I'm in an office at the railroad where I worked 1941-1946. In my pajamas. I leave and walk home. As I come into the yard, a squirrel starts to go under the house through rotten boards. He stops and I see he has no head--a bloody fringe of hair. A wolf chases him towards me and I see he has half a face, one eye and a tusk of bone sticking out. The squirrel goes up the front steps and into the house. I follow and an old man comes in, and a bear cub and the wolf (who is smaller now and not fearful). I look around for something to throw at them. I see mother's flower pots. I throw the smallest and ugliest. It is enough. As it shatters, the old man changes into a big bear and runs away, along with the cub and the wolf that is now a scroungy dog. Mother is standing beside me, smiling and showing me a note the old man had written when he came into the house while I was away. "I'm a Catholic." Mother says, "His hand never touches paper and pencil very often." I notice I'm still in pajamas. I say, "This is what well-dressed railroad clerk wears. We laugh and are happy together.