Scott Reynolds had never been much of a deep sleeper. At twenty-nine, his body had settled into an annoying habit of waking up at the slightest noise, but today was different. Today, he had fallen asleep on the couch while watching TV, the sound of afternoon talk shows droning in the background. His half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat beside him, the blue glow of the screen flickering across his face.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out when a warm breeze sent a strange sensation across his skin. His eyelids fluttered open, and his senses registered something immediately wrong. Instead of the soft cushions of his couch, he was standing on the walkway leading up to his house, his bare feet pressing against the sun-warmed concrete. His breath hitched as he took in his surroundings---his neatly trimmed lawn, the suburban street quiet in the afternoon lull, the hum of distant lawnmowers blending with the occasional chirp of birds.

The neighborhood was peaceful, unaware of the man standing outside in nothing but a pair of navy-blue boxers and a wrinkled white t-shirt.

His heart pounded. How the hell did I get out here?

Panic gripped him as he spun around and saw his house looming in front of him, its windows reflecting the bright sky, its front door closed---locked. He ran up the steps, pressing his hand against the knob. Of course, it didn’t budge.

Scott swallowed hard, his mind racing. He lived alone. No roommates. No girlfriend with a spare key. No explanation.

Instinct kicked in. He jogged to the side of the porch, bent down, and fumbled around in the flowerpot sitting against the wall. His fingers brushed against the small, cool metal of the spare key. He grabbed it, his hands trembling slightly as he jammed it into the lock. With a quick twist, the door clicked open.

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and pressing his back against it as he tried to steady his breathing. The house was just as he had left it---the TV still on, the faint hum of daytime commercials playing, the popcorn bowl exactly where it had been.

Except now, his body felt wired, his skin prickling with unease. He glanced at the time on the microwave: 3:17 PM.

Scott took a shaky breath. He had never sleepwalked in his life. So how did he end up outside?

And more importantly---why did it feel like someone had been watching him?

---

Days passed, and nothing unusual happened. Scott remained on edge for a while, half-expecting another strange episode, but as time went on, his nerves settled. Maybe it had been some bizarre case of stress-induced sleepwalking. Maybe it was just a fluke.

Then, it happened again.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon, and Scott had been reading in his easy chair, his fingers lightly gripping a paperback novel. The sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting lines of gold across the living room. The book was good---really good---but at some point, the words blurred together, his eyelids grew heavy, and sleep took him.

The next thing he knew, he was standing.

His eyes snapped open, and the disorienting rush of confusion hit him like a wave. He wasn't in his chair anymore. He wasn’t even inside his house.

He was outside. On the sidewalk.

And not just outside---across the street.

Scott's pulse thundered in his ears as he took in his surroundings. He was standing at the corner, just across from his house, his bare chest exposed to the warm afternoon air. Instead of the jeans and T-shirt he had been wearing, he now had on a pair of bright orange athletic shorts and his running sneakers. No shirt. No socks.

His mouth went dry. What the hell is happening?

A car drove past, the driver not even sparing him a glance. To any passerby, he must have looked like a guy who had just come back from a jog. But Scott hadn’t gone jogging.

A prickle of unease ran up his spine. Did someone dress me? The idea made his stomach twist. He looked down at himself again, searching for signs that this wasn’t real---that this was some kind of dream. But it wasn’t. He could feel the pavement under his feet, the sun on his skin, the book still fresh in his memory.

His first instinct was to get back home---fast.

He started walking briskly across the street, his eyes darting around as if expecting someone to jump out and tell him this was all some elaborate prank. But the street was quiet. The houses were still.

He reached his porch, his breath shallow. This time, when he reached for the spare key in the flowerpot, he hesitated. His front door was slightly ajar.

I locked it before sitting down… didn’t I?

His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He nudged the door open and stepped inside. The living room looked exactly as he had left it. His book was resting on the arm of his easy chair, open to the page where he had dozed off. His sneakers---the same ones on his feet right now---were supposed to be by the door, but that spot was empty.

Scott swallowed hard.

This wasn’t just sleepwalking. This was something else.

Something worse.

He wasn’t just waking up in strange places.

Something---or someone---was making sure he did.

---

Days passed again, and nothing unusual happened.

At first, Scott was paranoid. He forced himself to stay awake during the day, keeping himself busy, drinking coffee, standing when he felt the slightest drowsiness creep in. But eventually, exhaustion got the better of him, and he dozed off.

Nothing happened.

He woke up right where he had fallen asleep. His heart had pounded in his chest as he looked around, waiting for something to feel *off*. But everything was fine. Normal.

Little by little, he let down his guard. He returned to his routine---watching TV in the evenings, reading in his chair, even taking the occasional nap. And for weeks, he remained exactly where he had fallen asleep.

Until the third time.

Scott had been reclining on his couch, half-watching the evening news. He had been dressed casually---a blue polo shirt and slacks---winding down from an uneventful day. The rhythmic voice of the newscaster, combined with the warm glow of the setting sun, lulled him into a comfortable haze.

His eyelids grew heavy. He let himself relax.

And then, just like before---

He wasn’t home anymore.

Scott’s body jerked awake, his breath hitching. He was outside. Not just outside---several blocks away from his house.

The street was unfamiliar at first, lined with houses he didn’t recognize, the soft hum of distant traffic filling the air. The afternoon light had dimmed into the quiet calm of early evening. He turned, scanning his surroundings, and finally spotted a familiar landmark---a small convenience store he had been to a handful of times. His house was at least a ten-minute walk away.

His skin crawled.

He was dressed exactly as he had been---blue polo shirt, slacks, sneakers. No inexplicable wardrobe change like before. But the panic set in anyway.