I was lying in a large bed next to a middle-aged man that I didn’t recognize. We were in a […] room that was old and [g]othic […] – the ceiling high and painstakingly chiseled to fine detail. It was like we were in the center of a […] medieval cathedral. I [lay], shrouded in shadow. Then I turned […] away from the man, and saw a dead, young woman lying […] next to me. Her eyes were open and staring blankly […] while blood spilled from the corner of her mouth onto the pillow. Her neck was […] bent and broken, a deep gash slicing across […] it, oozing blood […]. […] I got halfway on top of her, grabbing her […] neck […], and proceeded to strangulate [her]. […] I stopped – suddenly stunned that I had murdered someone.
Then I woke up […]. The clock read 5:30am. […] as I drifted back asleep, I listened to my breath hissing […]. Gradually, my breathing began to sound like gasping and each time I gasped, I heard a creaking […] coming from the floor beside my bed – […] as if someone was shifting […]. And then I realized that I wasn’t alone – there was an old woman sitting in a rocking chair […] and the steady creaking […] came from her chair […]. She was dead and transparent […]. She saw that I was afraid of her and a slow smile spread across her […] wasted face, revealing […] withered and yellow teeth. […]