Sunday morning, I dreamed of entering our house at Hull's Crossing with Mrs. S. and G. The house had apparently been closed for several weeks, as in fact it was. It was dark. As we walked through into the kitchen, we noticed an odor of mustiness and decay growing more intense as we proceeded. A sudden apprehension seemed to fall on us. Mrs. S. said drearily, "They say there is a curse on this village." Trembling, I struck a match and went toward a dark recess where I knew the awful Thing would be found. The odor became the sickening stench of a putrefying body. The horror became insupportable, and I woke covered with goose flesh, my heart beating wildly.