I felt a cold grip on my arm shaking me from my sleep. My husband was there and whispered in a hushed voice: "Darling, there's an intruder. We need to escape," Something felt wrong about this, and I felt as if I was forgetting something vitally important. Shaking the uneasy feeling off, I followed my husband towards a window and we made our escape from the house. We walked and walked, then came to Central Park and sat down at the base of an old oak tree. I took out my phone and dialed 9-1-1, then explained the situation. They said they'd be right over. We sat in silence for awhile, me and my husband, the cold, bitter air biting our faces, the sparkling golden stars above, and the fireflies dancing around ever so gracefully. He placed his hand on mine, his hand icy cold. And when I looked into his eyes, they were black as pitch, and they began to roll up into his skull, and he began to let off a decaying smell then I let out a horrified shriek. For at that moment, I remembered--my husband was murdered by an intruder 5 years ago.
