by P. J. Night
THANKS, IT’S GOING OKAY, I GUESS. GIVE ZAPPERS A SCRITCHY-SCRATCH FOR ME.
Whitney turned off the lights. She still slept with a night-light, and even though Katie had stopped using hers at home, she was suddenly grateful there was one here.
“Who do you have for science again?” Katie asked Whitney after both girls has settled into their beds.
“Ms. Barrish,” Whitney responded. “I like her. We’re going to choose our own projects.”
“Cool,” said Katie. “I have Mr. Keitel. I don’t know what the deal is with projects yet.”
“I’m going to research the circulatory system,” Whitney said. “Did you know that your heart is a muscle?”
“Really?” Katie thought for a minute. “No, I didn’t know that. But we took our pulses yesterday in gym to measure our heart rate. By the way, Ms. Hall, who teaches gym, is really nice. But I’m trying to think of things you really need to know about living here.”
“Thanks,” said Whitney. “I appreciate that.” Sometimes Whitney’s speech really sounded like a grown-up’s. Thanks, I appreciate that. It was something Katie could imagine her mother saying on the phone. Katie figured Whitney spent a lot of time around grown-ups, being an only child. Of course, Katie always had Amy nearby to talk to, and she would often go a whole day without talking to grown-ups.
“Okay, I thought of the most important thing,” Katie said, feeling happiness rise in her chest with the memory of what she was about to share. “Every fall here on the town green there’s a Harvest Fair. There are hayrides, pumpkin-carving contests, fireworks, and here’s the best part. There’s this booth where you can dip your own apples in caramel or chocolate, or both. Then you dip the apple in something else, like coconut or chocolate chips or crushed Oreos or sprinkles and things like that.”
“I love caramel,” Whitney said.
“Me too. But I highly recommend first a thin layer of caramel, then a few dips of chocolate,” Katie added. “Then … I dip the whole thing in M&M’s!”
“Oh my God!” Whitney cackled. The two of them laughed at the over-the-top craziness of the idea. Then suddenly Whitney yelled loudly, “DAD!”
Her dad appeared in the doorway almost immediately. “Yes, honey?” he asked.
“Night water,” Whitney said simply.
“Be right back,” her dad said, and returned with a glass of water. He handed it to her.
“For Katie, too,” Whitney said.
“Sure,” he said. He brought Katie one too.
“Thanks,” Katie said. She didn’t usually need water during the night, but Whitney seemed intent on her dad bringing her some. She was really surprised that Whitney ordered her dad around like that and didn’t say please or thank you. Katie’s dad would have been like, “Sorry, Your Royal Highness. The butler has the day off.” But then again … Katie would never have wanted to talk to her parents like that either.
“You’re welcome,” Whitney’s dad said. “Good night, girls.”
He still didn’t look at Katie, even when he was putting the water by her on the floor.
“Good night,” they said in unison. Her dad closed the door.
“Want to play a game till we fall asleep?” Whitney asked Katie.
“Sure,” Katie said, feeling a little relieved at the idea. She had been slightly worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep easily. There was nothing worse for her than lying in bed, anxious about falling asleep, watching the digital clock pass the minutes in the dark. That happened to her at home sometimes, on nights she knew she had to get up early the next day. Many times, at Amy’s, Katie and Amy would just fall asleep talking. But the conversation wasn’t flowing quite as freely with Whitney. That’s okay, Katie told herself. It makes sense, actually. We just don’t know each other yet. Soon we’ll have a lot more to say to each other.
“Let’s play Around the World,“Whitney suggested. “I say the name of a place and then you say another place name beginning with the last letter of the place I just said. Like, I say Connecticut, which ends with a T, so you say something that starts with T, like Tanzania. That ends with an A, so I say something that starts with A, like Amazon. Then you say, like, Nairobi. We keep going until someone gets stuck. Or falls asleep.”
“Okay, you start,” said Katie.
“Belgium,” Whitney said immediately.
“Um … Montana,” Katie said.
“Good!” Whitney said. She seemed impressed that Katie had caught on so quickly. “Antwerp.”
“Where’s that?” asked Katie.
“Belgium.”
“Oh. Okay, um, Pennsylvania.”
They continued playing. Whitney was really good at the game, having lived in so many places, but Katie kept getting stuck. She could only think of U.S. state names, or towns in Connecticut, while Whitney was coming up with places like Mongolia, Odessa, and Zaire.
Whitney fell asleep waiting for Katie to think of a place, and Katie lay there and thought about caramel chocolate apples and how much fun that booth was. And how it was good that she was making a new friend. She decided that she was having a pretty good time.
But she also couldn’t help thinking about how she could hardly wait till Amy came back for Harvest Fair. She rubbed her fingernails in the dark. The polish felt smooth and cool. She remembered how carefully Amy had applied it.
