Last night I had the most perfect dream about a haunted house. It was huge, with several staircases, long hallways, and empty rooms; all the white paint of the floorboards was cracked and peeling, and the floral wallpaper hung off in long strips. But I never actually saw a ghost; I only got the feeling the house was haunted because of distant noises and things in corners. The fact that the whole dream took place in broad daylight filtering through the windows made it all the more sinister. Then I was lying in bed in one of the house’s rooms, still in daylight, and I glanced across the room to see that one of the wings of the folding mirror on the dresser was moving by itself; suddenly, the curtain next to it billowed outwards monstrously and I awoke in a fit of terror. It felt like the end of Whistle and I’ll Come to You.