It was switched on most of the time these days, its 60-watt bulb blazing defiantly on through the night. He may have lapsed into a couple of hours of fevered dozing after he polished off the latest bottle of JD, but he knew that was his lot for the night. Sleep was a luxury. Some nights were better than others. Once, a couple of weeks ago, he managed a full four hours. Or at least, he thought he did. Looking back he wasn't so sure. He may only have dreamt he was asleep all that time. Is that even possible? The sleep he did get was never restful. The wheels of his mind never stopped turning, and awful things stalked his dreams. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he sympathised with the workmen who complained about being unable to sleep at Sker House. Now he understood. But as usual, it was too late. And what good was understanding, anyway? Understanding something didn't magically grant you the ability to change it. Like most children, in his early years Machen had been afflicted with a profound fear of the dark.
