Run for your life

We were in a ghost world in the dream -- it resembled the Wild West from the 1880s but converted to green stained glass. To keep the ghosts from getting us, we smeared cans of tuna oil over our heads, which also kept us pleasently warm, because of the fish oil. If the ghosts suspected something otherworldy when they came close to us, we'd sing special songs that would confuse the ghosts into looking the wrong way, or thinking the opposite thought. In this way we walked and mesmerized ourselves into the town of the ghosts -- I had a hit to do. For this, I had a Colt .45 in the dream, but I only had 2 bullets. So when we lingered in the square, I walked up to a ghost filling station, I asked if I could buy ammo there. The ghost attendant though about it for a second, and said, sure, why not? I asked for one hundred and fifty rounds of ".45 long colt". The attendant knew I knew what I was about, and he smiled, giving me several heavy long tubes of ammunition. Ghost ammunition. I asked how much, and he said, seven dollars. It should have cost me twice that. What a deal. We hiked to a box canyon, where no ghosts were around, to try out the ghost ammunition. I found when you fired off a ghost round, the gun kicked like a real gun, but there was no sound whatsoever. The bullet would put a large hole in whatever you pointed the gun at. A very very big hole. Mortals, I realized, were not meant to have ghost ammunition. It was too devastating. When we walked back into town, to perform the hit, the word was out -- we were invading mortals, and I had been sold ghost ammunition. There was no stopping me. Run for your life.