Teeth: The Road to Hell

Inside the nightmare, I looked down to see the road beneath me was paved with human teeth. The sparse buildings were roofed with filthy, matted patches of fur. In place of brick or siding or stucco, the walls were crusted with putrid scales. Overhead, where there should have been a moon in the midnight sky, hung an enormous eye the color of a blood-soaked bandage. The wind smeared itself across the scabbed landscape, perfumed with the ancient rot of every dead thing that had ever lived.

A grime-blackened window did nothing to hide from me the sight of a horned, mutated, aberration. In my peripherial -- for I refused to turn my gaze fully upon the horror -- it seemed like nothing so much as a giant tongue armored with feathers and bedsheets. Like some toga-wearing space predator.

From overhead came a sudden, deafening cry, a grotesque warbling ululation. It clawed at the core of my spine, reached in and pinched the back of my brain, petrifying my soul with the otherworldly certainty of my own impending death in the taloned grasp of this winged oral terror.

Frightened out of my slumber, I fought against my sheets, drowning in my duvet and struggling for breath as I realized my bed...was a tongue! There was no escaping the depths of this demon's lair, even in the waking world.