Somewhere a telephone was ringing. Howard could hear it in his dream, but it didn't wake him up. It was dark in his dream, dark and terrible.

He was running, but it was like running through deep water. There were trees all around him, trees which tried to stop him. They reached out with their branches. And it was behind him. It was coming nearer. He wanted to shout for help. He was opening his mouth wide. But there was no sound. He could hear the noise it was making behind him - the heavy feet, the heavy breathing.

He was terrified. He looked behind... He could see it! He could see the burning eyes, the yellow teeth. Oh, no! It was coming nearer. A few more steps and then...

The telephone was still ringing. 'Don't answer it,' Howard shouted.

Suddenly he was awake. His body was hot and wet. The bedclothes were nearly off the bed. He was awake and safe. It was only a dream! He tried to pull the bedclothes back onto the bed. But something was wrong. His arm felt strange. He lifted his head, and looked. Beside his bed, there was a metal pole.

There was a tube coming from it. His arm was tied to it. He let his head fall back on the bed. Then he knew what it was. He was in hospital. But why?

He was probably a patient. He was ill, or hurt. Maybe he had been in an accident. He tried to think, but he couldn't remember. This happened sometimes after accidents, people said. You forgot what had happened just before, but... Howard felt cold around his heart.

He couldn't remember anything... not the accident (but was it an accident?), not the hospital, not his home, or family (did he have a family?). He couldn't even remember his name.

Who was he? He didn't know.

He lifted his head again and looked to the right. He was in a hospital ward, a long room full of beds and other patients, men who were sleeping or reading. At one end he could see a nurse. She was speaking into a telephone. Was that the telephone he had heard?

He looked to the left and he became still with fear. A man was sitting on a chair just by his bed. There was something in his hand, a magazine or a book. His head had fallen forward and he was asleep. Who was he? What was he doing here, beside Howard's bed? Was he a guard? The man seemed to feel Howard's eyes on him, because he lifted his head, stood up and looked down at Howard.

'So you're awake, Mr Blake,' he said, and his voice was ugly. 'Have you had a good sleep? How's your head?

Is it still hurting?'