There is a gate between dream and reality, a very thin passage that communicates between the two. One can peek through it sometimes, but almost never can get through. Sometimes I would wake up in the night, panting and sweating, still with my heart beating almost through my mouth but also relieved to have escaped. Then I would close my eyes and see it. It was still on the chase and was still there waiting for me to fall asleep again. It was standing by the entrance it couldn't go through, shapeless but malevolent. I would open my eyes, in terror, get up with difficulty, my heart still beating hard, my breathing still laboured, and stagger to the fridge to get a glass of water, a glance through the window at the trees swaying outside, the calm of the night in this safe island in the world of awake.
I would go back to bed, look out my window again, play cards on the handheld computer, read a little and finally begin to fall asleep. To wake again in terror: it was still there, the other side of the door, it was still there waiting for me. And this time it was probing the gate, trying to find a way to get through to the world of reality. I was not going to get any sleep that night.