Sleep, a golden syrup that slips through your veins and settles in the marrow of your bones. It draws you in, and then down, down, down, into the pool of your subconscious, drifting amidst memories and dreams. But you are not alone. It's waiting. There, at the edge of the pool, in the cavernous corner where thoughts and memories collide, a mere smudge of a shadow. It rises on spindly legs, and brushes the surface, a soft rippling tickle, beckoning you, drawing you to it, reaching out with unnatural hinged limbs, embracing you, holding you, - and then it strikes, injecting its toxins into your helpless form. The water churns, cold and murky now, full of slithering dark creatures of unspeakable horror, pressing you down with their weight, down to the sandy bottom, - until you open your mouth, and, as it filths with filth- scream, scream, scream, rising and screaming until you break the surface into the dead, silent, night.