The Ninth Nightmare by Graham Masterton

green linen coat was standing on the porch, both arms held out wide, as if he were trying to show her that he was neither armed nor dangerous. He was grinning at her like a long-lost friend who had found her address on Facebook and turned up without warning to surprise her.
    â€˜Katie!’ he said.
    â€˜I don’t know you,’ said Katie. ‘ Should I know you? How do you know my grandma’s bird song?’
    The young man kept on grinning. ‘Is it OK if I come in? Then I can tell you all about it.’
    Katie looked left and right, up and down the street. Only two doors away, Mr Tomlinson was outside in his front yard, trimming his hedges, so she guessed that she could always call out for help if this young man gave her any trouble. Besides, he didn’t give her the impression that he would. He was standing well back from her, giving her plenty of personal space, with his arms still spread wide.
    â€˜All right,’ she agreed, ‘but any funny business—’
    â€˜Katie, this is very far from being funny business. This is deadly, deadly serious.’
    She stood back and allowed him to walk into the hallway. She noticed as he passed her that he was wearing a light but distinctive cologne, slightly lemony, with a hint of vetiver grass. He went through to the living room, crossed over to the white leather couch and said, ‘May I?’
    â€˜Sure, sit down. Do you want coffee? I think it’s still hot.’
    â€˜No, thank you,’ said the young man, raising his hand. ‘I never eat or drink during the hours of daylight.’
    â€˜Oh, really? You’re not some kind of a vampire, by any chance?’
    The young man smiled, but when he spoke he sounded completely serious. ‘There are no such beings as vampires, Katie. Vampires exist only in folk stories, and in nightmares.’
    â€˜Well that’s good to know.’
    â€˜Yes. But there are beings which are far more frightening than vampires, and they exist not only in nightmares, but in reality, too.’
    â€˜Oh, really?’
    â€˜Yes, really. We call them Dreads, because we dread them.’
    Katie looked at him narrowly. ‘ Dreads ? Is this a joke?’
    â€˜Do I look as if I’m joking?’
    â€˜So what, then? Are you trying to scare me?’
    â€˜Quite the opposite. In fact: I’m trying to reassure you. But after your experience at the Griffin House Hotel, I think you already know that nightmares can be much more than your sleeping imagination gone wild. Nightmares are another world. Of course we can only visit them when we’re unconscious, but then we can only visit the real world when we’re awake.’
    â€˜You know about my nightmare? How?’
    The young man hesitated for a moment, as if he were trying to think how to phrase what he was going to say next. ‘It’s what I do, Katie. You could almost say that it’s my job.’
    â€˜Are you a cop?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜A private detective, then? No? Not that either? You’ve been talking to the Cleveland police, though, haven’t you? What did they tell you? That I was just some hysterical woman who must have eaten too much cheese before she went to bed?’
    The young man shook his head. ‘I haven’t talked to anybody. There wouldn’t be any point. Besides, the police can’t deal with this. Only you can. Well – you and several others like you.’
    â€˜You’re talking in riddles. If you’re not a cop or a private detective then what’s your interest in this?’
    â€˜I told you, I know what happened to you, and why. I also know who you are, and what you can do about it. And – most importantly – how you can do it.’
    â€˜All right,’ said Katie. ‘You tell me what happened to me, and then I might believe you.’
    The young man patted the couch. ‘Sit down, why don’t you? Take the weight