Close my eyes, glazed with sleep and sticky. See him, from the corner of the closed eyes, blue darkening to black. But if I try to focus he shifts form, to a large spider, hairy and threatening, drumming front legs against the ground in a bass staccato I can feel. I look away to turn him back to a man, predatory and coming.
The front door opens, and two shapes – men? – drift in, almost gliding on the wake of white froth. They stop at the foot of the bed, at either post, and wait.
I open my eyes, sticky and glazed with sleep. I know I can’t continue to fend it off, but I rub them wearily and resigned, hands numb, chest cold, dropping off to sleep again and the scene replays and I wake and the scene replays.
What will happen when I finally fail to wake? What will the dream be, how will it finish?