Vampire Pregnancy

There is a wooden door in front of me, it’s not treated, or at least it hasn’t been for a long time, the weight of it has pulled out the frame and loosened the hinges over the years, so it leans slightly forward at the top and to the right, and pushes inwards at the bottom and to the left, like a bowing man of some years, coming forth to greet those who darken him. I reciprocate and shake its only hand, the door falls open and I pass on through, not having seen what it is I’m stepping into nor from where I came, it could have been a door in space for all I knew. I see a series, or channel of cramped rooms extending out in front of me; the rooms are all different shapes and sizes, from small to very small, despite adjoining one another. The walls are made out of the same ancient wood that made the door, the only door, for there are doorways going through the walls of the rooms as you would expect, but also, as I go deeper, there are doorways through some of the floors and ceilings from time to time as well, but no more doors within them. It looks like one long shack in favelas, added to over time by either knocking through into neighbouring shacks, or building with whatever was available to create extra adjoining rooms whenever possible, adding to the depth of this winding twisted ram shackling corridor. The cold is breathtaking, it hurts as I go further, as though acting as a warning not to go on, but I see the far end of a bench on the left hand wall in the next room, until then the rooms had been empty, as I go on, a figure is disclosed in the middle of the bench, knees up to the chest, huddled under a light tan cloak. I can make out the peak of a hood. I’m above this figure now and the smell is horrendous, it is worse than death; it is similar to rancid Pont l’Eveque. I go to draw the hood back, and as I do so the head lifts. Very slowly a pale yellowing feminine brow moves up to face me, she is very weak, completely defenceless. I do not see her face, for my gaze is unwillingly drawn to hers. Whilst the whites of her eyes are bloodied and black, the corneas are pastel emeralds and yellows that mix like a gas nebula. She speaks in my mind, ‘You must go. You disturb the incubation of my child. I will give birth soon and must rest. My protector sees what I see.’ With that she returned to her original position and a sound of rustling came from the room above, there was a doorway in the ceiling through which the rustling began to intensify until it was deafeningly loud in my head. I had to get out of this fast and woke quickly, there was the face of a fierce old man in a similar cloak to that of the woman, he yielded a stick and shouted after me as I was drawn backwards, the sides of my field of vision stretching away from him as I went, like being drawn back in a catapult into the realms of the waking. It is better to have this dream out of my head now; to get it down helps me with this. If I was to tell you how difficult it has been to write this you would pity me; several times it has deleted itself right in front of me, several times it has failed to save, several times the computer has crashed. I even now have a handwritten draft before me also, it reads word for word, just incase.