The nightmare came every night now. The story was always the same. She’s alone in the woods, camping. Which is strange in and of itself, but it’s not the point. A stranger then enters her tent and starts to pleasure her in ways she could never have conceived. But that satisfaction soon turns to unimaginable pain.
She manages to get away, but is running frantically from her pursuer. The forest is unkind and furthers her anguish. Eventually, he catches her and proceeds to torture her in assorted ways. When she expels her last breath is when she finally awakes, in a cold sweat, sure that she is dead.
And the nightmare is only getting worse.
Last week, she woke up with her nipples bleeding because the mysterious stranger had bit hers off in the midst of his pleasing ways.
This week, it was scratches covering her whole body from her flight through the woods.
Next week, it could be far, far more traumatic. She was afraid to go to sleep, fearing her death was nearing. She didn’t know what to do.