was asleep and open to suggestion, and then dived in, filling the old man's head with such terror that he often awoke himself with his pitiful screams. Before, his wife would wake him before the nightmare reached its surreal and horrifying conclusion, but now Rose was gone. And the nightmares were able to exercise their full terror upon his mind.For months he fought to remember what it was in the dream that caused him such terror - but, as is often the case, the relief of a sunny morning and the shortcomings of an eighty-year old mind served to wipe them from his memories.Tonight, however, he had remembered the final, terrifying image that awakened him so often, screaming as though God Himself had cursed George - the image of a decaying old building, rotting slowly into the filthy mud on which it stood.It was to this building that George drove on this cold, black night, fearful, yet curious, and determined to find out exactly why this old house made him scream like a stuck pig.George caught his breath as the narrow country lane gave way to a dirty wasteland, punctuated by the discarded rubbish of its unseen daytime inhabitants. George tutted involuntarily, forgetting his fear, for he was on the local council. Must make a note of that, he thought. It's those hooligans in the area again. Across the muddy wasteland, the headlights of George's car gradually began to pick out the image of something in the distance - an old, decaying building, standing on the filthy stinking mud that constituted the banks of the Thames.George pulled his vehicle into the adjacent car park, turned off the engine, and leaned back in his seat, breathing heavily. He had always prided himself on his fitness despite his years, but now George could suddenly feel his age, which sapped his strength and thinned his bones. It was as though time had suddenly caught up with George.Ahead, the crumbling building creaked gently as the chill December wind blew through...
