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I knew I was dreaming, but what could I do? Dreams have a way of trapping you inside them, forcing-feeding you your own insanity as you struggle to make sense of the insensible.
This dream, however, was different.
I stood at the top of the stairs in Rodney’s home. The lights were dimmed and the shadows crept out of their corners, grasping at me with their cold tendrils.
As I stood there, a sound came to my ears. The noise came from the front parlor. I clutched the banister in one shaking hand and eased myself down the stairs. A feeling of dread fell over me so thick and horrible that I felt as though I was slowly suffocating.
I reached the bottom and inched toward the open doors. The sound grew louder, and I recognized the voice as that of a child. I grasped the door frame an
