I dream I’m walking into my bedroom in the twilight and I see a tall, thin transparent figure, like a shiver in the air. Who are you? I demand (afraid, angry). ‘John,’ it answers (naming a close family member). ‘You are not John,’ I say, firmly, but I’m terrified. ‘How do you know I’m not you?’ it asks. ‘You are not me!’ I shout. I wake up, my whole right side freezing cold and covered in gooseflesh.