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nothing. Everything now appeared out of reach, on the edge of wakefulness, which seemed too far away.
    Struggling to make sense of its surroundings, the figure wondered why there was a feeling of safety and being cared for rather than a sense danger and betrayal. Once again the effort proved too much and a fitful sleep engulfed its body.

Chapter 5
    Ben paused briefly before the door. His mind was racing. Previous experience had taught him that anything could be lurking behind a closed door. He could feel his heart pounding, the blood coursing through his veins like a torrent. Taking a deep, calming breath, he placed his hand on the door handle.
    The door gradually opened upon a darkened room. Ben could just about make out the various bits of furniture dimly outlined by the feeble glow of a fire in a grate opposite the door. Pushing the door wide open, he entered into the murky interior.
    Standing in the room, Ben became aware of the repetitive ticking of a wall clock somewhere above his head and the distant crackle of the fire attempting to consume a few sparse twigs. Turning his head slowly from side to side, he examined the shadows hoping to detect any threat before it formed. A slight musty smell hung in the air and, even though there was a poor excuse for a fire in the room, Ben felt a creeping coldness begin to embrace him. Eventually, satisfied that nothing was about to materialize out of the darkness, he was just about to take a step forward when, without a hint of warning, the door creaked on its hinges and began to close rapidly. Unable to move in time, Ben half turned his body and braced himself for the impact. Nothing. Slowly raising his head he took a quick look in front of him. Everything remained just as it had been when he first entered. Looking behind him he was amazed to see that the door now sat firmly in its place, seized by the wall and shielding the contents of the room from any unwanted attention from the corridor. Ben looked at the door once again and then at his body. Somehow the door had passed through his body and continued on its arc towards the wall. There was no other explanation for it. Ben knew he hadn’t moved but the door had. One solid object had passed through a slightly less solid object without any noticeable impact.
    â€˜Greetings, young sir,’ said a voice.
    Ben yelped in fright. Quickly he scanned the room for a body belonging to the voice but nothing had changed. There was nobody there. Nervously, he moved towards the fire. Immediately in front of the hearth sat a large armchair, its age obvious from the number of ragged holes sprouting bits of grey padding. A number of shapeless cushions were scattered over the armchair. Ben shook his head and shivered involuntary.
    â€˜Inclement weather for the time of year,’ observed the voice. Before Ben could make a sound or movement, the cushions began to fidget as if rearranged by some unseen hand. After a few moments, the cushions seemed satisfied with their position and, giving one last shake, filled out to form the outline of a figure. Ben stared in disbelief as the cushions settled into the armchair. Without warning, the fire suddenly roared into life, flames leaping merrily towards the chimney where before they’d struggled to flicker. A garishly decorated arm emerged from the newly created figure.
    â€œ
Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 
Thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude
,” quoted the figure theatrically.
    He looked at the figure in front of him. It looked uncannily like a picture of Shakespeare that he’d seen in a book somewhere. The figure was dressed in an odd sort of costume with a patterned jacket with frilly pants and what looked suspiciously like a pair of coloured stockings. Around its neck, the figure had a huge, stiff collar holding its chin in the air. As Ben looked closely, he could see that the head of the figure had an extremely wide hair parting with wavy tufts of hair neatly