He stood in the doorway and tried to control his breathing. The room was empty except for an old man sitting crouched forward on a lone chair. The old man had a knife in one hand and his index finger extended with the other; he was slowly whittling his finger with the knife, taking thin curls of flesh with each swipe. Below him, to catch the shavings and the blood, there was a tin bucket. Blood dripped from the old man’s finger.
“‘Ello, young feller,” the old man said, and continued to whittle.
Zach held the card up so he could read it: 'Is this a dream?'
He looked at the old man. The old man did not disappear.