I shot bolt upright in my bed, dangerously close to hyperventilating, and immediately fell to work reeling my mind back from a precipice of horror. This would never do; being so incapacitated by a mere dream was both embarrassing and ridiculous. Few things in the world could frighten me more than my own imagination.
Added to this, I had been informed that when in the grip of such a nightmare, I was unconsciously quite vocal and had awakened the house on more than one occasion.
After ten minutes, my breathing no longer rasped out of control, but further sleep seemed impossible. I stumbled into the sitting room, despite the fact I knew the room would be frigidly dark this hour of a winter morning.
Instead, I discovered a small blaze in its beginning stages flickering in the hearth. Upon the table beside the settee sat a steaming teapot, one cup, and a paper packet containing what I recognised to be a light sleeping-draught. The settee itself was buried in two thick blankets and a very enticingly soft, spare pillow.
I curiously poked my head into the hall in time to hear the bedroom door above me creak quietly but not close entirely.
Well then. I supposed I could find it within me to follow Doctor's orders like a good little boy.