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Summary
Ghosts couldn’t sleep. Accordingly they also couldn’t have nightmares. They could, however, have traumatic flashbacks that left them shaking, as Edwin was discovering in the aftermath of his second stint in Hell. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him, but this time he’d only been down there for a single day, albeit it had certainly felt longer, as opposed to 70 years. So why was he cowering on the floor now, after an unexpected glimpse of a creepy doll, when before he’d been able to bear such a sight with a barely suppressed shudder?
"Edwin? Edwin! Mate, what’s wrong?” The voice, wonderfully familiar and comforting, managed to penetrate the darkness Edwin felt trapped in. “Mate, please, talk to me!”