My grandfather’s second wife was a sleepwalker, the kind that would get out of bed and do things like make a sandwich in the kitchen. My grandfather became used to it, and whenever he woke up in the middle of the night and she wasn’t in bed beside him, he would find her and gently lead her back to bed without waking her up, just as he had been advised.
But one night he wakes up and she isn’t lying in bed, but instead sitting on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him. He calls her name to ask what’s wrong, but she doesn’t answer, and he realizes she must be asleep. He can tell that she’s doing something, holding something in her lap, but he can’t see what it is.
He sits up, looks over her shoulder, and sees what she’s doing, still in her sleep: loading his revolver.