Hunted

In my dream, he was hunting me because I refused to have sex with him.

The house wasn't at all like either of his houses where he actually abused me; in my dream, it was set well back from the road amid farm fields. He was waiting for me to come back from across the road to the house. He could see me there, knew I was avoiding him, and I knew what he wanted and I didn't want to go back. As night fell, he went back inside, so I made my way back along the field to the right of his house and hid in a culvert, well behind it.  Early the next morning I crept along the edge of the property line on the other side. There were no windows on this side, and I knew he wouldn't be able to see me until I crossed the road again. Now it seemed as if the road was far enough away that I thought, in the early morning light, he wouldn't be able to tell me apart from one of the ducks in the field (silly dream), which cooperated in my flight by crossing the road toward where he was now looking out for me.  I thought he spotted me, though, and started making my way away from him along below the (now) frozen ridge, about six feet high, separating the fields on this other side of the road. I kept looking back, and from several hundred yards away I thought I saw him beginning to follow me, now on my side of the road. I wasn't sure, at first; maybe he was just trying to get a closer look, but as I hurried, trying to still keep low to the ground so he wouldn't recognize me as a person moving away from him, it seemed he was beginning to make progress toward me, and I could hear the faint strains of him singing as he came along behind me. I was preparing to move in another direction, where I thought there was better shelter from his searching eyes, when I awoke in a panic.

In my dream he was definitely my step-father. But I've been taught to interpret my dreams as if every element represents me in some way.

I can't hide and can't escape, no matter how desperate I am to get away . . .

I'm afraid to go back to sleep.