THE DEAD OF NIGHT Edward was tired - so worn out and exhausted that he could barely think. Every day of the last fortnight had been the same – the sudden transition from deep sleep to complete wakefulness, always at exactly the same hour, 3.27 a.m. – followed by a day of yawning, feeling spaced-out and looking, as his wife remarked, “Like Death warmed up.” Maeve had tried to persuade him to go and see the doctor. “She’ll give you some pills, Ed,” she had said. “You can’t carry on like this.” At first he had refused. He had never liked going to see the doctor. Maeve said it was a man thing, like never asking for directions, or not reading instructions. The doctor didn’t give him any pills. “That’s a last resort,” she said. “Get more exercise, don’t eat too much before you go to bed, and reduce your caffeine intake.” He had tried all of that, to no avail. If anything, things were getting worse. Every morning his eyes opened at the same time, 3.27. Every morning he would lay there in the dark, listening to his wife gently snoring. And every morning he experienced the same feeling of dread. To begin with he had put it down to the after-effects of a vivid and recurring dream, in which someone, or something, was after him, but lately, he had begun to feel that whatever it was was still present when he awoke, watching him. Waiting. At first he had ignored it but the feeling hadn’t gone away. Rather, it had grown stronger. Two days ago, determined to confront his fear, he had sat up and looked about, straining to see into the furthest corners. Nothing. But then, yesterday… yesterday morning was different. As he scanned the room, he had thought he saw, something. A movement – so slight as to be barely noticeable, and just at the periphery of his vision. He had shivered. The room seemed to have grown colder, and his skin prickled with fear. What was it? When Maeve had woken, it was to find her husband sitting up in bed, staring about him, wild-eyed. She had telephoned the doctor and made an emergency appointment for Edward. Last night, he had gratefully swallowed two of the pink tablets prescribed by his doctor, gone to bed early and drifted into a dreamless sleep…. 3.27. Edward’s eyes opened. Sleep deserted him; his nerves crackled with tension. He was conscious of a suffocating sense of foreboding –as if the air in the darkened bedroom had thickened. He heard his heart beating and felt the beads of sweat prickle from his skin. There was someone in the room! Fearfully, he strove see in the velvet blackness. There! Something moved! There was something by the bed! He cried out – something had him by the hand! “Come!” A soft whisper in his ear. Compelled to obey, he stood up, and as he did so he turned – to see his own body, still and staring, in the bed.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 10:44:10 +0000
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