Sandman’s Ghost “The Antithesis of Sleep”

By W. J. & Lee Walker

It’s a medical mystery that has the doctors in Grand Mont, New York, stumped. Patients they’ve known for a lifetime, healthy people who have never had a problem before, are unable to sleep and ultimately start to feel like zombies. And not just for a night or two—their sleeplessness lasts for weeks. When the weeks turn into months, the patients steadily decline, becoming restless and agitated, losing their ability to function normally, and finally lapse into a coma—a final sleep from which there will be no waking up. Death follows soon after. It is a scientific puzzle difficult for even the brightest of physicians and scientists to understand.
Paxton McDonald, is called upon to evaluate the situation, bringing her problem-solving talents and skills in discovering the cause of the illness. It was as if the proverbial Sandman had died; in fact he had not just died but his ghost had come back with a vengeance. She dubs it Sandman’s Ghost: the antithesis of sleep.
What do these patients have in common? Where did the illness begin? And why are the patients’ routine workups, blood work, MRIs, and CT scans showing nothing out of the ordinary? As Paxton and the doctors rule out one diagnosis after another, the mystery deepens while the ranks of ill and dying patients increase.
Meghan Magee, chief medical examiner for the county, autopsies the patients who’ve died from the illness and makes a shocking discovery. Their brains have changed in a way she could never have predicted, and she recognizes it immediately. It isn’t what anyone thought or imagined; it’s something far more sinister, something that should be impossible.
And it’s spreading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brighton Publishing LLC
• Release date: May 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781621832355

W. J. & Lee Walker

W. J. Walker is a retired nurse. She likes to cook and enjoys going on hikes with her husband Lee. She enjoys taking scenic landscape pictures and matting and framing them, and enjoys making candles. Sage/Citrus is her favorite scent.She met Lee, after graduating high school and married him 6 months later. He has been her best friend, confidant, and love of her life all these years. After graduating high school she worked to put him through college. After starting their family, she went back to school and earned her degree in nursing.Over the years, she has worked as an R.N. in emergency departments in Cincinnati, Baltimore, and Michigan. She later returned to school and obtained a Master’s of Science in Nursing. Her devotion to healthcare has also carried down to their sons who are both professionals in the health care field.W.J. has had the privilege of working with many people and patients over the years and loves the diversity those people have brought to her life.After retiring, she began her writing career. Her prolific pen has produced “Memories” and “A New Beginning; about an FBI Agent, and were inspired by her desire to join the FBI after she graduated from high school. She also wanted to be a nurse, and ultimately her love and devotion to people and their health eventually won out.Her other published works “FaithScapes” A Story of Love, Growth and Faith, and “Almost Angels” Where Dreams come True, and “Deadly Candy” The Mafia and The Mechanic, were written in collaboration with her husband Lee.Sandman’s Ghost is a continuation of this amazing collaborative imagination and talent of W.J. and Lee, and their ability to create another masterful story of genuine human emotion woven into a frightening world of subterfuge and criminal activity.Writing is important to W.J. because she believes stories provide new experiences and bring knowledge and excitement into people’s lives. Additionally those stories can bring the comfort of thinking about family, community, and what’s important in life. She believes that good stories should inspire people to read and enjoy their quiet time. Having a good novel can be relaxing.Lee Walker has over thirty-five years’ experience in aerospace and automotive engineering and enjoys reading, photography, bicycling, white water rafting, and hiking.His entire career has utilized his analytical aptitudes, but upon approaching retirement he enjoys developing his creative capabilities. As a photographer he enjoys capturing a landscape or a creative view of an antiquity. Although a picture is worth a thousand words, so to speak, he also enjoys the challenge of creating a picture or scenario with words.Writing is important to Lee because he views it as the ultimate form of communication; transmitting one’s thoughts and ideas via the written word. Being able to effectively convey one’s thoughts, experiences and creative contrivances to others can be truly satisfying.

Book preview

Sandman’s Ghost

The Antithesis of Sleep

W. J. Walker & Lee Walker

Brighton Publishing LLC

435 N. Harris Drive

Mesa, AZ 85203

www.BrightonPublishing.com

ISBN13: 978-1-62183-235-5

Copyright © 2013

eBook

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover Design: Tom Rodriguez

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book are fictitious and the creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to other characters or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Acknowledgements

We would like to acknowledgeable our son Christopher, a Chief Petty Officer in the US Navy, who gave us the idea for this novel. With his extensive knowledge in the field of medicine and discussions about rare diseases we were able to create the storyline for this novel.

