Extract from mystery novel

Dust particles danced in the light shining in from the window; it seemed like they had been floating there for all eternity. Neither falling or rising. Just being. He followed them with eyes that were determined to close stay closed every other second. Didn't let them. Couldn't. The consequences were too severe.

          A series of long blinks were interrupted by a woman's voice from outside the surgery. Wenton repositioned his hat and rubbed his temple. The old man in the white coat across the table was going to be asking some questions, and it was going to take a lot more energy than he currently had to answer them.

          Eyes took more long blinks. A line of sunlight on his arm. A yawn brought some life back. The room smelled of coffee. Eyes wandered. Last year's calendar pinned on the wall, still displaying November. The only desk littered with sheets of paper. The roar from a passing car reached towards the gap in the window but failed the distance and rained back down on the empty road. The doctor licked his thumb and flicked through a file. Cleared his throat and spat into a trash can. He took out a piece of brown card and slid the rest of the folder into a metal drawer that creaked when pushed back to its closed position.

          Wenton turned back to the window.

          "Do you ever think about the dusk, doc?" Wenton asked, fixated on their dance. "It don't even look like it's moving down any, but that can't be right. I reckon it should fall."

          "The what?"

          Wenton's trace broke and flooded his vision of the room. The doc's glare caught him and steadied into a clear image. The doc gave a stare that made it clear there was to be no more talking about dust.

          "Ah, it's nothing. Don't matter."

          "So, Wenton, you can't sleep, huh?" The doc asked, scratching his beard. Looked like some kind of hippy rather than a doctor. Not that Wenton didn't, but he was no doc.

          "No, sir. I reckon I could if I wanted to. I could fall asleep right here where I'm sitting if I wanted."

          The doc took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You don't wanna sleep, son?"

          "No, sir, I do. I'd like nothing more than to jest lie down and close ma eyes. I'm jest afraid that if I ever go to sleep again, I ain't ever gonna wake up."

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This is the beginning of a mystery novel where people are vanishing from a small town, and withered scarecrows are turning up dressed in their clothes. Soon Wenton, an insomniac, is the only one left. He sets off to find his wife and answers, but there is no one around. Anywhere.