I dreamed during a nap today about a motel that was possessed by demons of every shape and size, and I was apprenticed to an old being (a man I think, like a sorcerer, but not human?) who’d sent me to help fight them. I had a hard time finding it until a boy with lined eyes and dark hair talked with me in a parking lot; I had a very good talent for befriending and entrusting people who society had pushed aside. I think he was a drug addict? I’m not sure; but we were kind to each other.
The motel was on top of a hill, drab grey. The people living there didn’t know what was happening or that they were being possessed; the plane of magic and the plane of humans coexisted in a parallel state but invisible to normal people. I could ‘see’ both; the motel was arranged so that there was a large several-stories tall atrium in the middle, and in that middle was a massive dark creature oozing filth and discord. I moved through both planes but I don’t know which one I existed in—humans couldn’t see me and I couldn’t interact with them unless I really wanted to, I think. I don’t know if I was human or not.
Many of the rooms were long-term rentals; I had to find number 670 as the source of the ‘infection’. There were demons and foul creatures scurrying and lurking around in every room, and the motel itself was in a state of disrepair. People affected or possessed by the demons behaved strangely, locking themselves in their rooms and slowly killing themselves in various ways.
I had a familiar that was like a large golden mouse, very sardonic, who helped me read the rubbed-off numbers on doors. The demons affected how I saw and moved through the motel, making things blurry, indistinct, and out of order. Instead of the room directory being in white letters on a black board I saw it as delicate, faded ink handwriting on a peeling piece of parchment glued to the wall, disordered and haphazard. I had to walk around and around before I could see the true order of things.
In room 670 I found a woman mixing chemicals into shards of plastic, heaping it in poisonous piles, hiding them in closets and in vents. The fumes were partly physical and partly magical, I think, but harmful, acidic to the mind and body. She was a dead shell, operating mechanically, possessed more by fragments of other minds than of her own. I think I somehow got her out even though the plastic hurt me.
At the end of the dream I had to fight my way past the demon in the atrium; it knew its plan was foiled and it lashed out at everyone near it. I don’t remember how it ended, but I think the being I was apprenticed to arrived to help.