"Hidden Meaning"

Stumbling across something that peaks your curiosity, the one thing you may turn to is trying to figure it out. Trying to follow a seemingly infinite amount of clues until eventually you find the answer. It will always seem that the ending isn't near as spectacular as the events leading up to it. You need more to work with so you can find even deeper lore. Yet while you've been distracted trying to track down your imaginary answer, the one that's been staring you in the face is inching its way closer.

Sitting at home during my only day off this week wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend it. I'd much rather be outside, hanging out with some friends, possibly bowling or some basketball. It'd been a while since I'd done anything sports related, but since I've been fighting to get back into shape I've been craving outdoor activity more and more.
I was about to get up to grab some food from the fridge when I heard a knock at the door. It's raining out, I thought. What would someone be doing out there?
I went to check who was there. It was a slender, tall man in a tan suit, a blue tie tucked behind the jacket.
"Hello, is this the Jenson residence?" the man asked. He had a peculiar British sounding accent.
I nodded.
"I'm most displeased to inform you that your great uncle, Franklin Gaits, has passed." he said, taking his hat off and tilting hit head down.
"I'm sorry, uncle who?" I asked. I hadn't even heard that last name before. Then again there was a decent portion of my family I'd never met before.
"He resided on your mother's dad's side of the family, from what I've heard," he said. 
"Ah, that makes sense," I said. "That's the one side of the family I've never met. My mom never talks about her dad. I wish I could've gotten the chance to meet the guy."
"Yes, It's most unfortunate," he replied. He reached into the bag in his hand and pulled out a book. The book was a red hardcover that looked like one of those really old books with a fancy design on both covers, the spine having the iconic old book ridges. He handed the book to me. "He wanted you to have this."
"What is it?" I asked. I flipped through the pages and saw nothing but strange symbols scrawled across each yellowed page.
He shrugged. "Nobody ever told me, I'm merely the messenger."
"Well, thank you." I said gratefully. He turned around and headed out into the rain. I went to the door to offer him a ride, but when I took a peak outside he was gone.
I raced back inside and began looking through the book. When I touched the first page of the book, I felt a slight jolt. Was that static electricity? I shrugged it off and skimmed through the book. All the words in the book looked as though they were all hand written. The letters, on the other hand, looked like they were in, not only a completely different language, but characters that didn't really exist in the English language.
I called up one of my friends and asked him if there was any way he could translate the book. He was a little bit of a nerd when it came to literature and decoding things. He asked for a few pictures of the pages. I sent them to him and he got to work.
After all of that mental running around, I grew tired. I knew I should have gotten more sleep. Why did I have the urge to wake up at five in the morning and do dishes? I should have slept longer.
I jumped into bed, leaving the book at my nightstand beside me, and drifted to sleep.

Within the dream, I found myself trapped in the middle of a forest. The sun was bright and hanging just high enough in the sky to be blinding to me if I lifted my eyes up off the ground. I took a few steps forward and the sun began to rotate downward until nightfall overtook the sky.
Suddenly, these strange chants seemed to come from all different direction. The sounds were too faint to make out what they were saying, but I knew somehow that they meant harm to me.
I tried to run but my feet would only allow me to move in slow motion. I was trapped in the middle of the woods by my own body.
I could feel them drawing closer and closer until I felt their skin pressing against mine. I felt fear jolting through my body, making my blood run cold. Whatever was in front of me was something that was providing me some unwanted attention.
I looked up to find a girl. It was a beautiful girl with long, dark hair and golden brown eyes. One look at her and I felt as though I'd known her forever. I felt this sort of intimate connection with her. I just wanted to hold her in my arms.
I reached out to embrace her and was instantly awoken.

I heard my phone buzzing. Was it the friend getting back to me about the book already?
I answered the phone.
"Hey," he started. "So, I looked into the book you have. It's from some Keltic region, it's hard to figure out which. All I know is what this book is might be something you don't want to read."
"Don't tell me, this book is haunted." I said, rolling my eyes.
"No, of course not," he replied, chuckling to himself. "The book is what I'd like to refer to as a poorly written joke book."
"What?" I shouted. "There's no way."
"Yes way dude," he responded. "There's a joke in here that says, 'Why did the chicken cross the road? Because the road wasn't there.'"
"You're right," I said. "That really is a joke that doesn't make any sense."