Billy yawned over his toast. He took another slurp of coffee, hoping to shake off the tiredness. He’d had a rough night, a rarity for him. He hadn’t had a disturbed night’s sleep in decades.
He’d got off to sleep fine, but he awoke in the small hours from a nightmare. He never had nightmares. And this one had him sweating. As the various disconnected elements of the dream had presented themselves in his half-awake awareness, he’d hunkered down beneath the covers, spooked. His hearing had grown sharp. A distant knock and he was convinced he had an intruder. He got out of bed and crept through the house in the dark, checking every door and window. He even checked in the cupboards. On his return, his dog Patch looked up at him from her bed in the corner of his bedroom, c*****g her head to on
