Chapter Six: Bad Things In Ipswich, or 'Nightmares Are Not Confined To Dreams'

You know how in the movies, whenever someone has a nightmare, they wake up screaming?

That never happens for me.

When I finally forced my eyes open, I was flat on my back, completely rigid, as if movement would break some kind of veil between reality and my dream and all the monsters in my sleep would suddenly be right there with me.

"Fuck," I murmured, scooting up a little and shuddering out the tension in my body. My voice sounded harsh and hoarse, as if I had been screaming, but I knew I hadn't. Well, then again, maybe I had. Wasn't like anyone would have come to find out what the hell was wrong with me. Running a restless hand through my hair, I swung my legs out of bed and made my way to the door of my room, wanting to go get a drink. Something warm and soothing, the kind of thing I would never be caught dead with in the light of day. Something like… hot chocolate. I gave a little half-smile. That brought up thoughts of curling up on a couch and having your mother hand you a steaming mug of… the smile soured, twisting bitterly. Again, I had a thought I would never allow myself if anyone was watching: when was the last time my mother had even had a conversation with me, much less given me hot chocolate? I didn't even know.

There are laws against neglect, aren't there? Isn't it some affirmed type of abuse? Shaking my head, I glanced at the closed door of my mother's room. I wasn't even sure if she was home or not. If she was, she'd either be drunk, high, or doped on the latest brand of antidepressant. I felt a muscle in my jaw jump, and forced the anger down. I was glad she locked herself in her room all the time, when she did come home. Hell, the last time she hadn't, she'd been so trashed that she'd actually hit on me. Her own goddamn son. That had been… interesting. I haven't told anyone what it feels like to fight off the advances of your own mother, or what it feels like to come home every day for weeks on end (the longest stretch was three, I think) and have nothing but a cold, empty house waiting for you. Not even Tyler. They know, of course, that my mother is away a lot. They think she takes business trips. They aren't aware that we're more or less living on my inheritance and what my father left his wife, and that her 'business trips' involve a poker table and a hotel room. Only Caleb has a vague idea of how bad it really is for me at home, which, I suppose, is why he lets me stay with him sometimes.

This line of thought was pissing me off, so I slammed the door of the refrigerator after getting out the milk. Once I made my hot cocoa, I slouched in a kitchen chair and took a sip, closing my eyes.

God, what a nightmare. It felt so real. I wasn't used to that. Usually, my dreams were… Well, nothing like that. Caleb was the one who had the prophetic dreams. He was the one who saw the demons in his sleep. Not me. Not wise-ass, good-for-nothing Reid who never takes anything seriously.

At least not on the outside.

In the dream, I was standing on a gray field. Everything was gray; the sky, the grass, the earth, the air. There was the smell of cotton candy and blood, metallic and sweet all together. It was sickening. And, in front of me, a girl. Her back was to me, head bowed, motionless. She wore a strange dress, made out of something I couldn't even begin to place, and she was holding something up in front of her with her right hand. I heard, in the distance, a light, girlish laugh, and then someone crying. I wanted to move, but I could just stand there like a stump, unable to use, unable to run.

I did not want that girl to turn around.

Slowly, dreamily, she did.

The thing she was holding was a mask, like one of the Marti Gras masks you see in New Orleans, on a long black stick. It was up hiding her face, a long, fanged snout of bone framed by thick dark hair, hair that was woven with crimson ribbons. There was a flash of white, but a ribbon hid it just as I noticed.

And, as I watched, the awful bone mask came away and there was, for an instant, just a girl, but she vanished before I could make out her features.

Then, there was only fire and blood, and the gray world turned red.

Shaking my head again, I took another gulp from my mug. This was stupid. Ridiculous. I didn't get dreams like that. It was a freakish anomaly, that was all. Nothing to worry about.

Five days left before I would be powerful enough to stop myself from ever having a dream like that again.

Kat was avoiding us. It was pretty obvious. She ignored us in class and practically ran away whenever she saw us in the hall. It was weird, and annoying. Weird, because sure, I was a jerk to her, but I'm a jerk to everyone and I still have friends. As for the others, they had done nothing at all to make her want to stay away from them. Annoying, because now that she refused to stay in the same room as me for more than what was necessary, I was feeling kind of snubbed. Girls like me, in general. They think I'm irritating, but funny and charming as well. It bothered me that Kat so plainly did not like me. I wasn't sure exactly why, though. Maybe because she was friends with Sarah and Kate? They liked me well enough; why shouldn't she? Suddenly, I laughed out loud and slapped myself in the head.

"Good God, Reid, you are such a dumbass," I groaned aloud. Was I completely ignoring the strange feeling I got around her simply because of my stupid pride? Yes. Yes, I was. That was it, then. I didn't care if Kat Teague didn't like me, I just cared that she was avoiding me: because that made it so much harder to figure out what was so weird about her. Yesterday, when I tracked her down in the library, she'd done the sniffing thing again. And, she had smelled different, as well. Now, I'm not saying I go around smelling girls all the time, but I can tell when there's a definite difference. Kat had been giving off some kind of faint, woodsy scent, almost like a musk, that brought to mind trees and earth and nighttime. Plus, she'd totally freaked out. Snapped at me, yanked her arm away like I was trying to rape her or something, and then frozen up when I stepped closer so I could try and use to figure her out, before I remembered that I wasn't using right and left anymore, that was. So basically, that whole encounter had gotten absolutely nothing done, except make me wonder whether or not she would freeze like that if I did something more than just grab her arm, which was pointless and dumb anyway.

Only, wait.

I'd found out that not only did she not want to talk to any of us, she did not do well with close confrontations. I smiled, not caring if there was more smirk than smile on my face.

"I am gonna find out what you're hiding, Miss Teague," I murmured. "Like it or not."

88888888

"So this is Spencer Academy."

"Yes, ma'am, it is."

"Hmm."

"Would you like to take a tour of the grounds? It's a Friday, so the students will be there, but I'm sure I could get you in."

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. I just wanted to see the school."

"Where to, now?"

"Ah… here we are. Can you read these directions?"

"They're printed, ma'am. Mapquest."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, ma'am. I can read them."

"That's where I want to go next. The one that's circled, not the Danvers residence."

"These are personal residences, ma'am. You won't be able to do anything but-"

"I am aware of that. Your job is to drive, not to question. Take me to the home of… Mr. Reid Garwin; I suppose his mother won't be home."

"Begging your pardon, but how do you know that?"

"The same way I knew my little Kitty-cat came here."

"And what way was that, ma'am?"

"Oh, magic, of course."