Bad Dreams

  He took the shortest route.

  Right through the middle of the street.

  Right into the path of a speeding delivery truck.

  “Gus—stop!” Maggie shrieked.

  She shut her eyes and heard the dog’s shrill yelp of pain.

  chapter

  2

  Tires squealed. A horn blared. The truck skidded.

  With the dog’s pitiful yelp still in her ears, Maggie screamed.

  Without realizing it, she had clamped her hands over her eyes. Trembling all over, she slowly removed them—and stared at Gus, standing shaken but unhurt, on the sidewalk.

  The poor dog, she realized, must have yelped in fear—not pain.

  The truck had stopped several yards ahead. The driver leaned out, his round face red with fury. “Get that stupid mutt on a leash!” he bellowed.

  “Sorry,” Maggie called. But when the truck took off, she let out a whoop of joy.

  “Oh, Gus! You’re okay! You’re okay!” She fell to her knees, her arms thrown open wide. “Gus! Come here, boy!”

  Gus came trotting over obediently. She threw her long arms around the dog’s graying head and hugged him tightly. “Sure,” she murmured, “now you’re obedient.”

  Gus waited patiently until Maggie finally let him go. This time she kept a firm grip on his collar.

  Panting with his mouth open, the dog looked as if he were smiling. Maggie kissed the top of Gus’s head.

  I couldn’t bear another death in the family, she thought grimly. I just couldn’t bear it.

  Maggie led Gus back to the house and in through the front door. She bumped into a moving man coming the other way.

  “Watch it!” he muttered rudely.

  As soon as Maggie let Gus go free, the old dog took off, sniffing everywhere, exploring the new house. He ran into the living room, where Andrea was relaxing on the Travers’s white-and-gray-striped sofa. The sofa looked lost in the empty room.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Travers was scrubbing away at the soot and dust and grime on the stovetop. Mrs. Travers could be spacey about a lot of things, but when it came to dirt, she was focused—a cleaning machine.

  She waved a yellow-rubber-gloved hand at Maggie and Andrea. “Well,” she said, “I think I’ve made some important archaeological discoveries in the kitchen. We’ve got about ten layers of dirt in here!”

  Maggie gazed at her sister, whose features were tight with unhappiness. “Andrea,” she said gently, “why don’t we start setting up our rooms? We’ll probably feel better when we’ve got our own stuff in them.”

  “I doubt it,” Andrea grumbled. But she trudged upstairs after Maggie.

  “Now, don’t get discouraged about how it looks,” their mom called after them. “It just needs a little dusting. I’ll be up there as soon as I finish in the kitchen.”

  It was going to take more than dusting to make this place livable, Maggie thought. The wallpaper in the hall was supposed to be white with a rose pattern. But the paper had yellowed and was peeling, and the roses looked as if they had died.

  She turned right at the top of the stairs. Their bedrooms were at the end of the hall. She led the way and turned right into the room she had chosen while Andrea turned left into hers.

  “Whoa!” Maggie uttered a low cry and stopped in the doorway.

  There it stood.

  A beautiful, old-fashioned four-poster canopy bed.

  Dark, polished wood. And with a pink canopy on top.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Maggie whispered. She blinked. As if to make sure the bed was real, she crossed the room and sat down on it.

  “Unbelievable,” she said softly. The previous owners had left the bed behind!

  But why? Why did they leave the bed and nothing else?

  What a mystery.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Andrea exclaimed from the doorway. She had heard Maggie’s delighted cries.

  Maggie stood up and gestured to the bed, grinning. “Can you believe it?”

  Andrea was circling the bed now, her mouth open. She ran her hands down the old wooden posts. “How could they leave this?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t like it anymore.”

  Even as she said it, the explanation seemed silly. How could anyone not like this bed?

  “It’s so gorgeous!” Andrea gasped. “Look at the carving on the posts.”

  She was right. The woodwork was stunning, with intricate carved pinecones poking over the top of the canopy. “Do you think they’re going to come back for it?” Andrea asked.

