In my dream I am putting two young brothers to bed. Both blonde, they are remarkably similar in appearance – the older is about eight, the younger is about four. Two twin white beds border the room, but we are lying together on a large mattress in the center of the floor. As the boys drift quietly to sleep, I stand up to turn off the lights.

There are three small, closet-like rooms on the back wall behind us. The first is a white, brightly-lit bathroom. Not wanting to leave the young boys in total darkness, I dim the light and leave the door ajar. The second is also a small bathroom. I assume for the other brother. I dim this light as well, and leave the door open just a crack.

The third room is a small office. The walls are pale pink, and the furniture and decoration is all slightly outdated – perhaps from the 1940s or 50s. An older woman’s study, perhaps. There is a green desk lamp still on. Not wanting to disturb anyone’s personal space, I leave this room untouched.

When I turn around, I see that both boys – nearly asleep when I left them – are suddenly and silently shoulder to shoulder, up on their knees in the dead center of the mattress, staring at me.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” the little one says.

“What are you talking about?”

“She gets… really angry.”

I look behind me. The light in the office is out.

“What are you talking about?”

“She broke your arm.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She cut your face!”

“What are you talking about?”

Though we are all staring at each other, mouths shut and eyes wide, I begin to hear quiet screams, growing louder and louder. Our screams get louder and louder until we’re screaming and screaming and all the lights go on and everything is white