Artemas awoke in his bed, cold and damp with sweat, the sheets bunched at his feet. Hand to his head, he muttered and mumbled. ‘Dear god.’
The nightmare had been his worst yet. A beast had chased him—a rusty, clunky monster, all dangling wires and dented metal. Artemas shivered at the thought.
The bedroom door creaked open, and a shadow stood in the doorway. The butler leapt in his skin.
The old widow stepped into the moonlit room.
‘Is everything okay in here?’ she asked. ‘I thought I heard you scream.’
‘Apologies, Miss. I had another nightmare.’
‘The third this week.’
‘They seem to be getting worse,’ he whispered.
The widow sat at the end of the bed. ‘You’re the only android I’ve ever programmed to dream. I was wrong to do it. I can reverse it.’
‘No,’ Artemas said. ‘The good with the bad. It is a pleasure when it is a dream.’
The widow smiled but it came and went within a breath. ‘You know, it’s funny, I never dream anymore,’ she told the butler.
‘I’m quite sorry to hear that,’ he replied.
‘Not one dream, not in years.’
Artemas watched her stand, so like a ghost in her white nightgown.
The widow retired back to her bedroom to sleep a dreamless, restful sleep.
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