  Maggie frowned. That hadn’t occurred to her. Maybe she wouldn’t get to keep the bed after all. “Beats me,” she said thoughtfully. “Why would they take everything else and leave this for later? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re right,” Andrea said. “I think they deliberately left it behind.”

  Andrea gave Maggie a friendly smile. I know that smile, Maggie thought. In fact, Maggie could predict everything that was about to happen.

  Andrea was trying to act calm, but Maggie could tell how tense she was. And she knew why Andrea was tense. Andrea wanted the bed. Desperately.

  “Say, Mags,” Andrea began. “Mags, you know how I’ve always wanted an old-fashioned bed like this one, right?” Andrea bit her lip.

  Here came the question Maggie had silently predicted.

  Sure enough, Andrea demanded, “Can I have it?”

  Can I have it?—Andrea’s four favorite words.

  Andrea stared at Maggie, pleading with her eyes. Maggie lowered hers to the bed.

  What should I tell her? Maggie asked herself. What should I do?

  Should I avoid a fight and give it to her?

  What should I say?

  If Maggie had known the horrors that awaited her in the old canopy bed, her answer might have been different.

  But she had no way of knowing why the bed had been left behind.

  chapter

  3

  “Finders keepers,” Maggie told her sister.

  Andrea flinched as if Maggie had punched her. “Finders keepers? Oh, give me a break!” Andrea cried heatedly. “You’re not going to be that childish, are you?”

  Maggie’s smile faded fast. “It’s not childish. We chose the rooms last time we were here. You wanted the bigger room, the one in the back of the house, the quiet room, off the street. Remember? The one with the great window seat.”

  “But that was before we knew they were going to leave the bed behind,” Andrea whined. “It’s not fair.”

  “Andrea,” Maggie said. “I’m sorry. It was just luck. Look, sometimes I get lucky, sometimes you—”

  “That’s such bull, Maggie, and you know it!” Andrea snapped. “You always get your way!”

  “No, that’s not true, that’s—”

  “It is true! I don’t believe you! You never give me a break! Never! You are a totally selfish pig!”

  As far as Maggie was concerned, it was always Andrea who started the name-calling and yelling first. It was certainly true now. Andrea was shrieking at the top of her lungs.

  The louder Andrea yelled, the quieter Maggie became. “Andrea, what if the bed had been in your room? Would you give it up?”

  Andrea had been pacing around the bed. Now she slapped her forehead in disbelief. “I would if all your life you had dreamed of having a canopy bed!” she screamed.

  “All your life, since when, Andrea?” Maggie replied. She was trying to remain calm, but her voice was shaking. “Since five minutes ago?”

  She could hear footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

  “Mom!” Andrea pleaded as Mrs. Travers hurried into the bedroom. “You tell her! Haven’t I always wanted a canopy bed? Haven’t I?”

  “Hold it, hold it, hold it,” Mrs. Travers said wearily. “Please, whatever you do, don’t shout.” Then her eyes fell on the bed, and her jaw dropped.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Mrs. Travers cried. Her eyes lit up. “They left th
at beautiful antique behind?”

  “Yes!” cried Andrea. “And Maggie says—”

  Mrs. Travers wasn’t listening. She walked across the room slowly and stared at the bed as if it were a mirage. “This must be worth over a thousand dollars,” she said softly. “Why would they leave it behind? I hope there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not rotted or infested or something …”

  “It’s perfect,” Andrea insisted. “And Maggie claims that it’s hers because it’s in her room, which is so childish, I—”

  She didn’t get any further. Mrs. Travers held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Wait a second, Andrea. I don’t want an argument about this. I mean, this is something to celebrate.”

  “I’m supposed to celebrate because Maggie got a great bed?” Andrea made a disgusted face.

  “You’re supposed to celebrate because we all got a great bed,” Mrs. Travers told her. “But since Maggie picked this room, Maggie gets to sleep in it. What’s the big deal?”

  “But that’s soooo unfair!” Andrea wailed.

