The persistent knock penetrated the fog in my brain, its arrhythmic percussion opening my reluctant eyes a little further with every thud.

I knew it was witching hour, precisely 0.00 o'clock, without checking because the annoying knock always signified the beginning of my birthday. Same procedure as every year for as long as I could remember. The clock would hit midnight, the banging on my door would start, my terror would grow with each passing year although I would always be greeted by empty darkness whenever I would finally give in and answer the creepy beckoning to nothingness.

The very beginning of my 21st year on this earth proved to be no different. Although this time I had taken precautions. I had taken the day off with my two best friends with the intention of being out and celebrating at the turn of the day. We had raided our parents' liqueur cabinets and, in our excitement, had forgotten that drinking at the crack of dawn means stumbling into bed in the late afternoon at the latest. So, here I was alone in bed, drunk, but not drunk enough anymore to sleep through the mystery knocking. When I couldn't stand the noise any longer, I heaved myself out of bed, stormed to the door and opened it with a flourish, never even bothering to put a robe over my skimpy nightgown.

"About time!" a gruff voice acknowledged my presence, while I jumped a mile, figuratively, stumbled and hit the ground hard, literally.

"Great! Lazy, clumsy and half naked!" the mysterious stranger grumbled quietly, while grabbing my arm to haul me back up off the floor.

"Let go of me, you pervert!" I shrieked in response to his helpfulness because I was a lady, he was an uninvited, unexpected intrusion into my Morpheus's arms ritual and, well, because I was actually half naked. I took in a massive breath in preparation of an almighty scream, but he expertly clamped a hand over my mouth and an arm around my waist, dragging me mercilessly into the dangerous cave that my flat had become in the space of three minutes.

"Shush, you're waking up the neighbours, for crying out loud!" he hissed. "Put some trousers on and grab a jacket. Quick! We're running out of time!"

"Mmmhmmm!" I mumbled through his big, strong hand.

"I'm going to take my hand away now, but you won't scream! Please!" he said, letting go of me.

Well, even if I had wanted to, I wouldn't have been able to make a sound, let alone scream. In fact, all I could muster was a stare, while my chin hit the ground because I had just managed to get a good look at my intruder.

"That's not possible! I'm still dreaming," I muttered to myself. I pinched my arm as hard as I could. Ouch! That hurt! A short debate whether feeling pain from pinching myself was a surefire way of determining my level of consciousness yielded no actionable results, so I went with the obvious.

"Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?"

The stranger looked relieved because I turned my decibel capabilities down a notch or two, but his gaze also implied that he didn't think that I was the brightest star in the night sky.

"Charming, just charming!" His answer did not do much to enlighten me.

I still stared. My mind went back to last night's nightmare. I had been chased by a fearful cross between a Dracula and a Freddy Kruger. Panting like a rabid dog that hadn't eaten in three days, I slightly turned my head and nearly came face to face with his metal-clawed leather glove and a toothy grin. I turned back around and sped up, gaining momentum and racing through the night streets of downtown London like Dina Asher-Smith. I should have known that it was only a dream then. Not because this creature was unlikely to appear in the real world but because I was really not very athletic and wouldn't have been able to gain momentum or race on just two legs even if the devil himself had chased me.

But my dream self was otherwise occupied and thus not very suspicious. So, when the creature suddenly sprouted wings - which goes to show what a shitty dream that was because I should have been the one to do the sprouting - and effectively killed any distance I had managed to put between me and the supermonster, I thought that this was curtains for muggins here. The final chapter. The end.

But just before the metal claws ripped into my back, an unimaginable force ripped into the monster. It practically fell out of the sky and landed flat on its back, a bit like I did just a minute ago, come to think of it.

I stopped, my head on a swivel, trying to determine what the hell had just happened. Another dead giveaway that I was dreaming that I somehow overlooked. In real life, I wouldn't have given a hoot about what had happened but more about what was going to happen – and that would have been a tactical retreat, quietly and quickly.

Well, here I stood, watching how the creature shook itself and started to rise. The dream version of myself still didn't have the common sense to leave the premises. Instead I decided to walk up to it to have a closer look, just like in those cheap horror films in which a 3rd class actress climbs down the flight of stairs into a cellar that hasn't seen human habitation in over thirty years, after hearing mysterious noises like gunshot sounds or screaming emanating from there. 'Stop, you dozy little cow!' you want to shout, but – alas – she can't hear you and carries on down the stairs into the mouth of hell regardless.

So, there was dozy me now, approaching the killing machine on legs, when said killing machine suddenly surged to its feet again and charged at me.

Despite the fact that the thing had already been moving towards a vertical position before I even got closer, my dream self had obviously not factored in such a possibility that the beast would actually manage to right itself. My flight and self-preservation instinct was obviously on the blink in dreamland. Instead my body froze and did not skip into astral projecting or beaming techniques that I'm sure a dream is technically capable of.

"Move! Move! Move!" a voice suddenly split the night. Oh yes, I was in the middle of London with just a scary beast and a disembodied voice as entertainment. To defend myself, this didn't strike me as odd, either. But there is the old Covid-19 situation going on, so the derelict feel was actually quite realistic, if you ask me.

Anyway, before the beast reached me and did unspeakable things to me, it was halted in its tracks again by an invisible force, but when I looked behind me, I saw a tall dark stranger, holding his hands up into the night sky, his face scrunched together in total concentration.

His hands wiggled, and the creature went down again.

"Move, for crying out loud!" The stranger's voice sounded exasperated. "Now!"

The last word somehow managed to catapult me into action. I started running. Just as I turned the first corner, thanking the Lord that I made it, I felt a strong hand on my arm. I whirled around and looked straight into the face of my saviour. My heart stopped for a second, then started beating really loudly. Before I was able to do anything, I snapped out of the dream with a jerk, realising that my booming heartbeat was, in fact, my annoying alarm clock. With the face of the handsome stranger imprinted on my brain, I turned the alarm off and got up.

And now, here I was, with said saviour from last night's nightmare standing right in front of me, looking none too pleased.

"I remember you now!" I whisper-shouted.

"Finally. Now, are you going to get ready or not?" His voice definitely did not sound amused or happy. The creature had to be hot on our heels.

"Yes, yes! Just a sec!" I grabbed my jeans off the floor and slipped into them. "How close is the monster? What does it want with me? And how are you connected to all this?" I had so many questions that I couldn't decide which one to ask first.

Tall, dark and handsome strangers are usually not in the habit to explain things to half-naked, ignorant ladies, if the romance novels I've read are anything to go by. But neither are they supposed to look at the ladies their love is star-cross'd with as if they have lost their marbles altogether.

"Are you insane? Or on drugs? Either way, I don't think this will work out."

I stared at him blankly, as he bent down and picked up a bunch of flowers off the floor. The arrangement was quite beautiful, too.

"You can keep this!" he said as he thrust the colourful first-date ice-breaker at me and turned on his heels.

My heart missed a beat as my blood alcohol dropped to sanity level again.

"Wait!" I shouted after him. When he turned to look at me, confirming my suspicion, I plastered a smile on my face. "I was only joking! Sorry. I wasn't expecting you. And..."

The man's expression softened. "It is my fault. You told me on Tinder about this mysterious banging you hear every year on your birthday. I thought I'd surprise you. So, I reserved a table at Midnight Dining and put on my best shirt. By turning up at midnight, I thought I could show you that there was nothing there and that you didn't have to be so afraid of your birthday anymore. The whole thing sounded much more romantic in my head. I'm sorry, too."