Burglars in the Night

Dream:
I find myself in the house I grew up in, lying in bed at night but unable to sleep. The shade is not drawn down the window, and I can see headlights shining against the tree branches; someone is pulling into our driveway.

I get up to look out the window and see who it is. From the light shining from the lamp at the front door, I can see that there are actually two vehicles, a black SUV and a white Limousine. There are at least three people getting out and unloading empty duffel bags and carrying them towards our front door.

I think I was the only one home at the time, and I reached for my cell phone and called the police. Of course, they took their time in answering the phone, because the burglars were almost inside by the time I was able to explain what was happening. I asked if I could stay on the phone until help arrived, and the voice at the other side said reluctantly,
"I suppose."

Suddenly a couple of the burglars were inside my room. They had handguns and their loot bags. They made me hang up the phone, and they began sifting through my possessions. I could hear one of the others out in the living room, no doubt looting our entertainment center. They weren't taking everything, only things they thought might have significant value.

The only female member of their team was also in my room, and she found my favorite scramasax hidden beneath my bed and said,
"Hey, this thing ought to be worth something!" In desperation I lied to her, saying that I got it for 80 cents. From my tone, she must have sensed that regardless of its cost, it seemed to have significant sentimental value to me, so she kept it to spite me. I also thought of what could have happened if I told them to "let me have it" so I didn't say anything else about it.

Then I ran out of my room and bolted for the kitchen. The male burglar in my room chased after me, but I lost him around the corner at the back door and ran down the stairs into the basement. I was sure he could hear my footsteps on the stairs, but there were plenty of places to hide down there. I don't know why I didn't leave the house entirely; perhaps I felt a sense of duty to protect my domain.

I ducked into the laundry room, which has always been messy and half-strewn with junk. I hid in the dark corner near the washing machine and dryer, behind the clothes-folding table, which was heaped with, blankets on top and beneath. From where I was hiding, I still had a good vantage point; if I needed to I could still hide in the dark space underneath the stairs. Seconds later the burglar stopped under the doorway to the laundry room and said,
"You might as well come out of there now."
I was discovered.