In my dream the sound tormented me, droning on and on, reverberating within the walls of my bedchamber. It emanated from some amorphous being right beside me. There was something eerie, evil, threatening about it. I nudged it, hoping for silence. Then I poked harder. Eventually I was kicking it. Still, the noise continued, louder and louder, it seemed.
The line between imagination and reality was fuzzy, for even as I dreamed it was all true.
But then in my fantasy (and only in the fantasy), I decided that to escape the sound I must flee from it. I ran and ran down dark tunnels. The laws of physics told me the noise should be diminishing (for even in my sleep I am a scientific mastermind.) But no, it continued as loud as ever. I glanced over my shoulder and discovered, to my horror, that the source of the sound, the shrouded, dark, ominous spirit, was following me.
At that point my dream turned into a nightmare. I screamed.
Back to reality again. Because, in fact, I really did scream. My shriek woke me up. My husband paused in his snoring briefly, and then started up again.
I grabbed a blanket and headed for the spare bedroom.