November 6

Again I am awakened by that damn alarm clock, which has magically moved back to my nightstand again, even though I had packed it and moved it into the closet again. It plays "Don't Fear the Reaper." But this time, it is seven in the morning and my parents are already up, so I don't get scolded.

I stumble to the bathroom. My head is cloudy. I can't have slept more than two hours total last night. I leapt up at every odd sound in the house. I heard the rip of tape, a gurgle, footsteps mounting up the steps . . . I don't recall any whole nightmares that could have entered my sleep, just tiny pieces that refuse to shape into anything.

I reach over to twist the taps on the sink, and I look down.

There is a dead rat in the drain, its body crushed and bloody.

Dad removes the corpse. He and Mom are puzzled by the rat. They draw out speculations. "The injured rat must have somehow crawled up into the sink and died there."

Yeah, right.

I brush my teeth in the kitchen sink.

II

I don't tell my friends about the dead rat, just like I haven't told them about the JUDITH ring and the weird dreams. (They were there for the JUDITH cake, but that episode seems to be forgotten.)

At lunch, Chelsea brings up some news she heard that morning. "A girl disappeared in Berryville. They think it might be Michael Myers."

Joanne looks doubtful. "Why would Michael Myers be in Berryville?"

"He might've stopped if he's on his way to Chicago," Chelsea reasons. "Although there's no real evidence to connect that girl to him. Maybe she ran away and her parents are saying it was Michael Myers so they won't be accused of being shitty parents."

"Berryville's like one-third trailer park," Bree added. "So that's a possibility."

"But it's possible that Michael Myers did it," Alice said, wide eyed. "Because the girl reminds him of Judith."

"How would this girl remind him of Judith?" I ask, a little too sharply.

Alice furrows her brows. "Because they're both . . . you know . . . free."

"We don't know that the girl in Berryville was free," Joanne rises up. She glances warily at Chelsea.

"Hey, I'm not slut shaming," Chelsea said. "The girl probably just ran away from a bad home, like any sane person would've. She's probably on some bus to California right now, and had never run into Michael Myers."

We all agree that that is the best possible scenario, so it must be true. But that scenario appears as thin as the one my parents created for the dead rat. I don't think anything good happened to that girl.