Then she woke at 3:00 a.m., the hour of hauntings, with her heart pounding like a jackhammer. Pure evil had sauntered out of her subconscious to hover in her bedroom doorway, watching, waiting, barring her escape. For a moment, she had thought Galen was screaming—a distorted scream like a manufactured Hollywood sound shot through a wind tunnel. But when she’d tiptoed upstairs to check on him, he was lost in peaceful slumber.
I used to have this dream about 'pure evil.' No idea why.
