I have seen things very similar to that in my own dreams. I have only won once, each other time my end has come quickly and painfully. But I can say this, they do bleed, and they do die. But only when you have something that can hurt them. They have the most uncanny ability to turn M-16s to squirt guns and knives to small sticks, not to mention turning the ground to a sticky mire. You guys ability to turn the fantastic to reality is stunning. I salute you.
At night his fingers rake across the walls, extending and retracting with the play of light and shadow, dipping into every crack and seam in the tiles with a subtle but audible scrape. You know him; the moon casts the shadow of his awful face and his moth-eaten rags on the opposite wall each night, but the orderlies tell you about branches and wind and feed you pills. Even when the moon is new, he is always there. The glint of a claw, a breath in your ear, the fleeting, clinical stink of monstrous medicines never fit for the mind of man.