Morning of January 29, 2015. Thursday.

It seems to be late morning and the weather has changed. It no longer seems to be of a continuous potential for thunder and rain. I am possibly the only one home at our present residence on W Street. The main wooden door is open but the screen door is closed though not locked.

After a fairly short time, two young Caucasian males come onto the porch, though the oldest remains on the top steps near the first porch doorway. The one closest to the front door is perhaps about twelve or thirteen years of age and somewhat chubby and the other perhaps about sixteen and quite skinny. They do not look like anyone I know. I sense that they are up to some serious mischief (possibly with intent to harm or burglarize) and thus I do not feel comfortable about the screen door being unlocked. However, I listen to their spiel for a few minutes while I stand in the living room. It has something to do with some sort of medicine, perhaps, but I am not clear on anything. They first need to do something to my hand, apparently. I am not really interested in this. The younger boy seems to be holding a container as well as some sort of smaller crowbar-looking object with a large hook on it, or perhaps some sort of candy cane and miniature wrecking bar composite.

I try to get them to leave the porch by pushing the screen door out rather violently as well as holding onto it so that they do not get in should they attempt it. Perhaps they are not really all that bad though. They are mostly dressed the same, in yellow and white, including yellow and white baseball caps (worn correctly with the visor in front). It almost does seem like a legitimate business at one point.

The youngest moves forward and lightly jabs the top of my right hand with the hook when the door is partly open, which really annoys me. When I look at my hand, something quite strange happens. A small singular branch-like form grows outward fairly quickly on the top of my hand between my thumb and index finger, twisting about and looking much like a woody vine with a gnarled appearance - about three inches high, with a single talon eventually coming out.

"What did you do to my thumb?" I ask. "I have already had an infection in it." (This being in reference to the unusual ganglion cysts that started to linearly accumulate in my thumb and wrist in August 1976 as a teenager.) In a way, it reminds me of the spur of a rooster, at least in potential function (or the human equivalent thereof).

Apparently, this is part of the intended demonstration and the "medicine" they wish to sell me will heal this "wart" or whatever it is. I want none of it, though, and do not intend to buy anything. It reminds me of people who invent problems just to con people with "solutions" (and in fact, this is actually what is happening here).

From here, I tear at and punch the first youngest boy (having the new talon helps) and the other male looks horrified. I only vaguely feel that my actions are unjustified. I then move on to him, seemingly causing them both to completely disintegrate or evaporate from my dream, still mentally "punching" as my dream loses cohesion; even as I wake (in fact, I am still "mentally punching" a second or two after being fully awake). My dream was quite vivid, and strangely enough, did not really feel all that negative or frustrating.