In Toby’s bedroom there was a deep silence.
In Jill’s room, the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of the bedside clock. Jill lay in her bed, naked, sound asleep, one arm hugging a pillow, her body dark against the white sheets. The street noises were muffled and far away.
Jill turned restlessly in her sleep and shivered. She dreamed that she and David were in Alaska on their honeymoon. They were on a vast frozen plain and a sudden storm had come up. The wind was blowing the icy air into their faces, and it was difficult to breathe. She turned toward David, but he was gone. She was alone in the frigid Arctic, coughing, fighting to get her breath. It was the sound of someone choking that woke Jill up. She heard a horrid, gasping wheeze, a death rattle, and she opened her eyes, and the sound was coming from her own throat. She could not breathe. An icy cloak of air covered her like some obscene blanket, caressing her nude body, stroking her breasts, kissing her lips with a frigid, malodorous breath that reeked of the grave. Jill’s heart was pounding wildly now, as she fought for air. Her lungs felt seared from the cold. She tried to sit up, and it was as though there was an invisible weight holding her down. She knew this had to be a dream, but at the same time she could hear that hideous rattle from her throat as she fought for breath. She was dying. But could a person die during a nightmare? Jill could feel the cold tendrils exploring her body, moving in between her legs, inside her now, filling her, and with a heart-stopping suddenness, she realized it was Toby. Somehow, by some means, it was Toby. And the quick rush of terror in Jill gave her the strength to claw her way to the foot of the bed, gasping for breath, mind and body fighting to stay alive. She reached the floor and struggled to her feet and ran for the door, feeling the cold pursuing her, surrounding her, clutching at her. Her fingers found the door knob and twisted it open. She ran out into the hallway, panting for air, filling her starved lungs with oxygen.
The hallway was warm, quiet, still. Jill stood there, swaying, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She turned to look into her room. It was normal and peaceful. She had had a nightmare. Jill hesitated a moment, then slowly walked back through the doorway. Her room was warm. There was nothing to be afraid of. Of course, Toby could not harm her.
In her sitting room, Nurse Gallagher awakened and went in to check on her patient.
Toby Temple was lying in his bed, exactly as she had left him. His eyes were staring at the ceiling, focused on something that Nurse Gallagher could not see.
After that the nightmare kept recurring regularly, like a black omen of doom, a prescience of some horror to come. Slowly, a terror began to build up in Jill. Wherever she went in the house, she could feel Toby’s presence. When the nurse took him out. Jill could hear him. Toby’s wheelchair had developed a high-pitched creak, and it got on Jill’s nerves every time she heard it. I must have it fixed, she thought. She avoided going anywhere near Toby’s room, but it did not matter. He was everywhere, waiting for her.
The headaches were constant now, a savage, rhythmic pounding that would not let her rest. Jill wished that the pain would stop for an hour, a minute, a second. She had to sleep. She went into the maid’s room behind the kitchen, as far away from Toby’s quarters as she could get. The room was warm and quiet. Jill lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. She was asleep almost instantly.
She was awakened by the fetid, icy air, filling the room, clutching at her, trying to entomb her. Jill leaped up and ran out the door.
The days were horrible enough, but the nights were terrifying. They followed the same pattern. Jill would go to her room and huddle in her bed, fighting to stay awake, afraid to go to sleep, knowing that Toby would come. But her exhausted body would take over and she would finally doze off.
She would be awakened by the cold. She would lie shivering in her bed, feeling the icy air creeping toward her, an evil presence enveloping her like a terrible malediction. She would get up and flee in silent terror.
It was three A.M.
Jill had fallen asleep in her chair, reading a book. She came out of her sleep gradually, slowly, and she opened her eyes in the pitch-black bedroom, knowing that something was terribly wrong. Then she realized what it was. She had gone to sleep with all the lights on. She felt her heart begin to race and she thought, There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nurse Gallagher must have come in and turned out the lights.
Then she heard the sound. It was coming down the hallway, creak…creak…Toby’s wheelchair, moving toward her bedroom door. Jill began to feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck. It’s only a tree branch against the roof, or the house settling, she told herself. Yet she knew that it wasn’t true. She had heard that sound too many times before Creak…creak…like the music of death coming to get her. It can’t be Toby, she thought. He’s in his bed, helpless. I’m losing my mind. But she could hear it coming closer and closer. It was at her door now. It had stopped, waiting. And suddenly there was the sound of a crash, and then silence.
Jill spent the rest of the night huddled in her chair in the dark, too terrified to move.
In the morning, outside her bedroom door, she found a broken vase on the floor, where it had been knocked over from a hallway table.
She was talking to Dr. Kaplan. “Do you believe that the—the mind can control the body?” Jill asked.
He looked at her, puzzled. “In what way?”
“If Toby wanted—wanted very much to get out of his bed, could he?”
“You mean unaided? In his present condition?” He gave her a look of incredulity. “He has absolutely no mobility at all. None whatsoever.”