I’ve always been fascinated by the question, “If I die in a dream, would I die in reality and never wake up?” It’s easy to assume that death by dreaming is nothing more than an urban legend, but how would we ever know? After all, if it turned out to be real, the only people that know are already dead. Until recently, it’s been a curiosity. Now, I’m not so sure about anything. Now, I’m afraid I could be on the verge of learning the truth first hand. A little background about me, and how I ended up where I am now: I left my previous home in Massachusetts, wanting to start over after a string of bad decisions and even worse luck. I’d been working in an auto factory for 10 years when I was laid off without notice. Something about budget cuts, American cars struggling to sell against the imports, and a half dozen other things that corporate types say to soften the harsh reality that I just lost my only means to support myself. I did my best to find work, but the job market was tougher than I’d ever seen. I turned to drinking to numb the feelings of hopelessness, and shut out the world. This unfortunately included my girlfriend of 6 years. She did her best to reason with me, and pull me back from the ledge, but in the end, it was too much for her. She left a month after I lost my job. Having few friends, and no family to turn to, the downward spiral continued until I was on the verge of becoming homeless. That’s when I got the call from an old friend, Alex, in Nevada. He had a job lined up for me, if I’d be willing to pack up and move across the country. With nothing left to tie me to the east coast, I thought, “Why the hell not? I sold most of my remaining possessions, packed the rest in my car, pointed it west, and started driving. That journey ended, and my nightmare began last week, when I arrived in Nevada, and moved into my new home. Alex made arrangements for me to rent a home that had belonged to an elderly woman, Edna, who recently passed away. Her son inherited the home, but had no interest in the property, and preferred to rent it out. It’s definitely a fixer-upper, and the son was unwilling to do the fixing. Instead, he decided to turn it into a low cost rental property, which worked perfectly for my limited budget. He insisted that I pick up the keys from him while he was at work, and declined to do a walkthrough of the property with me before I moved in. I thought this was a bit strange, but chalked it up to the guy still being in mourning, and not wanting to revisit the memory of his mother’s passing so soon. I signed the lease, grabbed the keys, and was on my way. Now, here’s where things started to get weird. I arrived at the house just as the sun was beginning to drop behind the Cortez Mountains. As I fumbled to get the key in the lock, I heard a loud bang from inside, as if a heavy door had been slammed. This caused me to jump back and drop the keys. I was already on edge and overly-tired, given the amount of driving I’d done to complete my journey that day. As I picked up the keys and opened the door, an uncomfortably warm draft greeted me, as if the house itself was exhaling in relief at my arrival. “Well, that explains the door slamming,” I thought to myself. I set about looking for the window, or windows, that must have been left open to cause the breeze, but after visiting every room, I found them all to be closed and latched securely. Too fatigued to give it too much more thought, I turned on the air conditioner in an attempt to cool the house down. It must have been eighty-five degrees inside, and I could already feel beads of sweat gathering at the back of my neck. Taking a cursory glance around the house, I saw that it was fully furnished, as promised, with the previous occupant’s possessions. The furniture was all much older in style than what I would have chosen, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Noticing that the house was beginning to cool off, I decided that any further exploration could wait for morning, and quickly moved toward the master bedroom. After sending Alex a quick text to let him know I’d arrived safely, I stripped down to a pair of shorts, climbed into bed, and let the darkness overtake me. When I awoke, it felt as if I’d only been sleeping for a matter of moments. I fought back a brief moment of panic as I remembered where I was, and looked around the pitch black room. In my haste to get to sleep, I’d left my digital alarm clock packed in one of the boxes still in the back seat of my car, so I had no idea of the time. As my heart rate began to slow to a normal rhythm, it occurred to me how hot it had become in the room. At some point, I’d kicked all of the blankets off the bed, and yet, I was sweating profusely. The air itself felt heavy and oppressive. I could still hear the faint hum of the air conditioner on the outside of the house, and the ceiling fan was swirling overhead, leaving me wondering why the temperature hadn’t leveled out in the night. Deciding that I could look into it further in the morning, I rolled onto my side, determined to get some sleep, perspiration be damned. It was just as I began to close my eyes that I caught movement in the corner, across the room. Quick and furtive, it was gone almost before I had a chance to register it in my sleep-clouded mind. I was nearly certain I’d seen something, though. Curiosity gave way to fatigue, but I vowed to figure it all out in the morning. The next day was difficult. I awoke to the sun shining brightly in my face through the east-facing window of the master bedroom. My body felt heavy, my mind slowed, as if I’d not slept at all the previous night. I dragged myself out of bed, recognizing the need to unpack my few belongings before starting my new job in two short days. As I went about my business, it occurred to me that the house had cooled off substantially, in spite of the fact that the sun was now high in its arc, moving toward the west. I’d assumed that the house would have gotten warmer during the day, while naturally cooling off at night, but the opposite seemed to be true. The day passed quickly, as I got myself situated in the house, shopped for some groceries, and generally tried to relax as much as possible. It had been a long few weeks, and I needed some time to clear my head. I turned in early that night, before 9:00 pm. I was asleep nearly as soon as my head hit the pillow. When I awoke, I knew immediately that something was wrong. Something in the room felt….off. I opened my eyes, but didn’t move, attempting to assess the situation without giving away the fact that I was, in fact, awake. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the absence of light, I glanced surreptitiously to the nightstand and the alarm clock to my left. 3:05 am….I had been asleep for 6 hours, but suddenly, sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. The oppressive heat of the night before had returned. The breath I drew into my lungs felt thick, as if laden with cobwebs. As I struggled to draw a deep breath, panic began to set in, and I abandoned all pretense of sleeping. I attempted to sit up, only to discover that I was completely unable to move. Fighting against the invisible force that had me pinned to the bed, I once again saw movement in the room, this time at the foot of the bed. It was pitch black, vaguely human-shaped, but poorly defined, lacking solidity. It rose higher and higher as it came to its….feet (?), now looming large and casting its shadow over the entire bed. I continued to struggle against the force that bound me to the bed, but the effort was futile. The shadow-thing leaned toward me, drawing ever closer to my face. I opened my mouth in a silent scream. No sound would come. The thing was now inches from my face, blacker than the darkest night, featureless and swirling like fog before my eyes. A clawed hand rose up and brushed against my face, just below the single tear that escaped my left eye. Another desperate attempt at a scream, and my world faded to black.