Frank floated back to reality as he heard a low growl; from the corner of the room. His teary, bloodshot eyes, flicked open. He searched the darkness for the source of the noise. Amber eyes stood out in the darkness. The growling became more guttural and threatening, as the eyes floated closer to him.

Finally, he saw it. A dog! A fucking big black hound! How had it gotten into the room? The black dog grinned and pointed its snout to the window, that was wide open. The curtains blew fitfully in the darkness. Frank lay in bed; paralyzed from head to toe with fear. The dog sneered and exposed its innumerable, deadly canines.

His head moved slow, almost as if his body consisted of petrified wood and not flesh. The large black dog approached closer, its eyes never wavered from Franks. With every step closer the dog grew braver, and in contrast, Frank grew more terrified.

Frank tried to close his eyes and block out reality in a desperate attempt to rationalize the irrational. Yet, it only seemed to make the situation worse. The dog howled in triumph and turned Frank's hot coursing blood to ice.

A heavy weight pressed down on his chest and legs. The weight seemed to cut off his oxygen supply. He breathed with heavy labored gasps, his windpipe felt deathly tight.

Frank opened his eyes, half pleading with God and himself that his suspicion was wrong. It wasn't. The dog was sitting on his chest, those amber eyes glaring into his own. The dog was grinning, Frank was screaming. A barrage of human laughter spilled forth from the dog, the laughter was cold and wrathful. Frank in a wild panic finally broke the paralysis that held him. Only managing to regain partial control of his arms his hands raised slowly as if they were made of lead.

The dog's eyes darted to his hands. It's amber iris widened in shock for a micro second. and then the shocked expression was replaced with murderous intent. The dog's paws shot forward with a shimmering speed and pinned his arms down with supernatural strength. Wide and powerful jaws opened, spilling white foam into Franks screaming mouth. Frank felt the liquid as it shot down his throat, he swallowed on pure reflex. The dog smirked one last time before its jaws clamped down on Frank's neck. Pointed canines punctured his skin like sharp needles.

Frank screamed in agony and closed his eyes, not wanting the last thing he saw in this miserable life to be a dog covered in his lifeblood. Suddenly, the restricting weight and paralysis vanished. He opened his eyes and laughed with a victory as the dog was gone. His laughter fell short-lived as he touched his neck and felt warm wet liquid. He frowned slowly moving the hand up to his face and saw that it was dripping with blood. As soon as he laid eyes on his blood, his neck violently spurted blood in a powerful jet stream.

Frank sat forward in shock, with one hand desperately trying to cover the puncture wound in his jugular. He watched as his arterial blood spilled forth onto the sheets. Onto a sleeping Emily and finally onto the walls and ceiling. Frank fell out of the bed, slowly pulled himself to his feet and ran to open his bedroom door. He was trying to get to the bathroom and the first aid kit that would prolong his life. But the door was locked. He smashed his body against it but it refused to yield. Frank's panic grew until he ran around the room screaming in terror. He called out to Emily and violently shook her, but she never woke. Instead Frank covered her in more of his life's blood. He heard laughter from the open window and turned expecting to see the dog, instead, he saw Rose.

She was dressed in her burial gown. What was once white silk had now become muddy and stained with blood. Her irises shone with an amber glow. Her teeth monstrous canine fangs, there was blood covering her mouth and lips. She was floating above Franks second floor bedroom window. She smiled, her head still at that familiar snapped angle. Frank whimpered and fell to his knees. Rose glared down accusingly at him. The love behind his daughters' gaze was long gone. Staring at her now he realized Rose had no love left in her, only hate and anger. Frank fell face forward as the last of his blood exited his neck and his body spasmed with shock. Yet, all the while, his eyes remained fixed on Rose, who was dancing as his blood rained down upon her.

Frank murmured as he felt his body being violently shaken, it was the slap that finally roused him. He opens his eyes; the room lit by the bedside lamp was a welcome contrast to the darkness of his dream. A woman with long black hair covering her face leaned over him. For one second a scream lodged in his throat, all he could see was Rose. He instinctively raised his fists against the shadowy apparition of his deceased daughter. He screamed as she pushed down on his arms and restrained him. So unnerved by his dream he didn't hear or recognize the woman's soothing voice.

The woman with some sense of understanding pushed her long hair out of the way and exposed her face. "Emily!" He cried in relief.

"Shh, it was just a dream!" She soothed him.