  Mrs. Travers rarely spoke sharply. Instead, her expression became pained, as if she was going to cry.

  They had all done plenty of that in the seven months since Mr. Travers had died. But Mrs. Travers had cried more than any of them. Maggie and Andrea had both been awakened many nights by their mother’s sobs. They would try to comfort her, but never could.

  So when she got that about-to-cry tightness on her face, as she had now, it shut them both up. Andrea gritted her teeth, but didn’t say another word.

  “I can’t believe you two,” Mrs. Travers said, crossing her slender arms over the front of her sweatshirt. “The way you are always at each other’s throats, people would think you hate each other.”

  But we do, Maggie thought bitterly. Even Daddy’s death hasn’t brought us closer together.

  We do hate each other.

  That night they planned on making dinner at home, but Mrs. Travers couldn’t find the box with the kitchen stuff. So even though they were on a tight budget, she took her daughters out to a restaurant. Maggie managed to make it through the meal without fighting with Andrea. That was the good news. The bad news was nobody said much of anything. Well, that wasn’t too surprising, Maggie told herself. They were all exhausted.

  “I just wish we could go back to our old house,” Andrea grumbled as they were finishing dinner. “Even without any of our stuff there, it would still be better.”

  Mrs. Travers didn’t answer. Neither did Maggie. What was there to say?

  Maggie slung an arm around her sister’s shoulders as they walked out of the restaurant. I’m going to keep this family close, she told herself. If it’s the last thing I do.

  When they returned to the house on Fear Street, Maggie got her first peek at the place in the dark. The house was run-down and ugly in bright sunshine. No surprise that it loomed dark and creepy at night.

  The phone rang as they ran inside. “Our first call!” Andrea cried excitedly, racing for the phone.

  Her face fell when she answered. “Just a sec,” she said, sighing. She dropped the receiver so that it dangled down from the phone. “For you,” she told Maggie as she walked away dejectedly. “Always for you,” Maggie heard her mutter under her breath.

  When Maggie picked up the phone, a familiar voice said brightly, “Hey, how’s the new house?”

  “Justin!” Maggie exclaimed. She had been going out with Justin Stiles for only a few weeks and still couldn’t quite believe it. Justin had to be the most popular guy at Shadyside High.

  One of Maggie’s best friends on the swim team, Dawn Rodgers, had dated him the past year. When Justin first asked Maggie out, Dawn had warned Maggie that Justin had a “wandering eye.”

  But right then Maggie didn’t care. She was just glad his eye had wandered in her direction!

  Justin had sexy wavy brown hair and gorgeous ice-blue eyes that made Maggie melt.

  “So what’s up with the new house?” he asked.

  “It’s like something out of The Addams Family,” Maggie told him dryly.

  “It is not!” Maggie’s mother called from the living room.

  “It is,” Maggie whispered. “It looks like one of those houses you see in horror movies, where green gunk starts to pour out of the walls.”

  Justin snickered. “Sounds like my kind of place!”

  Maggie groaned.

  They were both silent. She tried to think of something to say.

  “So when can I see it?” Justin asked.

  “Never,” Maggie told him. “Seriously. I’m way too embarrassed. You can’t come over here—ever.”

  Justin laughed, but this time it sounded a little tense. “So what are you trying to tell me?”

  Maggie grinned. It delighted her to think that Justin might be feeling a little insecure about their relationship—even for a single second. Justin Stiles? Insecure? From everything she had heard about Justin, that would be a major switch.

  “Let’s see. How about coming over—uh, tomorrow afternoon?” she asked. So much for playing it cool.

  “Awesome,” he replied. “Later, Mags.”

  The moment she hung up, the phone rang again.

  Andrea hurried in from the living room. It was for Maggie again.

  “We missed you this afternoon,” said a cheerful voice.

  “You ready to lose the hundred-meter tomorrow?”

  “Hi, Dawn,” Maggie said, leaning against the wall and shifting the phone to her other ear. Dawn Rodgers was the best swimmer on the team—after Maggie, of course. “As a matter of fact, I just could lose,” said Maggie. “I haven’t been in the pool all week!”

