Why does night feel supernatural?

The world feels supernatural at night, because nighttime opens up more possibilities for imagination. I think this is for three reasons.

You might be thinking less about work or daily practicalities. There’s more time for introspection. Even if you’re not tired, you’re also slipping more into a dreamlike state which allows for abstraction.

Another reason is that shadowy spaces naturally spark our imagination. Sometimes it’s in a fearful way, but fears can be creative.

Also, it’s because we can see the stars. This always feels like magic. Preexisting formations make us want to create; outer space absorbed into inner space. The galaxy reminds us of the seemingly endless expanse we can begin, bit by bit, to fill with ideas. 

Evil objects

I dreamed there was an object that embodied all the evil in the world, and that it kept being passed from person to person and was sometimes inherited through families. It changed form once you either recognized or tried to destroy it. It couldn't be destroyed completely, but could be rendered temporarily powerless and could be contained.

First it was a teddy bear belonging to a little girl. The stuffed animal roused suspicion because it would suddenly have an angry expression on its face, or it would be hanging from a lamp and nobody had set it up that way, or the family would start getting threatening phone calls with no return number.

When they discovered it was the teddy bear, it morphed into a baby bunny that was so cute that nobody wanted to kill it. But someone threw a rock at it and then it turned into a telescope. If you looked into the telescope, it would show you a vision of how you would die. The trick was to avoid the temptation of looking, no matter how curious you were, and then you would win.

After it was a telescope, it transformed into a beautiful, enormous painting that almost covered a whole wall. That painting had to be slashed to ribbons. If anyone photographed or tried to replicate it, it would keep its power even if slashed up. That was a challenge for people because it was so gorgeous. But the family stabbed the painting and the canvas turned completely black.

Then it turned into a collection of clothing. That was more difficult because it had separated into multiple objects, but each had less power separately than they would together. So the family bagged them all up, stored them in the attic, and forbade anyone from ever putting on those clothes or opening the bags.

Then I woke up and was disappointed; I wanted to see how it would progress. I am probably going to look with suspicion at every inanimate object for the next 24 hours or so.