"Stop him!" their terrified mother yelled.
Terry grabbed his little brother by the arm as one bare foot wavered over the top stair.
"Danny!" Terry shook his brother, saying, "he's sleep walking again. Can't we just put a lock on his door?"
A thin-lipped smile of amused sleep deprivation rose up as the thought crossed her mind—not for the first time—even though it'd be frowned on at the PTA.
"We'll have to think of something that won't get me jailed," she looked away, her smile wilted, "and you three orphaned."
"I don't want to go to the orphanage," Martin squeaked from behind his door.
"Then help me keep Danny from hurting himself."
"Aw. Momma, just put a lock on his door," Terry huffed, "it's the easiest. Maybe six screws."
"I know," she agreed. She picked up Danny then put him back to bed. "Martin, go get the baby gate. It's in front of the pantry. Terry, watch your brother while I get a hammer and some nails."
"But, Momma, you can't nail him to the bed. Won't you please just put a lock on his door?" Terry whined.
"What? No, son," she laughed, "what's wrong with you? The nails are for his windows. I don't want him climbing out in his sleep. Heaven forbid he find the gate at the door. Always escaped his crib. Never knew it'd get this bad." She shook her head at the years of interrupted sleep. Children.
"We can just use a latch like on the cabinets," Martin suggested.
"Boy, if you don't give it a rest." She took the baby gate from Marty, "thank you. Now, go to bed boys." While she nailed the windows, Danny slid out of bed. She didn't hear the creak of the door for all her hammering. Intuition told her to turn around, but Danny was already out the door. "Stop him!" she screamed.
This time Terry was a moment too late.
Danny easily somnambulated right down the stairs. Once in the kitchen he proceeded to make chocolate milk. His mother balked in the kitchen doorjamb. Children.