The first, set (like most of my darker dreams) at my parents' Ogden Street property in disguise as something else, started as an archeological dig in a British country village. (Yes, it was Ogdenland while also being a British country village. Apparently, part of my brain thinks that everywhere is really Ogdenland. But I digress.) The dig was looking particularly for stuff related to witchcraft and witch trials, and had at least one very useful piece of equipment, a sort of cross between a magnet, a metal detector, and a search engine. You would type in something (in this case, the name of somebody known to have been executed for witchcraft in the village) and the detector would find something related to that subject. In this case, the detector found, hidden in a barrel of old nails, the handcuffs that had been used to bind a man during his witchcraft trial. The handcuffs were put in the barrel of nails, theoretically, because the villagers couldn't think of a way to dispose of them without their Satanic taint seeping out ... so they surrounded them with nails so the magic-blocking properties of iron would insulate them.
The dream was quite dark and claustrophobic, with overtones of heavy-duty eeeeeevil surrounding the village, and it was not a happy dream. Fortunately, some other part of my brain, watching all this, got fed up and started getting silly with it. My mind shifted to a commercial for a special on the History Channel for a show about this self-same dig, showing images of an old country church and graveyard being torn up by gigantic earth-movers, as the voiceover said, "The radical left is covering up the truth about witch hunts! People were needlessly killed, and the government is trying to hide what amounts to ritualistic murder! Narrated by Lucille Ball."
This selfsame part of my brain, apparently quite amused now, switched to the interior of some large manor house, with several people in period garb, including Hugh Laurie dressed as a puritan. Hugh, mugging it up in the way that only he can, was saying, "It's this place! This horrible, horrible place! It's effecting her! It's full of baseness! And wickedness! And base wickedness! And wicked baseness! Wicked, wicked, horrible baseness! I shall take her away from here! I shall take her to a place of goodness! And wholesomeness! And good wholesomeness! And wholesome goodness! And nice weather!"
It was about here that particular dream ended.
The next dream had very little plot, but quite a lot of visual imagery. It was a graphic novel, or rather a trade paperback collection of a comic book, and I was reading it. It was one of those inverted sorts of stories where the hero is the sidekick, and the sidekick is the hero, so to speak. It was a pulp-era story about a blonde, strong-jawed hero of a government agent in red leather jacket and dashing scarf, and his plucky female sidekick, an amateur aviator who was a member of the Ladies' Regional Air Club. But as she was the actual hero of the series, it was called (in true pulp style) "The Ladies' Regional Air Club of Doom."
The series was set in an alternate DC Universe, where it was perpetually 1936, and the two of them would fly all over the world fighting all the cliché period bad guys, from Nazis to Fu Machu types to mad scientists creating super-intelligent malevolent man-apes in basement laboratories. It was drawn in a very lush visual style reminiscent of Michael Mignola. The story in particular that I was reading involved the Plucky Lass and Her Hero (I don't remember if the dream gave them names or not) in a tense fight with somebody on city streets at night, and Hero got knocked out. Plucky Lass, thrown into a conniption by this, assumed that he was dead.
NOTE: The alarm woke me up at this point, but my brain said "MUST FINISH DREAM. NOW. OR ELSE." -- and promptly gave me a screamer of a headache. Ow. Knowing better than to mess with my brain in that state, I pulled the pillow over my head and went back to sleep for ten minutes.
Plucky Lass, distraught but driven to grim determination by the "death" of her heroic government agent buddy, decides to single-handedly bring down the mastermind behind whoever it was they were fighting, and rushes to the villain's hideout. Meanwhile, Hero has begun to stir, only to be come upon by The Joker (remember, I said this was an alternate DC Universe). The Joker, whose actions are being narrated by captions, is described in almost vampire-like terms and drawn mostly in silhouette ... "Driven by a hunger that can never be satisfied, he only knows that he must KILL..." The Joker shoots Hero with a paralyzing version of the infamous grin-making Joker Venom, which sets off the "life signs alert" device Hero was carrying.
Plucky Lass, on her way to the villain hideout, is startled when the bauble on her necklace (under the leather bomber she wears) starts beeping. Belatedly she remembers that she and Hero have these life signs detectors -- and that Hero couldn't possibly be dead if it was beeping! There is then an extended flashback where she remembers them getting the life signs detectors. (The flashback involves the previously-mentioned mad scientist and malevolent man-ape.) Plucky Lass wheels her car around to rush back to where she left poor Hero lying in the street ... but The Joker (after scaring off witnesses by flashing his gun and psychotic grin at them) is already carting Hero off!
And that's the end of the book. 0.o Suddenly the dream is a third-person view of me in a basement comic book shop, looking down at the collection (with the title "Ladies' Regional Air Club of Doom" across the top in big orange letters). "What!" I cry out in irritation. "This isn't a complete story? Holy crap, this is Volume Four! Dammit!"
And then I woke up.
I think my dreams are a better writer than I am. 0.o