The clouds hang long and heavy in the sky, a deep gun-metal grey that shrouded everything below in ominous shadows. Rain poured steadily, making a mire of the ground. There was nothing but grey and murky brown as far as the eye could see: dull, lifeless brick buildings, rusted fence reaching skyward topped with aged razor wire, not a soul in sight. Moving along the sole path that presents itself, a peculiar smell barely masked by the rain became detectable. The putrid scent of spoiled meat and other foods left out to rot. It all made sense one the path turned.

( This paragraph is cut for some potentially gross imagery. )

The change from the drab, grey world is almost blinding. Inside everything is bright and crisp white and the scent of cleaning agents give it a sterile smell, much like a hospital... or a morgue. In fact, that's exactly what this room looks like with it's cold examination table and the myriad of sharp, glinting tools resting on trays and dangling from walls. There's even a suspicious drain on the floor to wash away unsightly fluids. The silence is broken by the crackling din of a cheery tune playing from some unseen record player. It almost seems out of place after everything outside and the quiet menace that fills the room.

A window above gave a brief glimpse of shadowy figures in the unseen observation theatre. They're the only sign of life save for the man sitting, back turned, on the exam table. Like the bodies outside, Erik's dressed in the rags he recalls so clearly from his childhood. Erik's accustomed to this dream, though. He's spent years with the exaggerated memories and fears of childhood creeping around his jagged, broken mind and mingling with his subconscious. But, it's so familiar, he immediately noticed an intruding presence. Without looking over his shoulder, he simply said, "You should not be here."

It starts off innocuous enough. He's walking in a suburban neighborhood in daylight, kicking a can down the sidewalk. As if anybody does that anymore. He thinks it's odd that nobody's out and about this time of day, but doesn't think to address it.

...Until the sun moves behind a cloud, and suddenly it's much darker than it ought to be. The sky is choked by clouds. The can skitters a few more feet down the sidewalk and then clatters to a stop, giving way to complete silence.

Peter turns to look at the house on his left, and sees that the windows are blacked out.

Something makes him jump, makes him run. He thinks he saw a hand start to creep its way through the yellow grass. Even if he didn't see it, he felt it. The vampires are coming.

The street stretches out endless in front of him. White arms with crooked, reaching fingers are digging their way out of neglected front gardens. Peter runs past house after house after house, all identical, all hollow and deserted. Every window black.

[OOC: WARNING for a high probability of blood and disturbing imagery in the threads. If you'd rather not have it come to that, let me know and we can either plot out a different ending, or the dream can end before things get too far.]