Troy had that feeling. The Demon would come tonight. Squat on his bedpost. Green. Guilty.
He slept with the old Webley loaded and tucked between the sheets. Sure enough, the Demon appeared, silvered eyes flashing back his own image.
‘Well now,’ said the Demon. ‘You have been busy.’
Troy blew its green brains out and went back to sleep.
In the morning he could recall the strangest dream. More vivid than any he could remember before it. Then he saw the Webley on the bedside table. He flipped the chamber open and counted only four bullets where he usually kept five. He saw the hole in the plaster of his bedroom wall, the size of a side-plate.
He went into the bathroom, tipped all his pills down the bog and pulled the chain.