Last night as we walked home, a silhouette appeared from the fog.
I jokingly made a comment about the eeriness of the situation, mentioning the phrase 'axe-murderer'.

I woke up in the early hours of this morning, drenched in a feverish sweat. My fist clenched around a handful of pillow, I desperately tried to forget my dreams. He was there, in my room. He'd climbed out of my nightmare, into reality. I lay perfectly still, my eyes shooting open in panic with every creak, every rustle of leaves outside my window. I steadied my breathing and silently prayed that sleep would come again; dreamless, peaceful sleep.

I haven't had a nightmare for years. Not one I remember so vividly anyway.
Stupid fog.