  “Good,” said Dawn. “Maybe I have a chance.” Then she laughed.

  So far this season Maggie had managed to edge Dawn out in every race. Dawn was the most competitive person Maggie had ever met, but she was a pretty good sport about coming in second.

  “Anyway,” Dawn said, “that’s not why I called. You know why I called, don’t you?”

  Maggie smiled. “I just talked to Justin a second ago,” she replied.

  “You’re a mind reader,” Dawn said, giggling.

  Maggie started telling Dawn about Justin’s call. She leaned back against the wall, smiling dreamily. Being with Justin was the best. But talking about it with her friends afterward was a close second!

  As she talked to Dawn, Maggie could see Andrea staring at her from the other room.

  Why is she glaring at me like that? Maggie wondered.

  Why does she have to stare at me and listen to my conversations?

  Give me a break, Andrea. Get a life!

  They went to bed at ten. They were all worn out from unpacking.

  Maggie and Andrea shared a bathroom at the end of the hall. Saying she would be only a minute, Andrea insisted on going in first.

  “Hey—get out!” Maggie finally complained twenty minutes later. She rapped hard on the bathroom door.

  The door flew open, and a burst of steam hit Maggie in the face. Andrea’s red hair was plastered to her skull, and she was glowering. “The water pressure stinks!” Andrea cried. “And I had to let the shower run for a year before the brown water stopped coming out! I don’t think anyone’s used these pipes since the Civil War!”

  Maggie wanted to complain about Andrea hogging the bathroom, but she held back. She forced a smile. “Well, sleep well,” she said.

  “In this disgusting haunted house?” Andrea exclaimed. “Fat chance.” She stomped into her room and closed the door.

  The canopy bed was even prettier since Maggie had covered it with her pink sheets and the thin white afghan her grandmother had knit for her. She stopped to admire it for the hundredth time. It was awesome!

  Maggie moved to the window. In the pale light from the moon, she could see tiny buds opening on the old maple tree that grew right up to her window. That seemed like a good sign. And Justin’s call had made her happy. He was coming by tomorrow!

  She
yawned. She really was exhausted. She changed into a nightshirt, dropping her clothes on the one chair the movers had brought upstairs.

  Maggie loved getting into a well-made bed. She felt so protected when she was tucked in tight.

  She lay on her back and gazed up at the canopy overhead. More protection.

  Maggie closed her eyes. She settled in, feeling her muscles start to relax. Usually she had trouble falling asleep in a new bed. This time, she drifted to sleep before she knew it.

  And then came the first dream.

  In the beginning it was a pretty dream. She was floating. No. Falling. Falling slowly through a swirling pink haze.

  Then the mist grew heavier, darker. The pink disappeared, replaced by ugly harsh grays.

  Through the ugly mist, she saw a girl.

  What was cold? What felt suddenly cold?

  Had the dark mist turned cold? Or was it the girl?

  She saw the girl’s head, her long ash-blond hair. …

  But she couldn’t see the girl’s face.

  I want to see her face, Maggie dreamed.

  Why can’t I see her face? Is something wrong with it?

  She knew she was dreaming. And she knew she was scared.

  The dream wasn’t pretty anymore.

  Something was wrong. Something was wrong with the girl.

  Why doesn’t she move? Maggie wondered. Why can’t I see her face?

  The girl is in trouble, Maggie knew all at once.

  The girl is in terrible trouble.

  She tried to move closer, but the heavy mist pushed her back.

  She tried to see the girl’s face, but the mist deepened, the mist swirled over and around her like a heavy curtain, blanketing the girl from view.

  And then Maggie heard a hideous scream.

  chapter

  4

  The scream rose shrilly, like someone’s dying shout.

  Maggie sat up, her heart pounding, her eyes wide open.

  Who screamed? And why?

  Breathing hard, she stared into the dark room. Was she alone?

  Yes. But where was she?

  This isn’t my room, she thought.