I was in the dilapidated living room of a large old house which looked like something out of a horror movie. It looked as if the room was purposely set up to look spooky, but in fact it wasn't frightening at all, and indeed it felt quite comfortable to me.

I thought some other people were going to show up shortly, people with whom I was planning to be working on some kind of project. But at the moment only one other person was in the room with me, a long-haired blond fellow, probably in his mid 20s, a fellow who looked exactly like Brad Pitts. He had a boyish grin on his face as I spoke with him and as I directed his attention to a glass case sitting near us. I pointed out a large old book whose brown pages were lying open in the case. He immediately knew what I wanted: his signature. In order for our project to continue, I needed to have his signature in the book. Only if he bound himself by signing the book would the project be able to continue. It was important to me for the project to go on, and it was important for me to have this fellow in it. Without his signature the project would have to be scuttled.

The fellow knew what I wanted. He had been avoiding putting his signature in the book for quite some time. Now he knew we couldn't go forward unless he signed the book, and clearly he was going to do so.

Suddenly I felt myself being pulled away. It was unclear whether it was the same fellow with whom I had been talking or another man, but someone had hold of my right arm and was pulling me to a door in the corner of the room. I was pulled through the door and up a narrow flight of wooden rickety steps. But I was completely un-alarmed and in fact I was enjoying what was happening. I knew this was all part of the project on which I would be working with the others, and the man pulling me (who seemed to be wearing a black aviator's cap and from the back resembled Richard O'Brien in his role as Riff Raff in the movie The Rocky Horror Picture Show) wasn't going to hurt me.

As we reached the top of the stairs, I had all the more reason to know he wasn't going to hurt me, because as we had moved up the stairs, I had grown conscious of one central fact: I was dreaming. I knew that the project on which I was working had to do with dreams, and that becoming lucid as I had just done was an integral part of the project. Thus not with growing fear was I pulled up the stairs, but with growing joy.

At the top of the stairs we stopped, with the somewhat bent-over figure of a man still holding my arm. I thought I would use some kind of dramatic formalistic phrase such as, "Go away Satan," or "Get thee hence, Satan," directed at the man, and he would be forced to let me go. But when I uttered my phrase, the fellow still held on. It now seemed more as if we were acting, but acting in a dream world where I thought anything might be possible. I even thought that if the man tried to cause me pain, such as by biting me, I would be unable to feel it. As if in response to my thought, the man clamped down with his teeth on the palm of my right hand, just below my little finger. For a moment I braced myself, closing my eyes, thinking that I might have gone too far with my experiment and that I might indeed be able to feel pain, even if I were dreaming.

When I felt nothing, I opened my eyes and looked around. The man was gone, and I was standing alone in what appeared to be a small garret furnished for someone to inhabit. Light was starting to flow in through some windows – so much light I was afraid it might wake me up. And I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to stay lucid and continue dreaming. This was the state I liked the most and I flashed my eyes around the room, trying to take in everything, trying to relish being lucid. But everything looked so clear, I began to wonder if I was really dreaming or if I were just awake and imagining all this, and I tried to fight against the feeling that I was awakening.

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