You wake up in the middle of the night and glance over at your alarm clock; it reads 3:15 a.m.
A hairdryer wind blows through the open window you don't remember leaving open. Somewhere in the distance, outside, you hear someone - or...something? - howling like a wounded animal. It sends shivers up your spine, despite the heat inside your bedroom, your now elevated body temperature continuing to rise.
You get out of bed, walk sluggishly into the bathroom, look into the mirror. The image you see can't possibly be you, but it is. You look like a zombie; pale, weak.
Then it happens; your stomach begins to cramp, your forehead breaks out in a cold sweat, the blood coarsing through your shrunken veins turning to liquid ice.
You look into the mirror again; you see two, round puncture wounds on the left side of your throat. They are not yet scabbed over, which tells you they are recent wounds, apparently inflicted upon you within the last few hours, although you didn't feel anything.at all.
You hurry back into the bedroom to check on your wife; she is still lying there in a deep sleep, so deep it doesn't appear as if she's even breathing. You step closer, see that she is breathing, but it's shallow breathing, almost as if she's in a comatose state.
Then you see the same type of puncture wounds on her throat as well. You suddenly feel weak, dizzy. You feel as if you want to dream; dream of cold, damp, dark spaces, fitful daytime nightmares and blissful nighttime awakenings.
You lay back down on your bed, glancing over at your clock again; inexplicably, it now reads 1:15 a.m.