The nightmares come at last
"He escaped," Marsha told me. "The police think he's in the neighborhood. We're to keep the door locked." He hadn't died after all, and now he was outside somewhere. The horror that everyone had incorrectly believed Will Morva to be, now real. I looked outside the window. The sky was the color of cream gone bad, an ominous yellow; a storm was coming.
"I'll call Mom and tell her," I said, opening my phone. I dialed her number, but somehow it was the number that gives weather reports instead. I tried again. The numbers on the phone became blurry, indistinct--a sign of a dream on which I half-picked-up.
Skip forward a bit. Mom was on the way home; there was a feeling of impending danger. I scrambled across the messy floor, looking for the two guns I'd seen there. Where were they?
I heard my mother come in downstairs. Then I heard a scream, the sound of something heavy being dropped on the ground. "Please, no, not yet," she said. "Not now." Where was the gun? I had to do something.
I didn't hear the gunshot; I woke.
"I'll call Mom and tell her," I said, opening my phone. I dialed her number, but somehow it was the number that gives weather reports instead. I tried again. The numbers on the phone became blurry, indistinct--a sign of a dream on which I half-picked-up.
Skip forward a bit. Mom was on the way home; there was a feeling of impending danger. I scrambled across the messy floor, looking for the two guns I'd seen there. Where were they?
I heard my mother come in downstairs. Then I heard a scream, the sound of something heavy being dropped on the ground. "Please, no, not yet," she said. "Not now." Where was the gun? I had to do something.
I didn't hear the gunshot; I woke.