Free Night Terrors by Helen Harper

but I have to admit I’m really glad I’m not the only one.’
    I frown. That doesn’t sound good. I bypass the pair of them in favour of checking out what else is going on. I don’t have to go much further to see that not only is the surgery car park already brimming with cars but there’s a queue of people snaking out from the front door. At least a dozen tired-looking people are slumped against the wall.
    ‘Do you think the water supply is infected?’ someone asks with a faint tremor in their voice.
    ‘No. It’s mobile phones,’ another responds with absolute certainty. ‘All those radioactive waves are causing damage.’
    I stop and join the end of the queue. An older man with heavy shadows under his eyes glances at me. ‘Here’s another one,’ he mutters.
    ‘What’s going on?’ I ask nervously.
    He waves a hand at the waiting people. ‘Isn’t it obvious? We’re all here to see a doctor. And,’ he leans towards me, ‘we all have the same symptoms. My sister in Bathgate says it’s happening there too.’
    ‘What? What’s happening?’
    He gives me a long look. ‘You’re one of the lucky ones then. It’s not happened to you.’
    I resist the urge to grab him by the lapels and shake him. ‘What’s not happened? I don’t understand.’
    ‘Sleep paralysis,’ he says with an air of finality. ‘We’ve all had it.’
    Something deep inside me freezes solid. ‘What is sleep paralysis?’
    He grimaces. ‘You don’t want to know. Just be thankful that you don’t have it. Yet.’
    I swallow. This has to be related to my worries about what I’ve been experiencing in the Dreamlands. Rather than feeling vindicated, I feel sick.
    The only bonus is that I recognise one of the cars parked in the far corner. Rawlins. Her reasons for sitting outside my house in the middle of the night are becoming clear.
    I scan the rest of the line for the police sergeant’s familiar glower. She’s not there, so I head towards the front of the line.
    ‘Hey!’ someone says, irritated. ‘There’s a queue here!’
    Several others push themselves off the wall. I step back and put my hands up in submission. There’s nothing like loss of sleep to make people act out of character.
    ‘I’m not here to see the doctor,’ I say, soothingly. ‘I have a friend inside who I want to talk to.’
    I receive some suspicious glares and there are a few sidelong mutters but they let me pass and I squeeze into the lobby.
    I’m taken aback by the sight inside. This is a small Scottish town. The biggest thing that’s happened here recently is the summer fair committee coming to blows over whether they should allow the sale of teeth-shattering toffee after three children ended up at the emergency dentist’s last year.
    The scene that greets me now is akin to the aftermath of a terrible disaster or a war. There are people everywhere. One man is arguing vociferously with the strung-out receptionist, demanding to know why he’s not been seen yet. There are two kids asleep on the floor next to the packed chairs in the waiting area. The atmosphere reeks of desperation.
    A scuffle breaks out in the far corner. I see Rawlins extricate herself from her seat and stride over to sort it out. Her calm, professional tone smooths the ruffled feathers on both sides and she encourages the angry pair to separate. When she turns back to her chair and sees that someone has claimed it, however, there’s a flash of anger in her eyes that takes me aback. If this sleep paralysis, whatever it is, is affecting her to this point it must be serious.
    Feeling my gaze, she glances in my direction. Her eyebrows raise and she strides towards me. ‘Ms Lydon.’
    I incline my head. ‘Sergeant.’ I look around the room. ‘This doesn’t look good.’
    ‘No,’ she says grimly. ‘It doesn’t.’
    ‘Sleep paralysis?’ I ask.
    I receive a terse nod. She stares at me for one long drawn-out moment. ‘I have to stay here in case there’s more trouble,’