She held him tight against her warm body and eased his panic as she played with his hair. Frank shuddered against her body in frantic spasms.

He had calmed down now. Yet, unlike most dreams he had in the past, this one was still as vivid to him as it was when he woke screaming. After calming him down, Emily had once again succumbed to weariness. Her words became slurry and loose, and despite trying to stay awake she fell back into a peaceful slumber.

Frank watched her chest, the peaceful and mesmerizing way in which it rose and fell. He was envious as she looked truly peaceful. He watched her for some time, lost to times fleeting seconds. Eventually, he decided he needed a very strong drink. Something sharp, hot and warm. Something that would banish the sour taste in his mouth and brain. Frank crept out of bed knowing she would not wake with his departure.

He kissed her on the head before he slipped on his wooly dressing gown. He grimaced as he remembered that both Emily and Rose had bought him this for his last birthday. It was always like that now. No matter how much he tried to avoid the thought of Rose, something small and insignificant would hit him full force with memories of his Rosebud.

Frank stared at the bedroom window before leaving the room, expecting to see Rose. This time he wished to see her alive and full of happiness. The way she had been when she was reaching the cusp of adolescence. Frank shed a single tear and closed the bedroom door behind him and made his way to the living room. Where he sat and listened to the wild birds, as they called out to the rising sun. He poured himself one of many needed whiskeys.

Frank, more than slightly inebriated, decided that he couldn't get back to sleep. Especially not after that dream; there was no chance in hell he would sleep tonight. It wasn't so bad, after all, it was 4.30am. On any normal day, he would be up in two and a half hours anyway. Like most people his age, sleep consisted of five hours or less a night. Irrelevant of what time he slept.

If he chose to do the math, he would find out that he had slept for 241,800 hours in his life. On average, and generous estimations of 10 hours per night, each day of his 65 years on mother earth. So naturally, he required less sleep than a younger man would need.

Frank sat in his favorite chair. Smoking a Marlboro Cigarette and looking down at his empty whiskey glass. Smoking was a dirty habit. but tell that to Emily, after all, it was her stash. He had stopped years ago, in a world that made this world feel monstrous in comparison.

He thought about Adam, he wondered how he was coping with Roses demise. Frank made a mental note to phone him later in the day, to see how he was coping. He felt sorry for Adam as he imagined how he would cope if Emily passed on to the great unknown. He was thinking this when the phone rang.

Frank wondered who would phone the house at this hour. He picked up the phone and stared at the caller display with unease. It was Adam.

"Hello....." Adam's voice echoed out with a tired rustic tone.

"Adam! How are you son?"

Frank mused to himself, that he had to get out of the habit, of calling Adam, son, after all, there would be no wedding now.

He cursed himself for the coldness to that thought.

"Frank, sorry to disturb you, I know it's early and to be honest I don't know what came over me. I was wondering how you and Emily are coping, next thing I know I'm dialing your damn number, I'm such a fool!" He spat with self-disgust.

Frank smiled, he's always liked this kid; we're too much alike, he mused.

The phone line was silent. Adam spoke. "You still there?"

"Sorry Adam, I was a million miles away. Listen don't worry about phoning now. It's fine, and to be honest, I was contemplating phoning you, I wanted to hear how you were coping?"

And so they talked for over an hour. first about Adam then about Frank and Emily. Then with reluctance about Rose. Adam sobbed over the phone, whilst Frank remained calm for Adam's sake. They made plans to meet up, Adam suggested the lake for a spot of fishing, but Frank offered a counter activity. They would go Paint balling and drink themselves into a stupor. The conversation came to a closing point. Adam said something before he ended the call that caused Frank to feel very uneasy.

"Frank, have you been dreaming about a black dog lately?"

Frank could hear Adam trying to hide his fear behind a calm tone. Yet, Franks' hand was gripping the phone terrified.

Before Frank could break the awkward silence, Adam spoke.

"Oh never mind, I'm being a fool again, speak to you later." The line goes dead as Adam ends the call.

Frank stared at the phone in puzzlement. Frank couldn't quite shake the feeling that the real reason Adam had phoned was to ask about the dog.

"Can dreams spread like a disease?" Frank asked no-one in particular, pouring the last remnants of whiskey into his glass. He stared at the empty bottle before him, wondering what Emily would say if she knew after all this was the first trace of alcohol he had consumed in over twenty years, and for good reason.