With all our Love, Mom and Dad

Prologue

They had sleepless nights that never ended. When it grew worse, they couldn’t control their onslaught of symptoms. The shaking, the tremors, and the involuntary muscle contractions preceded the ultimate assault on their bodies: involuntary rectal sphincter twitching. The victims wondered when it all would end, but their physicians weren’t able to give them that information because they weren’t sure what was causing the illness. Their symptoms could have been related to a variety of medical conditions. The doctors searched desperately for answers, ordering blood tests, urine tests, thyroid studies, drug screens, sleep studies, CAT scans, MRIs, EMGs, and ECGs, until they were at a loss. What else could they do? They needed answers and weren’t finding them. They watched helplessly as their patients continued to decline.

Some physicians thought their patients had psychiatric problems because they were paranoid and hallucinating. These patients developed a distrust of their own families, friends, and even doctors. They thought everyone was plotting a conspiracy against them. Their physicians focused their psychiatric assessments on their patients’ appearance, behavior, rate and continuity of speech, mood affect, and thought content. They asked a multitude of questions.

It was a scientific puzzle that was difficult for even the brightest of physicians to understand. In an effort to understand more about the cause of their patients’ medical problems, the physicians had them write down what was happening in their bodies, hoping that by studying the notes they could uncover clues. The symptoms weren’t unique to just one medical condition but masked the symptoms of several health problems. The physicians weren’t communicating among their colleagues, so they didn’t understand how widespread the problem was getting. A couple of physicians suspected what the cause might be, but they quickly dismissed the idea because it was a very rare disease and usually only passed down through a couple of families in Italy. It frustrated them because they had no answers for their patients.

As more people began having the symptoms, it gripped the city—a city of people who couldn’t sleep. People who became like zombies. There were many unanswered questions as to what could be causing it. Doctors and scientists never fathomed that a sinister person could be behind it—someone who would create an illness so they could produce the solution to end it, all for monetary gain and power.

Paxton McDonald had been contracted by Grand Mont Memorial Hospital to address errors, prevent recurrence, and improve hospital efficiency in general. Toward the end of her assignment at the hospital, she was asked by their director of medicine, Jason Patterson, to evaluate another problem that was very perplexing in their Sleep Disorder Center. The center had been seeing an increasing number of patients who were having difficulty sleeping, and they weren’t finding specific problems causing it. The most frightening thing about the illness was that it was causing a decline in the victims’ health.

Paxton was good at her job, but this situation would be a challenge for her. She wondered if her problem-solving skills and her Six Sigma training would enable her to find the root cause of their growing concern. As she diligently gathered her information from the patients’ records, her concerns grew into something frightening, unimaginable. She read their endless medical records and learned that the patients never slept, and, after a horrible decline in health, they always died. It was as if the proverbial Sandman had been killed and his ghost had come back with a vengeance.

Sandman’s Ghost, she thought to herself. The antithesis of sleep.

Chapter One

Martha Campbell hadn’t slept in a very long time. At forty-nine years old, Martha had been healthy and active her entire life. She and her husband, Henry, owned a fifty-acre farm in upstate New York, where they grew potatoes, corn, beans, and tomatoes for sale to local markets. They supplemented their farm income by selling the milk from their small herd of Jersey cows and the eggs from their fifty chickens. It was hard work, but the farm turned quite a profit.

Henry and Martha had never been able to have children, but they enjoyed being around other couples who had children. At church socials, Martha enjoyed holding her friends’ babies while they participated in softball or volleyball games. She loved being with the children, but since God hadn’t blessed her and Henry with their own brood, she had accepted her childless fate. Henry seemed resigned to it as well.

Martha had always liked working right beside Henry on the farm. For many years she had been out in the barn with him every morning and evening, milking their cows. Then they saved enough money to buy a milking machine, which enabled Henry to milk the cows without her help. There was always work that needed to be done, but lately she was having difficulty sleeping, and it had sapped her energy. It wasn’t just a few nights of not getting a good sleep; it was nearly every night. After four months, the problem was growing worse and had taken a toll on her health. She was exhausted, had dark circles under her eyes, and was losing weight in spite of eating well.

When her sleep difficulties first began, she thought it might help to start taking supplements like melatonin. A month later, she still wasn’t sleeping. Her friend Sally Johnson recommended a hot bath before bedtime to help her relax. The baths did help her relax, and when she pulled the bed covers up to her chin at night, she felt sleepy. But she couldn’t seem to drop off to sleep. She worked hard all day, stayed up late at night, took her bath, and fell into bed exhausted each night with the same result: she desperately needed to sleep, but she couldn’t seem to get there. She even tried counting sheep, but when she got to five hundred, she decided it was futile. She tried all of her friends’ suggestions, but to no avail. Her condition kept declining.