Katie had thought that Whitney was asleep, but then she heard her humming softly. After a few rounds, she recognized the tune as “Rock-a-Bye Baby.” Katie’s mom used to sing her that lullaby, and Katie was strangely comforted by Whitney’s pretty humming of it. Maybe Whitney knew that she was a little worried about falling asleep? Wow, that was pretty sweet. Finally Katie started to drift off to sleep.
She was in that weird state between being awake and being asleep when she heard something strange. Actually, strange didn’t even begin to describe it.
It was her name. Being chanted softly.
Katie, Katie, Katie.
All around her. And then a little bit louder.
It wasn’t being chanted in a good way, either, like at a sporting event, where people would chant their team name happily: Ti-gers! Ti-gers! Ti-gers! It was chanted in a slow, quiet way, like a low growl.
Katie, Katie, Katie.
Katie woke up with a jolt. She was no longer in the in-between-waking-and-sleeping state.
The chanting was still happening. It’s no dream … it’s real! she thought.
Katie, Katie, Katie.
Where was it coming from?
Katie looked over at Whitney in bed. She was fast asleep on her back and had her arms crossed across her chest. Such a strange way to sleep, Katie thought. But she clearly had other things to worry about besides Whitney’s sleeping position.
Katie instinctively grabbed her cell phone to use as a flashlight. She turned it on and felt a little better just seeing its familiar soft blue glow. She held it up and tilted it a bit to look around. The dolls were just sitting there like they’d been before, all along the edges of the room, but the light from the cell phone made their faces look even creepier. Their mouths weren’t moving, but she was suddenly sure it was the dolls that were chanting her name.
She couldn’t say how; she just knew. And she was frozen with fear.
Then the single word Katie turned into a full sentence. It was unmistakable.
The sentence was this: Katie, get out!
And again. Katie, get out! Katie, get out!
A scream froze in Katie’s throat, like in a dream. When she finally tried hard and started to scream, she stopped herself. The dolls were making themselves crystal clear. They didn’t want her there. Who knew what they would do if she were to scream?
So she lay back down and closed her eyes and did not move a muscle. In other words, she played dead. Like a possum. A terrified possum.
Katie used the same thoughts as before to talk herself down. The chanting had stopped. But she’d started her own chant in her head: Your imaginatio
n runs away with you. You get a little carried away. You had too much sugar today. A figment of your imagination. Never any ghosts or burglars. Your imagination runs away with you. You get a little carried away. You had too much sugar today. A figment of your imagination …
Or, she realized, using all her powers of reasoning, you were dreaming. She must have been. It had been a dream. It had just seemed so real, the way dreams do.
When she was younger, her dad had explained to her that dreams come from the subconscious. While you sleep, your brain doesn’t just turn off. Things that happened during the day—things you saw, heard, and felt—can find their way into your dream in strange ways. She understood that her mind created all her dreams, and that anything could happen in a dream. And it often seemed real. Sometimes it seemed realer than real: like, superreal.
At the breakfast table, her parents would always ask her, “Did you have any dreams last night?” She’d describe a dream and ask her parents what they thought it meant. They’d never answer. They’d only ask more questions, like, “What do you think it meant?” or “What did it mean to you?” which was kind of annoying because sometimes she had absolutely no idea.
Being a therapist and a psychology professor, her parents sure loved to talk about dreams. Katie decided a little self-therapy was in order. Okay, what was that all about? She tried to think very logically. What questions would her parents ask her?
They might say something like, Tell us more about how you felt about the dolls when you first saw them.
She answered the pretend question. I thought they were weird. But it really seemed like Whitney thought they were her friends. I thought it was kind of babyish.
She lay there for a minute until another thought popped up. But actually, I wish I had more friends.
And there she was, having a pretend conversation with her parents:
Dad: You wish you had more friends. You’ve been lonely since Amy moved.
Katie: Yeah, and Whitney must be lonely too, being the new girl. So she pretends her dolls are her friends. I guess it’s not such a bad idea.
Dad: And the dolls were telling you to get out.
Katie: Yes. And it was so real and so creepy!
Mom: So it was like you weren’t welcome, even in the house of your new friend.
Katie: Um, that’s an understatement. I was totally unwelcome. They said “get out” like they were zombies and wanted to keep me away from Whitney. And she’s basically my only friend so far in seventh grade.
Mom: It would be really bad if something stopped you from making a new friend, wouldn’t it?
Katie: Totally.
Dad: It seems like that’s what was happening in your dream. If the zombie dolls were telling you to leave, you wouldn’t be able to go to Whitney’s house again, right? You couldn’t make a new friend. You’d stay lonely. Kind of the worst-case scenario.
