LOUISE: I dream that I get shot.
PAUL: Does the dream continue after you are dead?
LOUISE: No. I have a method to end it. I can leave any nightmare if I recite a nursery rhyme: 'Baa baa black sheep . . .'
PAUL: I dreamed that Death stood next to me at an exhibition of primitive art. I recognised him because of the earth on his coat and his musty smell.
I had caught sight of him once before: then he stood in the stairwell of an estate. He carried a pad of lined paper and a pen.
He arranged letters taken from his name in a fresh order: this operation created a different name. He wrote each new name upon a sheet of paper: he then detached the sheet from the pad and folded it across.
He stood in front of my living room window. I could not look directly at his face. I heard the letterbox rattle: he had posted a sheet of notepaper through it.
My friend rose to open the door.
LOUISE: I used to dream that my father stood behind me and held me. He would be gentle at first: then his grip became painful.
I turned and looked at an evil creature: it was identical to my father.