I took a nap this afternoon.
I'm at my parents' house. My father and I stand at the bay window in the "family room". The lights in the house are out. There is light, wet snow falling outside.
It seems to be near Christmas: There is a mechanical Nutcracker robot dancing around a cluster of pine trees about thirty yards from the house. He's twenty or twenty-five feet tall, almost as tall as the trees. He's constructed from square-trimmed hedges, like large blocks, with wire along the edges. He skips endlessly in a circle around the trees. We don't tolerate outdoor Christmas decorations other than a wreath on the door, but it doesn't seem odd that this thing is there.
There are Christmas lights on a house across the valley. There is another house right across the driveway, very close to our house: There is no house there in reality, but again, it doesn't seem odd.
There is a brief light in the sky, and a very large human figure is running along the crest of the hill opposite. This is eastern Pennsylvania, where hills tend to be long ridges. The figure jumps off the end of the hill. There is a purple flash in the sky, and an airplane with two engines (propellers) flies toward the house from the direction of that same hill. It's about two hundred feet up, and entirely silent. A human figure drops from the airplane. The figure is lit from behind. The airplane passes out of view over the house. The person who dropped is moving pretty fast, and he lands on the driveway in a seated position between us and the nearby house. He slides out of sight around the side of the house, throwing up spray the whole time. A spotlight shines briefly on the hillside. My father and I crouch down so as not to be seen, but that's annoying and pointless so we stand up again.
A man, presumably the one who dropped from the airplane, is walking across the yard toward the house. He is wearing a flight suit, with hoses and so forth, but no helmet. He has no facial expression. I'm uneasy about this, so I look around for a weapon, but there's nothing within reach. I can't seem to walk. The man in the flight suit reaches the window and starts doing something to it: He's removing the window so he can come in. I wave my arms at him and he doesn't react. He moves rapidly and confidently. There are large wrenches and all manner of blunt instruments in the garage, and knives in the kitchen, but I can't move. I want a weapon very badly. I wake up.