle, throwing frisbees and balls back and forth. i got up to walk around the enormous roof and look down into the streets. below us was the flood. i wrapped my fingers around the fence, and started calling to the people hiding in doorways that i was sorry and to come here, to come inside. they either did not, or pretended to not hear me.