Malcolm Bright

"Okay. Sure. Um. Good night," he offered with a bit of a wave, then headed upstairs. He poked his head into the master, but that balcony was a liability. If he couldn't keep himself in bed, he could do a header right off of it.

The next room was in a corner and not close to the top of the stairs or, by his estimation, over the living room. It would do.

He took off his jacket, tie and waistcoat, hanging them over a chair in the room. Then he took off his shoes and socks, stuffing his socks into his shoes and putting them under the chair. Fewer tripping hazards.

He went around the bed, tightly tucking in the sheets like a hotel bed, hoping it was enough to keep him in. He carefully wriggled into the bed.

In the dark, he could hear the noises of the countryside. Crickets, cicadas. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

It was only three hours later he began thrashing in his sleep. It wouldn't have been obvious elsewhere in the house at first, but there was a loud crash as he managed to struggle out of the bed, tumbling to the floor, then a scream.

Then he bolted blindly into the hallway.