I don't remember when these particular nightmares began, but I was a relatively young child. I would go visit my paternal grandmother in her Beverly Hills high-rise, and when I rang the bell, an assortment of monsters started chasing me through the building. Eventually, I would reach the basement and would try to hide until I was able to exit and jump atop a white horse and ride away. As I got older, the monsters became more sophisticated and reminiscent of the horror movies I loved (and obviously watched too many of) and the basement morphed over the years into some Medieval dungeon torture chamber. It always ended, however, with the white horse waiting for me, reminiscent of the four white steeds at the end of The Princess Bride.
I didn't really care for my grandmother. She was very controlling and critical and I used to have to stay with her occasionally, typically against my will. She had three boys, and my father was the oldest. I was the first grandchild and the first girl. Lucky me. (I was ecstatic when my cousin was born eight years later so she could get all of the attention.)
I, myself, had two daughters and made sure that she didn't make them as neurotic as she had made me.
Interestingly, I had this recurring nightmare at least three times per week, every week until she passed away when I was 36 (and my younger daughter was two.) The day after her funeral, these particular nightmares ceased, and I never had them again.