Andrew drifted away, and I finished my meal. After a time, my nurse came back and wheeled me out of the cafeteria. We headed down a different hallway and went into a room at the far end.

This room looked different from the last one I'd been in. It was bigger and fit two beds, and next to each bed was a small table with a lamp. There was a chest of drawers in the corner and a window covered with metal bars.

The nurse helped me out of the chair and onto the bed. "I know it's still early, but the doctor insisted you get some rest," she said. "The night shift will check in on you later and give you your nighttime medications, if you take any." I looked closer at the nurse. She was maybe in her late forties—a mousy, matronly woman. She had a kind expression on her face.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Hillary Harrington."

Harrington. That's a name I remember the doctor calling out in my dream, when I was floating above the room.

I decided to test my theory and asked, "Were you there when they gave me that treatment?"

"I was." She patted my arm. "You seem to be doing so much better now."

It wasn't a dream.

I thought I'd imagined the whole thing—the room, the people in blue, that woman with the glowing hands—but she was one of those people. I remembered her name. She was here, she was real, and she'd been there during the procedure. The floating, the feeling of being tugged down, of falling... Did it all really happen? I'd heard stories of people who had died and left their bodies. Maybe that happened to me.

"Did I die during the procedure?"

She pulled out a fresh gown from one of the drawers and laid it across the bed next to me. "What? No, no, of course you didn't. You were perfectly fine before the doctor put you under. You know, it's not like the old days when patients undergoing Styrmir treatment had convulsions so severe they sometimes broke bones. Now they give you muscle relaxants and something to paralyze your movements. It's much safer."

"Your body doesn't move at all?"

She started helping me out of the gown and into the new one.

"You're completely still—well, except for your left foot. They need a way to see if the lightning is coursing through your whole system, so they don't numb your foot."

I remembered the dream with the frozen body below me, but with one foot twitching wildly. "Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the procedure?" I asked as she lowered the gown over my head.

"What an odd question. No, nothing happened. The procedure went well. And look how good you're doing." She fussed a bit with the gown and then helped me under the covers. When she finished, she pointed to a door in the corner. "The bathroom's right through there. It's just a sink and a toilet." She pushed the wheelchair against the wall. "Now try to get some sleep. Have a good night."

"Thank you," I said to her as she turned off the overhead lights and closed the door.

I leaned over and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. I had no idea what time it was, but it couldn't be late. It was dark outside, but we had just eaten dinner. I looked around. There was no TV, no books or magazines in the room to occupy my mind. I wondered if I asked someone for such things if I would get them. They couldn't expect people to sit around and stare out the window or at the walls. But then I thought back to my dinner companion. His nervous habits, the way he kept staring off into the distance. Maybe my fellow patients had a lot going on inside their heads, enough to keep them occupied. The old woman, for instance, had come up with her own personal murder mystery.

But with a lack of anything else to do, I also stared at the walls, going over everything that had happened. I tried to think back, tried to remember something that happened before I woke up in the padded room, but my mind remained blank.

How did I get here? Where is my family?

As the questions crossed my mind, a sharp pain radiated from the middle of my forehead. Minutes passed, and the pain slowly eased. It wasn't as severe as before, but it was still there, throbbing across my temples every time I tried to remember. After a while, exhausted, I nodded off to sleep.

* * *

I opened my eyes. I was not alone.

I raised my head and realized something stood at the foot of my bed. It took my sleep-fogged brain a moment to comprehend that what I was looking at—the dark shape only a few feet away was not a living creature. Moonlight shone through the window, and I could see through the shape's blackness. I could make out the wall and door on the other side of...whatever it was.

I gasped in surprise and the shape moved. I felt the weight of something push down on my bed. My mind was screaming at me to move, to run, but I found I was frozen in place, held immobile.

The weight shifted on the bed, and the shadow moved again. The thing on the bed was coming toward me...

Then it was on me.

Is this real? Am I dreaming?

I could feel its weight crawl over my legs. I could feel it wiggle against my stomach and then slide over my chest.

That's when the pressure increased on my neck.

I suddenly couldn't breathe. This was no dream. This was happening. Something was choking me.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The pressure around my throat increased. The world around me started to narrow in, and as it did, a burst of images raced across my mind.

It was cold. I was lying on a grave, and a guy straddled my body, his hands wrapped around my throat. I could feel his fingers digging into my skin. I was dying. I couldn't breathe. I tried to pull his hands away, and when that didn't work, I reached out to scratch his face, but he pulled back, out of my reach, keeping his grip firm around my neck.

He was killing me. His eyes blazed into mine—they were dark eyes, full of...what? I expected to see hatred and anger, but instead they were full of fear.

He was afraid for me. He didn't want to hurt me.

Luke. The name rang through my head as I began to tumble into darkness.

The vision changed. I was alone. A dark abyss opened up before me like a great chasm, and from within its depths came voices and sounds. Unnatural laughter and then something more primal. A growling.

A pair of red eyes appeared within the inky blackness. They moved closer. More noises, the sound of an animal grinding and gnashing its teeth. I heard a violent scream and then another as a voice floated across my mind.

Not yet. What I want from you, you can't give. Not yet. But soon.

And then there was a shout, and lights blazed overhead. The pressure eased up as quickly as it had started, and I sucked in one breath and then another. I can breathe.

I bolted upright in bed and tried to calm my pounding heart. What had just happened?

I swallowed a scream. The old woman I'd met in the common room stood in the doorway. Her white hair swung wildly back and forth as she shouted, "Didn't you put any salt across the thresholds?"

I shook my head. I'd thought the guy at dinner was just being fanciful when he told me about the ghosts and the salt.

