“You don’t have to whisper,” she said in a normal tone. “Most in the waking world can’t hear you.”

“May I sit down?” he asked.

She motioned with a sweep of her arm for him to do so. Now that he was just the table’s width away and neither of them was moving, he got a better look at her face. It was still difficult to read detail, what with the glow, but he could tell she must be a little older than he was, perhaps seven or eight years, in her mid-forties. She was a big woman, not heavy but solid, with broad shoulders. As he scooted into the seat opposite her, he noted she was an inch or so taller than him. Her face was deadpan, and her hair, which he had believed to be short, actually came to her shoulders and in front was cut into bangs. It now revealed its waking-world color as dark brown or black.

“How did you get here?” she asked, and the earlier deadpan expression turned into a smile.

“I seriously think it was from a knock on the head,” he told her.

“I’ve heard of it before. OBEs are uncommon, in and of themselves, but that scenario among those who travel by night is not. Trauma, physical or mental, can set off an episode.”

“My name is Owen,” he said, and put his hand out across the table.

She put hers out as well and the two open palms passed through each other.

“That didn’t go so well,” he said.

“Sleepers can’t touch.” She drew back her arm and said, “I’m Melody.”

“How did you get here?”

“I can get here anytime I want, through mental training and meditation. I studied with some very knowledgeable people. In most cases, I can also control when I return to my body. I bet you can’t.”

“True,” said Owen. “I could get pulled back to myself like a yo-yo at any second.”

“Because you’re an accidental sleeper.”

“Accidental?”

She nodded. “Your ability to achieve an OBE could disappear at any time and you might never achieve it again.”

“Well, it’s kind of strange. I might not mind.”

“It’s like being a ghost, isn’t it?” she said.

“Is that what you like about it?”

“That, and the quiet nature of the night, seeing into things you’re blocked from while awake. I’ve always been a loner at heart.”

“Me too,” he said. “Why were you in that house?”

“I used to work with the woman and wondered how she was getting on.”

“Apparently not so well,” said Owen. “Are you from this neighborhood?”

“Not too far. Down in town, more near the stores.”

“Why did you follow me in the cemetery the other night?”