I’m going to sleep so damn good tonight.
That’s all I can think as I stretch into a T-shirt and joggers. I can tell just by the way my muscles have loosened off the bones, the weed is deep in my system. It wasn’t the best weed I’ve ever had, but you know that moment when you’ve been starving for hours and you have some chicken, and you don’t know if it’s the best chicken you ever had in your entire life or you were just really hungry? It’s like that. Not that I eat chicken. Thinking of chickens . . . I stifle a giggle.
Erika is fun! We definitely need to be besties.
Buddy is sleeping with Sammy tonight, so I have the whole bed to myself. I click on the space heater and slip under my comforter. Why does everything feel so good when you’re high? These cotton Target Essentials sheets are like Egyptian silk.
Still can’t shake Yusef’s expression out of my head, but this is the best I’ve felt since moving to Cedarville. Well, I guess that’s not all the way true. I would’ve had fun tonight at the party regardless. It was good to be . . . normal for a change. Think I’ll ask Erika for her connect tomorrow. I can’t wait on my secret garden any longer.
With the weed baking me, I close my eyes and doze off within seconds. But it’s the teeth chattering in my mouth that wakes me up, like my brain went off-roading. The room still dark, now cold enough to see my own breath as I let out a groan.
That blunt should’ve knocked me out for hours. How the hell . . . shit, it’s freezing!
My blurry eyes strain to adjust to the dark as I pat around me. The comforter is gone, goose bumps riddle my arms, feet are blocks of ice. I sit up, my head heavy. The door is open, a draft of cold air blowing in.
And there’s a man standing in the corner near my closet.
He’s facing the wall, head down as if in old-school punishment. If it wasn’t so sparse in the room, I wouldn’t have noticed him. In my haze, he would’ve been just another shadow among shadows. Except for the fact that he’s fisting the end of my comforter.
I blink twice, rubbing my eyes. He’s still there, shivering, mumbling, head twitching every few seconds. The room drops to negative twenty.
I turn away, sitting so still I can be mistaken for a piece of furniture.
This isn’t happening. This is a trip. I’m tripping. Another crazy-ass dream.
But do dreams have such a violent smell?
It’s the funk of forty thousand years that Michael Jackson song warned us about. I hold in a gag, my neck muscles clenching tight. I need to get out of here, but I don’t want him to know I’m awake. I don’t want him to look at me because one look will eviscerate this numbness and I’ll scream.
Gently, I place one foot on the floor, then the other. Doing everything I can to control my breathing, I calmly walk out of the room, as if I don’t see him, as if he’s invisible, because that’s exactly what he is. A hallucination, an apparition. And if we just ignore each other, maybe he’ll go away.
I step out into the hallway, phone trembling in my hand, back rod straight.
“It’s just a dream,” I whisper, closing my eyes.
This is what you do. You see things that aren’t there. It’s been a while since you’ve smoked. You’re out of practice.
But I can still hear him muttering.
“Just a dream,” I breathe. “Ground yourself. Ready?”
1) Piper’s unicorn door sign I want to shred into a billion pieces.
2) Stairs . . . that lead to the door, where I want to run straight through, out of the house, back to California.
The mumbling stops. The house falling silent. But I can still smell him, and I can’t force myself to move.
3) The rug Mom bought online.
4) The attic door. . . .
Footsteps, heavy and staggering, echo out of the room, charging in my direction. My stomach lurches and I hold both hands over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Mari, wake up, wake up, wake up! Please please please!
The bedroom door slams shut behind me and I jump twelve feet in the air.
Draft. Just the draft, the wind. That’s all. The door always closes on its own.
But why can I still smell him?
Mom and Alec’s door remains closed. It didn’t wake them up. If it did, they’d take one look at me and know I’m high. They’d never believe that some strange man has taken over my bedroom. They won’t even bother to look. So I tiptoe into the bathroom and dial the only person I can think who would.
“Yeah?” Yusef snaps; his voice is groggy and horse.
“Okay, okay, I know you’re all mad at me and stuff,” I whisper, sliding down into the tub. “But can you come over?”
“Girl, do you know what time it is?”
I know what I’m about to say is going to make me sound crazy before I even say it, but I say it anyways.
“There’s . . . there’s a man in my room.”
“A what?”
“Or a something,” I babble. “Maybe a demon. It’s in the corner, holding my blanket.”
Yusef sighs. “See, and this is why you should stay away from that shit.”
“Can we skip the ‘I told you so’ speech for five seconds because the killer is literally standing in my room and I’m scared.”
Yusef takes a deep breath, sheets rustling. “Cali, it’s just your imagination. I shouldn’t have told you that stuff about the Hag. It got you seeing things.”
“I’m not lying. I swear.”
“Where are your folks?”
“Are you crazy! I can’t wake them up. They’ll know and they’ll flip. I’ll get in so much trouble.”
Even as I say it, I realize losing my freedom is scarier than the stranger in my bedroom.
“Okay, okay. So where you at now?”
“Um . . . in the bathroom.”
“Did you hear anyone . . . or the ‘thing’ come out of your room yet?”
I listen to the house breathe. Nothing but silence. “No.”
“Did you close the door?”
“No. It closed on its own.”
“Hm. Okay, you got a pen and piece of paper handy?”
“Um, I can get some. But why?”
“Okay. Here’s what you do: get a piece of paper and draw a happy face.”
“A what?”
“Draw a happy face.”
“This isn’t funny, Yusef,” I snap. “There’s some deranged lunatic in my bedroom and you’re making jokes?”
“Who’s joking?” he says, an edge in his voice. “Especially not at three thirty in the damn morning when I just got in bed and have two houses to work on tomorrow. So you want my help or nah?”
I chew on my bottom lip and stumble out into the hallway, grabbing a pen and pink Post-it note off the console.
“Okay, now what,” I whisper, drawing a quick face. Can’t believe I’m even doing this.
“All right, slip that paper under the door.”
“What? Why?”
“’Cause demons hate anything happy, it’ll scare it off. Then, in the morning, when you sober up and go to your room, you’ll find something silly to greet and remind you that this was all just a bad dream.”
I freeze for a few beats until a giggle escapes my lips.