Kramer stirred in his sleep, but didn't wake up.

Images, each one vivid in its turn, flashed before him but none made sense. A face from the past. Another snatch of music. Who was that face? Kramer struggled to put a name to it, but always, just as he was about to say it aloud, the words melted on his lips.

Alphabet. It always works. 'A' Alan, Arthur, Arnold. 'B' Bill, Ben, Brian. 'C' Charlie. Charlie, Tango, Fox-Trot. Come in Charlie Tango Fox-trot. Over and out. In and out. Down and out.
And now a field and a stormy sky.

Menace.

A strange house now. Just a little way ahead daring him to enter. The sirens wail drawing him ever nearer. Mis-shapen and ugly yet compelling. Kramer walked forward and the front-door, at first locked tightly, swung open slowly to greet him. He was now inside. The hallway was dark and had that musty, damp smell of a long-empty house. Kramer saw the light switch to the right hand side of the door. Switch me on it said, and Kramer did just that.

Nothing happened.

Off again, on and off in quick succession, but still nothing. Still darkness. Still. Still and quiet. Then another bank of switches on the far wall, half lit by moonlight squeezing through the broken and shuttered window. Switch them all, nothing. On, off, on, off, on, off. Let be there be light! But there was none.

Kramer panicked.

He knew this felling, this felling of helplessness, of darkness and of being unable to do anything about it.

WAKE UP! He screamed, but no sound came out.
WAKE UP!

Kramer found the fuse-box in the cupboard under the stairs but knew this would be futile. He pressed the little red buttons that were the circuit breakers, but sill darkness.

Kramer hurried to find the door, but where? It had gone. He found himself in a large room. In the distance he could hear voices and he knew they were coming for him. Kramer ran to one of the many doors that stretched the whole length of the left hand side of the room. The handle came off in his hand.

WAKE UP! For Christ's sake. But Christ wasn't listening.
The next door opened onto a brick wall, the mortar crumbling as Kramer pounded it with his fists as he tried to break through. He turned, and in the far corner of the room stood a hooded figure moving slowly towards him. His clothes were raggedy, sacking badly wrapped around the torso and limbs like some cheap mummy, the face covered with a loose sacking hood that fell in folds hiding the features.

Kramer was horrified. The figure oozed evil. He sensed, that however hideous it looked now, he mustn't see the face. The face would hold unspeakable horrors, Kramer was sure of that.

The figure was now joined by several others just visible in the half-light. Each one seemed more foul than the one before. More and more they came. Now from both sides. Kramer edged along the wall unable to take his eyes off the on-coming terror.

His hand, stretching out in front of him, reached another handle and it turned. Kramer fell through, tumbling into the darkness down a long flight of stairs.

The door above slammed shut.

Darkness to darkness.

Dust to dust.