As I surveyed the scene, my mouth hanging open in disbelief, I realised I had disturbed a building work. From where I had torn the stone in my anger a hollow remained, bearing the beginnings of careful carvings, barely visible to the naked eye. I leant closer slowly, for fear of startling the creature, and was astonished beyond belief to notice infinitesimal digging tools resting on a carved shelf and abiding in the hand of my tiny companion. The two of us remained for a time that stretched to eternity, though I’m sure it could be counted in seconds on one hand. He peered up at my face. I peered down at his minute body and wondered if I had slipped and knocked my head in my earlier activity. It would be an amusing dream to tell my parents, if I wasn’t so sure that in the telling I would see a worried glance pass between the two. Those looks had been increasing of late. Better the memory of a dream to keep to myself then, one that would surely fade as soon as I woke up.
But there was no hint of waking. The rocky surface beneath me was becoming less comfortable with each passing moment, as was the cold water creeping gradually up the jeans stuck to my leg with icy cold glue.
Why not enjoy the dream? I thought to myself and reached my hand ever so gently towards the small figure. He must have misinterpreted my extended hand of friendship as a threat and before I could say a word he had vanished. I crouched over the exposed building work but there was no sign of life. If I wasn’t so convinced that the whole episode was a delusion concocted by a concussed mind, I would have sworn that a tiny rectangular crack at the bottom of a flat piece of stone was the outline of a door.