I Dreamed of a Murder in Paris, and it Happened in Real Life

It all began as a dream. I walked on to an elevator in the basement of a building. The door closed, and I looked over to my left, and there stood a tall, skinny young man with dirty-blond hair and a longish, beak-like nose. He wore blue jeans with a blue, button-up, long-sleeve shirt. His skin was pock-marked from healing and fresh acne scars, and his blue eyes matched his shirt.

He looked at me and then pushed the elevator button. We began to move upward. Here was the floating feeling of going up, up and up. This floating sensation never seemed to stop and if fact, got stronger. Suddenly awareness occurred within me, I must be dead!'.

The door opened and I stepped out into the clouds. At this point, I wasn't paying attention to the young man. I don't even know if he was in the elevator anymore. I only knew that I was leaving the elevator and moving into the clouds.

I felt unusual here and began to frantically look for a phone to call 'my friends' on. There were other people there who showed me where a few phones were, but it was difficult to find a line that would allow me to call out. At this point I awoke and immediately wrote the dream in my journal.

My college roommate and I had an ongoing joke about getting on elevators in basements. Everyday we ate in a basement cafeteria on campus, and everyday after that odd dream wed take the stairs up.

"Don't get on that elevator!" she'd tease.

I'd look suspiciously toward my left on any elevator I allowed myself to ride, half expecting to see that guy in my dream. It felt odd when I entered an elevator alone with any male.

I went to Greece that summer with my fiancé. His parents lived there and I had the opportunity to explore his heritage for a month. While there, my aunt called with a chilling tale of what happened to a peer of mine. Id gone to the same elementary, high school and college with her, but we'd never been close friends.