Wait.

The paint on the wall is faded, peeling. I move to turn on the light, but there is no light switch. Instead, there is a hollow rectangle where the light switch is supposed to be.

This is a dream, yes? This must be a dream.

And in my dream, I tell myself not to panic. It’s okay. This is just a dream. Let’s play along. Okay, I’ll get my phone. I’ll turn on the flashlight mode.

Now, looking around the room with the light, it’s as if the house is abandoned. Even the painting on the wall is not there, just a pale rectangle where the painting used to be.

I’ll play along with this dream, because it’s just a dream. I’ll inspect the rest of the house.

And, indeed, the landing is empty, decrepit. Down the now wobbly stairs, one stair even missing. And the downstairs bedrooms . . . the grand bedrooms . . . empty. Completely empty. Not a bed. Not a chair. Not even a curtain.

Ah, yes, this dream. I will go along with this dream. Now I will go along, down to the first floor.

Here it is. The downstairs study. Desolate. Not a desk. Not a book. Nothing.

And the front door. Ajar.

Clanking back and forth in its frame.

And the spiderwebs.

In this dream, which must be a dream, the spiderwebs cover the dusty chandelier in the dining room, the rafters above the entry. Vast, intricate spiderwebs. As if the spiders have taken over for centuries. A spiderweb haven. An altar for Arachne.

The creaking of the front door in its frame leads me out, drawing me out the front door and down the outside stairs. It’s not even cold tonight, a summer night, the moon in a crest, the constellation Scorpio in the distance; you can tell it by the arc near the horizon, it’s one of the easier ones to see in summer.

Yes, I am still game for this dream. Yes, I will look back at the house in this dream.

And so, with the slip of a moon and Scorpio behind me, I turn to see the house.

A decrepit house. A house falling in on itself. A house abandoned.

If this weren’t a dream, well, this would be a moment to have a heart attack. A gasp. A choking off of air.

But, you see, just put it in a dream. Put it in a dream and you can walk slowly back up the stairs, inside the house. Put it in a dream and you may walk steadily through the cobwebs, up the stairs, up the second set of stairs, up into the forlorn old attic and close the dusty window. Put it in a dream and shut off the phone and lay back in the bed and understand that none of this is happening.

And everything is perfectly fine.

Chapter 19

“Yoo-hoo! Is someone there?! Oh dear, have I come too early?”

My not so heavenly slumber crumbles as the distinctly English voice echoes off the wooden walls.