Snorting in my Sleep

Another terrifying dream last night. I am in bed, downstairs in a topsy turvy house, perusing a present of a box of chocolates that is mainly empty. I know it is not what it seems. Inside are strange shapes like dark pop up cardboard houses. I am puzzling over it, pleasantly surprised at being given a present yet curious at what it will reveal. Suddenly I become aware of danger. The familiar terror is nearby. It feels this time that it is a huge monster with loud, heavy footsteps stomping purposefully across the floorboards above before desending the stairs. As usual I am paralysed, so desperately needing to flee, so rigidly incapable of doing so: powerless. Then a heavy weight on my chest like a supersize hand, holding me down. I am inert, my desire to wriggle, squirm, kick, fight, incapacitated. I realise that I am snorting. My usual heavy breathing technique employed to beseech touch from outside in order to break the horrific spell has evolved into the call of a swine.