It has snowed inside a suburban house.  The sofa, the armchairs and table, every surface is covered in a layer of snow.  There is a murderer in the house with me.  I listen but I can’t hear anything.  It is still and quiet.  I open the front door and there is a bicycle covered in fairy lights that looks so pretty against the dark blue sky.  I look behind me and see that my footprints in the snow are small and round as if I am a fox or a deer.  I realise the murderer will be able to follow my footprints.  I turn around again and Ian McKellen with long grey hair and beard, is standing in the doorway.  He is the murderer.  I stab him in the eye with scissors and blood runs down his face and drips onto the snow.