The man is running down a darkened alley. The alley has no end. There is probably fog or mist, and many shadows. He can't see the thing behind him. He can't hear it, either. But he knows it's there. He splashes through a puddle, and the water's cold lingers against his skin.
"Oh, God," he's saying. "Please. This is a dream. I know it is. Please wake up. Someone wake me up."
He cannot wake up. Not because this is not a dream; it is. He's quite correct about that.
But he will not awaken.
He is not allowed to.