Martha knew her tossing and turning at night was interfering with Henry’s sleep. He never complained to her, but she noticed some of his nonverbal communication—like occasional sighs when he was being kept awake. Because she loved him, she began going into their spare bedroom so she wouldn’t disturb him. He needed his rest; there was a frightful amount of work to do on their farm, and she was growing less able to help him. Her fatigue had a tremendous effect on her ability to function.

While she lay in the spare bedroom at night, her mind would wander, and she would think about all the wonderful years she and Henry had spent together. She felt isolated and alone in the guest bedroom. She missed hearing Henry’s subtle snoring at night and feeling the warmth of his body next to hers. She always felt safe when she slept beside him.

One morning, when Henry sat down to breakfast, he looked steadily at her gaunt appearance and said, Martha, you need to see Dr. Jones. Honey, you can’t continue like this. Maybe he can give you something to help you sleep.

Martha wiped away the tears that rolled down her face and nodded. I know. She looked out the window, wondering how long it had been since she’d enjoyed a good night’s sleep. Her mind seemed to be playing tricks on her; she no longer could remember. One day seemed to run into another.

She picked up her coffee cup with a trembling hand and swallowed her coffee, barely noticing that her normal enjoyment of the rich, bold taste had faded. She gazed fondly at Henry and thought, What a wonderful man. They had been married for twenty-nine years and had lived on the farm all that time. They both had been healthy, never having more than a simple cold, but she knew something was dreadfully wrong with her. She could sense something going on in her head. Maybe it’s a tumor, she thought.

Henry noticed her silence and said, I’ll call and make the appointment. Martha smiled and nodded as she took another sip of coffee and watched her husband make the call.

***

The next morning Henry drove Martha to her doctor’s appointment. When the nurse called her back to see the physician, Henry went into the examining room with her. They sat in the room silently, waiting for the doctor to come in, and Henry looked around the room, noting the diplomas hanging on the wall, the equipment sitting on the counter, and the examination table where Martha sat. He seldom went to the doctor himself, but he felt it was urgent for Martha to get help as quickly as possible. He had noticed the changes in her appearance, and he was worried about her. Even though her appetite was like it had always been, she had been losing weight, was always fatigued, and had dark circles under her eyes. He loved her deeply and couldn’t bear to see her ill.

Dr. Jones walked into the room with a smile, Martha’s chart in his hand. Hello Martha and Henry. How are you guys doing?

Martha can’t sleep, Henry answered quickly.

Dr. Jones nodded at Henry and looked back at Martha. Okay, let me check you over. He looked at her face and noticed the dark circles under her eyes. When he peered into her eyes, he also noticed her pupils were constricted. Martha, are you taking any pain medication?

No, I very seldom take a pain pill. The only medication I take is what you gave me for my blood pressure.

He looked at her pupils again and asked, Do you take any illegal drugs?

No, she doesn’t! Henry quickly rose up out of his chair, indignant. How could you ask such a thing? You’ve known us for more than twenty years.

Now, Henry, Dr. Jones said kindly, please sit back down. I have to ask those questions.

Well, I don’t see why you do.

Dr. Jones continued his examination, looking in her mouth and ears, palpating her neck, listening to her lungs and abdomen, palpating her abdomen, and checking her reflexes. He didn’t find anything abnormal except for her contracted pupils and a slight increase in her blood pressure and heart rate. Martha, do you have any pain?

I tend to have some dull headaches.

Have you been experiencing any stress?

No, I don’t think so, other than the stress of not being able to sleep.

He looked through her chart. You’ve already gone through menopause, right?

I think so. A couple years ago I was missing some of my periods and having hot flashes, and then I quit having periods at all.

When did you start having difficulty sleeping?

She tilted her head as she tried to remember. I’d say around four months ago.

His brow furrowed with concern, Dr. Jones said, Why did you wait so long to come see me?

She’s been trying all these different things that her friends told her to do, Henry interjected, and they didn’t work. I finally told her she needed to see you.

Dr. Jones smiled at Henry before turning his attention back to Martha. I’m glad you came in. When you don’t get enough sleep, it affects your health.

That’s exactly what I told her! Henry exclaimed. I told her that you’d give her something to make her sleep.

Dr. Jones ignored Henry’s comment and continued speaking to Martha. I noticed your blood pressure and heart rate are up a little from what they were when I last saw you. What else have you been experiencing?

Sometimes I feel anxious and I break out in a sweat. Martha gave a weary sigh. Do you think you can help me? I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’m so tired when I go to bed, but I can’t seem to drop off to sleep.

Can you describe how you’re feeling as you’re trying to go to sleep?

