The thing was wearing drifting white robes and stretching out its white arms to me and whispering my name.  I couldn't see its face clearly.  I tried to wake up and found that I was awake.  That didn't seem right, somehow.  Apparations ought to stick to dreams where they belong.

It was still there in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the kickback of the yard lights outside, as much as could penetrate the drawn blinds.  I'd been sleeping heavily a moment before, and I wasn't thinking very lucidly, I guess.  I just knew that I didn't believe in ghosts, and that I had no midnight mistresses in the place, and that tricks were sometimes played here in the name of training and analysis, to see how fast you could react.

I went for the white thing before it could come for me.  I lunged out of bed low, cut it down, wrapped it up, and pinned it to the floor.  It was dressed in some material that was coarse to the touch; the idea of a shroud came to mind.  The hell with that.  Somebody was playing games and they could damn well go play them somewhere else.  Then I felt the weak, panicky struggles and heard the frightened breathing and I knew at last what I had.  I let go and got up and turned on the light, feeling foolish and angry.

"Jesus Christ, Skinny," I said.  "Don't tell me you walk in your sleep on top of everything else."

She was huddled on the floor, kind of tangled in a Navajo rug.  I thought she was crying, but the face she turned up to me was dry.  The eyes were dry.  They were perfectly enormous, and the odd yellow light was in them.  She shrank away as I stepped forward to help her rise.  I stopped.

"Relax," I said disgustedly.  "I figure a hundred pounds for the legal raping size.  You're still safe by at least ten pounds.  What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

She didn't answer, of course.  I went over to my suitcase, found the sandals and dressing gown I hadn't bothered to unpack earlier, and put them on.  When I turned again, she was standing up.  They'd given her some kind of a crude, straight, sleeveless cotton gown that reached the floor.  So much for my dream of drifting robes.  It wasn't the sexiest garment in the world, but it had a kind of convent simplicity that went well with the thin face and the big eyes and the chopped-off hair.  She could have been a martyr on the way to the bonfire.

She said, "Don't leave me here."  I stared at her for a moment.  It was a perfectly good human voice.  Well, I should have known she had one somewhere.

"Please don't leave me here," she said clearly.

I drew a long breath.  "I haven't the slightest intention of leaving you here," I said.  "This happens to be my room and I'm still way behind in my sleep.  I'm booting you out into the hall this minute, unless you come up with a very good reason to the contrary, fast."

"I mean this place.  I don't want to stay here."

"Why not?"