March 2004

We’re in a suite on the 32nd floor of Chef’s hotel.

I awoke in the night – hair standing on end – sat up in king sized bed, felt for him, no man.

Looked over to my right and he was crouched down, arms outstretched, goose stepping in slow motion from the sitting room towards the hall door.

His leg would go straight out in front with each step, back straight, bum low to the floor. Eerily quiet.

It’s one of the few times I have been really afraid. A dream? Trying to get away? I softly called his name, then,”Hon, you’re walking in your sleep.”

“Oh.” Back into bed without further comment. It was never mentioned to him later.

Didn’t sleep the rest of the night though.

(Yesterday, I was downstairs on the phone with my brother – the man appeared out of nowhere. I did not hear the bed creak right over my head, his dressing, his coming down 13 stairs. My breath sucked in so sharply that my bro freaked and thought someone had got in our house.)