It occurs to me that I still can’t see the Creeper, so I still don’t know if I’m dealing with another dreamer or not. But the people on the bridge are in greyscale. They are part of this dream, too.

And now the people are halfway across the bridge. The farthest point from either side. This is always where the bad shit happens. Balrogs or Kylo Ren or whatever.

And here we go. What is it with Dream City people? It’s happening again. The people are throwing themselves off the bridge. Two jump and break the roofs of dream-cars far below. When the third person jumps, I manage to whip up a parachute and he drifts down, then lands in front of a speeding truck that must have been conjured up by the Creeper. I make the truck come screaming to a halt just in time. This causes a multi-car pile-up. The Creeper laughs.

‘Actions have consequences, even in dreams. You backed the wrong horse. Melodie Tan is a loser.’

What am I going to say to that? No, you’re a loser, loser. I mean, how old are we, seven? I need to wake up. Wake up, Charlie!

The greyscale baby in the pram is sitting alone in the middle of the bridge. I hear her begin to cry. Don’t ask me how I know she’s a girl. I just know. I walk out onto the bridge. I’m going to get this baby off the bridge and then I can wake up.

The Creeper says, ‘People are so weak. You think you’ll achieve anything, trying to prop up all of these weak people who can’t even control their own minds? Maybe you should get control of yourself first. Then you wouldn’t be falling asleep in public. It makes you extremely vulnerable.’

How can I force this mofo out of my head? I have to change its voice, make it a helium voice or something. I try to do that. Make his voice really, really high and squeaky.

‘You’re all such low-hanging fruit,’ the Creeper says in a helium voice, but somehow it’s even worse and creepier.

‘Let’s see what happens if we actually rip them open,’ it adds casually, and as I look on, the baby splits down the middle, little teddy-bear outfit and all.

The baby is still crying even though by my reckoning she should die immediately. She is still in greyscale, so presumably somewhere in London a baby is dreaming of being murdered.

‘You did this,’ the helium voice says. ‘It’s on you. Not on me. On you.’