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...ed the chair ever so gently, deliberately, as if the action might possibly gentle her jangled mind. She shut her eyes -- only to rest them -- certain she never again could fall asleep in that house.

But she was falling -- and that thing found her.

"Not awake -- not asleep -- here, Phoebe, where I speak."

DREAM! -- Only a dream! -- Can't touch me ...

Other voices then -- garbled, and burbling, it seemed to Phoebe like a laboratory crowded with scientists talking underwater:

"Subject's gone too deep. Doubt she even hears you."

"Tonight, then. Another approach."

"Fear worked."

"Only got her attention."

"Subject nearly arrested. Dead sleepwalker's no use to us."

"Fewer theatrics tonight then."

"If she stays."

Time had passed, Phoebe realized, opening her eyes: golden sunshine forced her eyes shut while she rose from the rocker.

Downstairs, the reassuring clatterings of kitchen pans.

Phoebe packed only essentials -- informed Missus Appletree she was leaving.

Uh oh. No one's written this branch yet. :o

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