The smell woke Charlotte first. She groaned, stretched, and rolled over in the bed. Something prickly stuck in her ribs. With a resigned grunt, the blonde propped herself next to the headboard. The wooden headboard was massive in size and displayed the head of a lion surrounded by roses. Where was she? How did she get here? Did the charity fundraiser spill over into Evelyn's house again? No, this wasn't Ev's house. Although there was barely any light, Charlotte could tell she had never set foot in this place. Or had she?<br/><br/>Tossing the sheets across the bed, Dr. Charlotte Fawkes discovered dried leaves and small twigs on the mattress. "So, you stuck me," she said. Upon closer examination, dead foliage lay on the plastered-covered floor leading to an open window. The curtains rustled as a damp wind entered the bedroom. Fawkes held herself for warmth to erase the chill. Then, gathering her long, flowing white nightgown, Charlotte stepped out of bed. Bits of sharp plaster and chips of wood stabbed her bare feet.<br/><br/>"Ow!"<br/><br/>She brushed the debris away from her sole and scoured the room, hoping to find some slippers or shoes. In her search, Fawkes noticed an old fireplace, a sewing machine, several bow-back Windsor chairs, and a roundtop table on its side, missing a leg. However, the fireplace looked almost new and continued the lion/floral motif from the bed's headboard. On the mantel, also covered in plaster, lay several trinkets, including a teacup and saucer, two porcelain English wolfhounds (both chipped), and a dish of rock candy. The sewing machine drew her attention and forced the woman to maneuver through the fallen plaster and woodchips on the floor. It was an old Singer with a floral design covered in dust. Fawkes recalled that her great-grandmother had a machine almost like it. Blowing off the dust, Fawkes noticed the patent label read Oct 8, 1887.<br/><br/>"Is this …."<br/><br/>It was her great-grandmother's machine. Charlotte was dreaming.<br/><br/>Somewhat relieved she was in the middle of a lucid dream, Charlotte tip-toed toward the closet, wincing each time she stepped on sharp plaster. Although the closet didn't look familiar, Fawkes knew the space would contain what she needed. Charlotte opened the closet door and found a moldy pink floral dress and a pair of pink silk shoes with gnarled bows on each. The smell from the mold dress was too potent for Fawkes to consider. The only thing else in the closet was a picture frame without its photo. Deciding the nightgown was enough, Charlotte slipped on the shoes. Unfortunately, they were too big, which was better than a size too small.<br/><br/>"What is that smell?" she asked out loud. It wasn't from the mold in the house or the scent of burning leaves. Instead, the stench was like sulfur, but not really. She'd been in Dr. Patel's chemistry lab so many times over the years that she thought she could identify the offensive scent. Was there a sewage plant nearby? She couldn't figure it out and went on.<br/><br/>Outside the bedroom, the darkness consumed Charlotte's vision. She could see a smattering of dim, yellow light rising from the stairs but was forced to move her hands along the walls to navigate. Twice she felt the presence of more picture frames and the rough texture of the portraits. The wallpaper, also cracked and peeled, was thick, with at least three layers underneath. Finally, as she reached the staircase, Fawkes saw the light coming from outside. What made the dim, yellow light, Fawkes could only guess that street lamps dotted across a sidewalk in front of the old colonial home.<br/><br/>Charlotte held her breath with every step as she traversed the creaking staircase. But this was a dream. It had to be, so if she fell, perhaps any injuries would wake her up. Still, she acted upon her instincts and took her time. Once down the staircase, Charlotte took note of the decorative post cap. The newel cap was a lion's head with flowers dripping from its mane. The craftsmanship was exceptional, thought Fawkes. Did she see this style motif in an old home somewhere?<br/><br/>As she stepped onto the first floor, Charlotte was in a drawing room. To the left was the kitchen. Directly in front, the college professor noticed the front door was open, and she was right. The light came from street lamps; however, a thick fog gathered on the front lawn. Light from the lamps reflected off the water droplets in the mist and though defused, added a touch of extra light to the parlor.<br/><br/>A horrid smell came from the kitchen, so Charlotte didn't bother with it. The drawing room, however, was dismal compared to the rest of the house. The room included no furniture. All the windows were open, and no curtains adorned them. The ceiling was mostly gone, with rotten wood (along with its stench) crumbling onto the floor. The only color was a few lines of illegible graffiti sprayed on the cracked walls.<br/><br/>Finally, Dr. Fawkes stepped onto the porch. It, too, was in poor shape, but the woman didn't stick around for details. Instead, she pattered down concrete steps and onto the sidewalk. The stench followed her, but Fawkes was assaulted again, but this time it was by sound. As with the odor, she couldn't place the tones, but a feeling of despair silently crept into her mind. Then, a whisper. Charlotte spun around to see who it was. She found no one. The nauseating tunes and vocal echoes increased in volume. Fawkes covered her ears.<br/><br/>"Wake up!" she shouted.<br/><br/>It had to be a dream. It had to be a dream … or a nightmare. The street lights began to flicker. Then noxious sounds, and whispers, in tune with the fluttering lights, assaulted the woman. She ran across the cobbled road and through the wet grass. As she neared, the figure came into view. It was a man facing away from her.<br/><br/>"Can you help me?" she asked. The man turned. From his eyes, nostrils, and mouth oozed black blood or liquid. The thing made no noise but immediately lunged for Fawkes. The woman screamed at the top of her lungs and ran into the fog.