It’s kind of weird; I can feel my body as it’s entering that sleepy stage. I feel it in my eyes, then my nose, ears and as it’s coursing through my body. I feel like my body relaxes like I’m dropping off to sleep, but it’s never a deep sleep, and it seems that I wake up in just a few minutes. I never seem to get a full night of sleep. She glanced over at Henry, and he gave her his best smile, trying to hide the worry in his eyes. And I seem to have short, restless dreams.

He nodded understanding, then he leaned against the counter and said with an empathetic tone, This is what I’m going to do: I want to get some blood work done. I want to check your thyroid hormones, estrogen levels, a complete blood count and electrolytes, to check for infection and other things. And while you’re at the lab I want you to give them a urine specimen so they can test it. I’m also going to give you a couple of prescriptions for a mild sleeping pill and one to help with your anxiety. Take the one for anxiety about an hour before you go to bed. Do either of you have any questions?

No, thank you very much, Martha answered. When she scooted off the exam table, she almost lost her balance. Dr. Jones reached out to steady her; he wanted to ask her if she had been drinking any alcohol, but because Henry had gotten so upset over the question about illegal drugs, he decided he would just add the drug and alcohol tests to the lab slips.

Now Martha, I want to see you back here in two weeks.

Two weeks is when my canning season begins, she said with a tone of desperation. My beans will be ready to pick and then my cucumbers, tomatoes, and corn will be coming after that.

Henry gave a broad smile and said, Martha makes the best lemon pickles. We’ll bring you a jar when she sees you again.

All right then, I’ll call you if there is anything abnormal on the blood and urine tests. But I want to see you in three months when your canning season is over. And call me if the medication doesn’t help.

Martha blinked, and Henry thought how dazed she looked. Thank you, Dr. Jones. I’ll get these prescriptions filled, and maybe I’ll be much better when I see you again.

The doctor smiled and touched her shoulder. Call me if you have any problems.

Martha held onto Henry’s arm as they exited the building. He felt her stumble a little, so he wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her and said with a gentle chuckle, Martha, sweetheart, you’re walking like you’ve been drinking the Christmas rum. He wanted to minimize her fear; he was scared enough for both of them.

He was driving out of the parking lot when she asked, "Would you stop at the pharmacy? I’ll get these prescriptions filled, and I want to pick up our pictures at the photo desk.

What pictures?

You know, from the picnic at the church two weeks ago.

Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. How many pictures did you have printed?

I don’t know… maybe seventy-five.

Seventy-five? I think maybe we should buy one of those digital cameras like Jake and Sally have. That way everything is stored on those tiny little discs.

Martha nodded, I’ve thought about that but I like my little camera…and I guess I hold on to those old traditional customs.

Henry smiled. Lately, Martha hadn’t felt much like talking so he continued, When we were at the picnic I didn’t see you take that many pictures.

Since I wasn’t feeling so well that day, I asked the Hawkins girl to go around and snap pictures of everyone so I could put them in our albums.

He chuckled. When company comes over, I love getting out those albums. Remember when Henrietta did the pie eating contest? She looked so funny with all that chocolate smeared all around her face. Whewee! Didn’t she get angry when she saw that picture in our album?

Martha gave a half smile and nodded. I took that picture out and tore it up.

Why did you do that?

I didn’t want her to be angry. She thought we put it in there so everyone would laugh and make fun of her.

But that was the reason I put it in there. She looked so funny.

She’s our friend, and I didn’t want her to be hurt by it.

Henry grinned. His Martha might be exhausted, but she was still the sweetest woman he’d ever known.

***

Martha took the stack of photographs into the kitchen and sat down at the table to look at them. She smiled as she flipped through the first several prints, remembering their shenanigans on the day of the picnic. Then she frowned as she looked at a picture of herself. After several seconds she laid the picture aside and continued perusing the rest of the photos. When she came to another picture of herself, she stared at it and grimaced. She looked down at her previous picture that she had laid aside and then back at the one in her hand. She laid that one aside also.

By the time she had gone through the whole stack of photos, she had sorted out several of herself and lined them up side by side on the table. She looked from one to the other, noticing all at once the strange position of her head. In all the pictures, her head was in the same tautly held position, and she wondered when she had started looking like that. As she stared at them, she knew deep down inside that something was definitely wrong. Something was going on in her head. She began trembling, because she knew that whatever it was, it was bad. As she sat staring at the pictures she could feel the tightness and rigidity in her neck. She opened her purse and pulled out her little mirror and looked at herself. In her reflection she could see that she was holding her head in the same position as she had been in the pictures before her.

She closed her compact and laid it on the table next to the pictures, feeling herself grow numb with fear. She wondered when it had started. Every day she looked at herself in the mirror when she brushed her teeth or combed her hair, yet she had failed to notice the change in the way she held her head. Why did I never notice what was so evident? she wondered.

She got up from the table and went into the bedroom to the cedar chest where she kept