She came over and peered down at me. "Sea salt works best, but you can't get it in this place."

My hands went to my throat. The skin felt tender and bruised.

She pulled my hands away and inspected me. "Choking ghosts are the worst."

"Choking ghosts?" My voice came out in a harsh rasp.

"You'll live." She straightened up and looked around the room. "They're always full of so much anger." Something jingled at her side. A large metal keychain with half a dozen keys hung out of the pocket of her blue robe. She noticed me looking. "Oh, those." She tucked the keys back into the pocket. "I've got master keys to the place." She giggled. "But the orderlies and nurses don't know. This place is a ghost town at night."

She laughed louder. "The night staff barely make rounds. They spend all their time sleeping at the front desk. I've never been much of a sleeper, especially during the witching hour—too much activity going on. I like to roam around, keep myself busy." She walked over to the window and looked out. "The witching hour lasts from midnight to three o'clock in the morning. It's the busiest time of night for the spirits. I think it's because it's easier for them to get noticed when it's quieter out. When the world is in a cocoon of sleep. When they can draw power from the dreams of the living."

I studied her, standing, framed by the moonlight shining through my window. "You said that ghost was a choking ghost. Could it have killed me?"

"Could've. It's happened before." When I didn't say anything, she continued. "I'd never seen a choking ghost before I came to this place. It's best if you protect yourself."

She reached into her other pocket and pulled out a blue velvet bag tied at the top with a black leather cord. She walked next to me and spilled the contents of the bag onto the bed.

They looked like little stones with symbols on them. I reached out to touch one, but something made me hesitate.

"It's okay, you can touch them. They're runes. Runes aren't like tarot cards. Now, try to touch someone's deck of tarot and they'll have a fit. The cards hold people's vibrations, a bit of their power." She picked up a rune and bounced it up and down in her palm. "But these don't hold any power unless you make a charm with them. Mostly, you use them to focus your abilities, like with crystals and medallions."

She held the stone up to me. "See each symbol? Each character is one from the runic alphabet. I've shown them to you before, but you don't remember. Wonder if you'll ever get your memory back." She put the stone back in the pile. "They're old Norse. Odin used them. Have you heard the poem?" She sang,

"I know a twelfth one if I see, up in a tree

a dangling corpse in a noose,

I can so carve and color the runes

that the man walks and talks with me."

She looked down at me. "You never heard it? Well, if you did, you probably couldn't remember right now. They say runes have the power to bring that which is dead back to life. Most use them as a divining tool. To tell fortunes, to see your future."

She gathered the pieces together, poured them back into the bag, shook it a couple times, then turned it over and dropped the stones back onto the bed. "You draw lots. To tell fortunes."

She started flipping a few of them over. "But you can also use them to make charms. See this one." She held one up. Drawn in the middle of it was a line and branching off at the top were two smaller lines, one on the left and one on the right. It looked like a stick figure with its arms stretched out. "Algiz, the rune of protection. Until you get some salt tomorrow, I'd better make you something." She reached over, grabbed the covers, and pulled them down. Before I could react, she grabbed the hem of my hospital gown and turned it up a few inches.

She reached up to the back of her collar and pulled out a sewing needle. "Don't worry, old Mildred will make it right. They don't allow sharp objects in here." She laughed. "But what they don't know won't hurt them. The place is a lot like a prison. You know how you watch those movies, and the prisoners are always bartering or bribing with the orderlies to get stuff? Last week, one of the night nurses wanted me to do a love spell for her. A guy she fell hard for wasn't noticing her. Two love birds kissing in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G," she sang. "I got two handfuls of chocolate bars for doing that bit of magic. I'd share, but they're all gone."

She reached out, grabbed my finger, and before I could pull it back, she pricked it with the needle. Speechless, I watched as she squeezed my finger hard until a drop of blood came to the surface. She lifted the blood with the needle, and using the needle like a pen, drew the symbol for protection onto the inside of my white gown. She mumbled some words—too low for me to make out—then dropped my gown and took a step back.

Mildred looked very pleased with herself. "The choking ghosts never used to bother you. But I guess you're different now, with your memory sucked away. When I've got more time, I can make you a charm to wear around your neck and put it under your pillow at night if you need it. But this will do for now. There." Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "We'd better be going soon. I thought you would want to see him now that you're back. He's been asking for you every night. He's a persistent one, he is. I promised I would bring you as soon as I could."

"Who?" There was someone else I knew here, someone who wanted to see me? I searched my mind, trying to force my way through the fog that hid my past, but my temples began to throb again. I looked at Mildred, struggling not to look as confused as I felt. I obviously failed.

She giggled. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about your lover boy. Roses are red and violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you." She cocked her head to the side and swayed a bit, as though listening to music. She focused once more on me. "You know, the one who only comes out during the witching hour? Styrmir really does a number on your system." She reached down and grabbed my arm. "Come on, we have to hurry. The orderlies will be more active once they're done napping."

I reluctantly got out of bed, shivering as my bare feet hit the cold floor. I wrapped my arms around my body. Despite the chill, I felt stronger now. Whatever drug they gave me had finally worn off.

"You get used to the cold after a while. Maybe you'd better put on a robe. They keep extras in the second dresser drawer. It's a lot colder on the other side of the hospital, though I don't know why. The whole place runs on the same heating system. It doesn't really make a lot of sense to have it colder over there, does it?"

I pulled a robe from the dresser and put it on. It was blue like hers, but mine hung all the way down past my knees. "Where are we going?"

She ignored my question and walked out of the room. "Come on," she urged.

I guess I was walkinginto the unknown...

***