Horrified, I climb the steps over this torn apart deer. I'm suddenly uncomfortable staying in the basement.
I open the door to the first floor and enter the dining/living area. There waiting for me are two adult deer, one male, one female . . . and eight younger deer. They are all looking at me and they are all gathering around me.
I back against the wall. They look angry, but not at me. Something killed the one on the steps but they know it wasn't me.
I slide along the wall toward the front door. I don't know what they want from me. They are looking at me, snorting at me, trying to talk to me.
I get to the front door and they are moving in on me. I'm thinking they want to leave so I open the front door and hold it open for them, staying against the wall.
They don't move. They just look at me. The father moves toward me and keeps ducking his head.
Finally, I go out the front door, hoping to draw them outside. They follow. But they don't leave. They are looking at me, their lips curling as if they are trying to tell me something.
I look at them, helpless. Now I'm afraid. The father comes toward me with his head bowed, and pushes his antler into my hip, drying to push me away from the door. He wants me to go somewhere.
I finally slip back toward the front door, run inside real quick and shut the door.
When I awake, I know exactly who the family of deer symbolized and I know the identity of the deer that was torn apart on the steps.