THE SLEEPWALKER:

Near the morning cast in his bedroom window, Charles came from a dreamless sleep holding his lifeless son. With dirt-packed hair and a splotchy, bruised face, the boy felt wet in his arms. Charles leaped from the blankets, pushing the dead four-year-old’s body off the mattress with a hard thud. He tumbled off the bed himself, scrambling on all fours across the room like a cockroach. From the corner, Charles looked at his son with mouth gaped, rubbing sleep from his eyes before gawking again.

     The strong whirlwind of disbelief spun again. This could not be happening. It could not be real.

     He buried this boy.

     Charles must have been walking in his sleep again...

 

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