The following night I wanted to see if the same thing would happen. This time I locked my door to make sure no one could come into the room. I went to sleep and woke up as I did every night. Someone had drunk all the water I had seen there with my own eyes only two hours before. But who? Myself, obviously, and yet I could have almost sworn that I had made no movement in my deep and painful sleep.

I resorted to various stratagems in order to convince myself that I was not doing these things unconsciously. One night I put next to the carafe a bottle of vintage claret as well as a glass of milk, which I hate, and a piece of chocolate cake, which I love. Both the wine and the cake remained intact. But the water and the milk disappeared. None of the solid foodstuffs had had inroads made in them, only the liquids – the water and milk especially.

I was still in agonizing doubt. Maybe it was still I myself who was getting up without any consciousness of it. Maybe it was I who even drank the liquids I detested. My senses could have been so drugged that in sleep they were completely altered. In that state it was possible for me to have shed my former dislikes and acquired new tastes altogether.

I tried another way to catch myself out. I wrapped everything which was likely to be touched in thin muslin, which in turn I covered with the finest linen napkins. Then, just before getting into bed, I rubbed my face, hands and moustache all over with black lead. When I awoke, the materials were still spotless. They had, however, been moved. The napkins lay differently from the way I had placed them, and, more importantly, both the water and the milk had been drained off. This time my door had been locked with an extra security key, the shutters had been padlocked also just in case, and no one therefore could possibly have come into the room. So I had to ask myself the terrifying question of who it was that was in there with me every night.

I see you smile, gentlemen. You have already decided that I am mad, I can see. I have rushed you somewhat. I should have described in greater detail the feelings of a man with a completely clear mind, safe inside his own house, seeing water disappear from his carafe while he’s asleep. I should have conveyed to you better the kind of torture I experienced every morning and every evening. I should have described how annihilating the sleep was and how hideous the awakening. But let me continue.