The dream went like so: 

I was seated in my easy chair, gaping at the television static, when I felt (not heard, felt) something rustle beside me. Prying my eyes away, I beheld a dream messenger, seated in an easy chair identical to mine, like an extra-dimensional mimic. 

It's outer dermis was transparent, encasing a second layer of iridescent amber. From its head to its torso, it resembled a man--a round, yellow head; a slender neck; shoulders extending into limbs. But beneath its waist, the body became a tangle of octopoid tendrils. A single round eye, the color of blood, blinked from the center of its face. As it regarded me, I suddenly found myself overcome by a wave of sadness, like the creature had tapped a well deep inside my abdomen. 

I wasn't scared. Not then. In fact, the specter prodded my curiosity. I wondered what its purpose was, materializing in my living room like a ghost of Christmas past or present or future. How many lightyears had it traveled to reach me, and what message did it come bearing? What secret? What portent?

My curiosity seemed to provoke the creature into action. It stood--no, it levitated into something resembling a standing position, and its tentacles dangled beneath its stomach like entrails. Then it began wafting towards the hallway. Though it didn't motion to me or even look at me, I knew that I was meant to follow. I felt my first trickle of trepidation then, for I sensed which room the creature had singled out. The location where I'd first jettisoned my adversary. 

I stood, trembling, and slunk after it. The creature was in the bathroom now, Illuminated by the saffron overhead lamp, hovering over the toilet, tendrils dipping beneath the porcelain lip. It turned and regarded me with that single piercing eye, and I realized the dreadful feat we were about to perform just as several of its appendages shot out and seized me by the arms, the waist, the neck. 

The creature wrenched me forward, and suddenly I was floating too, weightless, like a balloon. I think I must've grown smaller. Or perhaps my body simply evaporated into the fabric of the dream and I became a spectator, born hell-ward by the apparition's pull. 

We descended. The toilet bowl yawned in front of me like a pale maw, and I could see down its black throat--nothing but more blackness. The opening surged forward. We were inside, barreling down, down, down through a darkened tunnel. Everything was invisible. I could see nothing, not the growth caking the walls, nor the twists nor the turns nor the horrible corners pulling my invisible stomach out of my invisible body. I knew only that we were plummeting at ludicrous speeds, the kind which would rip the flesh from a man's bones. 

Then the walls around us disappeared. We were free-falling. Oh God! I was free-falling! Steel and rust and stone were gone, replaced by a bottomless void. And I was descending still, traveling lightyears every second, down into the abyss, the open sky upside-down and devoid of stars and home to the most unspeakable of horrors. 

Was this it? Had the world dissolved around my house and become a vacuity? Were the dimensions of my bungalow the span of human consciousness?

I felt it then--a great, quiet, invisible movement. Something below me, in front of me, was pulling on my stomach. It was astronomic in size. Like a moon or a planet. I couldn't see it, dear reader, but I could sense it, drawing my frail body toward its own gravity. I was like a twig born into the open maw of a sperm whale, tiny, flimsy, inconsequential. 

And then I knew the truth--the monster at the very bottom of the abyss was none other than the square of processed meat I'd chopped up and ejected a thousand flushes ago! I knew it with clairvoyant certainty. All those cursed bits of pickle loaf had jellified together as they gyred through empty space, germinated, vegitated into a monstrosity. Blind, deaf, mute. Driven by primordial hatred. 

A circle of darkness opened beneath my feet, darkness somehow more obscure than all of the void surrounding it. The creature's gastric maw. Or else the rectum of the universe, festering out-of-sight, into which and out of which it excretes its primal waste. I could feel a thousand tendrils snake up towards me like roiling trees of kelp, and I knew I was about to be consumed, or digested, or metamorphosed into more sentient guts.

"Thwack!"

The sound wasn't my body's wet impact. No, it was a different noise, emanating from a dimension far away. I sputtered awake, so violently I nearly continued my descent over the edge of the easy chair.

I was discombobulated. My emotions were all askew. First came relief--I hadn't become monster food after all. Next came a fresh surge of horror, for only one object in my proximity could've made that distinct sound. A square, plastic object garnished with styrofoam ribbons. 

The trap had been sprung, dear reader. By what, I could only guess.