He's showing me around a house (his?) and I don't trust him, but I must play the game, take the tour to the end. In the kitchen I find a carving knife which I pick up secretly and carry concealed, a protection. Out in the garden we exchange small talk before parting, but our comments seem overly pregnant... he knows that I know that he knows that I know he's dangerous. It's getting dark. On my way out I leave the knife, thinking I no longer need it. Within two steps he's changed, vampire/monster/ravenous, bearing down on me with the sound of a violent wind...
At this point I wake up with the usual adrenaline rush; my endocrine system doesn't know the difference between real threats and dreamed ones. The nightmare is still in the driver's seat and I have to wrestle it for control: I don't want to go where it's taking me. It uses my own imagination against me; the only defence is to invent an alternative scenario that will satisfy it. It has to be plausible: the nightmare won't believe misunderstandings or magical rescues or beating the monster in single combat; not without weapons. Usually I have to backtrack to the point of the mistake and undo it -- don't leave the knife, dummy. I wish whoever's in charge of the nightmare department would just let this go now.