Katie: Totally.
Mom: You’ve been really worried that you wouldn’t make a new friend after Amy moved. But you’ve been so brave, trying to make a new friend. It’s been a rough week, but you’ve hung in there. And now, when your guard is down, in your sleep, your anxiety is catching up with you.
Dad: Right, in your dream.
Katie had to admit, she was impressed with this improvised exercise. Maybe she should be a therapist like her mom. She felt so much better!
Okay, she told herself. It was definitely a dream. Dad is right. Our brains are amazing. She zipped up her sleeping bag a little more, so she would feel more protected as she went to sleep. She felt much better and more relaxed after her little pretend therapy session, but it felt good to control the zipper. Her sleeping bag was like a safe pouch, and if she zipped it up as much as she could, she knew she would sleep better. She actually tried zipping it completely so that no part of her would be exposed, but she thought she might suffocate. So she unzipped it enough to breathe. And finally, she slept a dreamless sleep.
When she opened her eyes, the room was bright. For a minute she couldn’t remember where she was. But the first thing her eyes focused on were the dolls, which were actually pretty close to her, since she was sleeping on the floor. They sat motionless and stiff against the wall, exactly as they had when Katie first entered the room. There was Penelope, there was Irene, there was Veronica. She was at Whitney’s house, she’d slept over, and she’d had a bad dream, but she was okay.
As she slowly awoke, her dream came back to her in bits and pieces. She remembered the dolls chanting, and she certainly remembered being scared. But it all seemed so silly now, and as she tried to recall the details of the dream, she felt them slipping through her fingers as if she were clutching a handful of sand.
She looked up at Whitney’s bed, which was empty. Whitney must already be downstairs. Katie heard what she thought of as “morning kitchen sounds”: the refrigerator opening and closing, plates and silverware clinking, water running, cabinets opening and closing, people moving around.
Now that she was older, she was sleeping later, and usually her parents were up before she was. She liked being home and waking up and hearing morning kitchen sounds. She always looked forward to going down to the breakfast table, where she knew something good would be waiting. She had even tasted coffee for the first time this summer, a sip from her mom’s mug, but she couldn’t believe how bad it tasted. Her parents had laughed and told her it was an acquired taste.
“That’s what you say about everything that tastes bad!” Katie had groaned as she rolled her eyes. After that, she decided to stick with her tried-and-true favorite, chocolate soy milk.
Whitney and her dad must be eating breakfast. I wonder where her mom is, Katie thought. Maybe her parents are divorced. Most kids Katie knew whose parents were divorced lived with their moms, though. Usually their dads lived nearby. But even so, even if her parents were divorced and Whitney lived with her dad, Whitney didn’t talk about her mom. She barely acknowledged her father, either. Was her mother dead? Katie knew a few kids who had lost a parent. It seemed like the worst thing that could ever happen. Katie thought she’d ask Whitney about it, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to do it. Just asking, “Where’s your mom?” seemed kind of blunt.
Speaking of dads, hers was supposed to come at noon, and it was nine fifteen. She went downstairs, realizing she hadn’t even seen the rest of the house. She and Whitney had spent the whole time in Whitney’s room. She didn’t even know where the kitchen was. But then she heard Whitney and her dad talking, and followed the sounds. She slowed down a little bit, suddenly curious to hear. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help it.
“You always do that,” Whitney was saying. “And it really upsets me. You upset me just like Mommy used to.”
What does he always do? Katie wondered.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Whitney’s dad said softly. “I’ll try not to do it anymore.”
“You’ll try not to do it, or you won’t do it? They’re two very different things.”
“I won’t do it,” her dad said, almost like a little kid. Wow, that was kinda harsh, Katie thought. She walked into the room as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Whitney was fully dressed. She sat at the kitchen table, reading the back of a cereal box and calmly eating a bowl of cereal and milk. Her dad had already left the room.
“Hi,” Whitney said loudly, and she smiled widely. In the morning light her light eyes looked piercing. Her skin looked so light in the bright kitchen it was almost see-through, and she sat up straight and stiffly … as stiffly as the dolls in her room.
With one big whoosh, all the talking down that Katie had done on herself after the “dream” was wiped out. She just knew it had not been a dream. It had been real. Those dolls were so creepy … and so was Whitney, with her crazy blue eyes and her old-fashioned room and her porcelain skin and her too-loud voice and her nightgown and her long silences and her peeled grapes and the way she spoke to her dad.
“Good morning! There’s cereal here for you,
” Whitney said as if she were working at the front desk at a hotel and Katie was a customer. Whitney was acting too much like everything was fine, as if she were trying to convince Katie of something.
Katie had a gut feeling that she had to get out. Just like the dolls had told her. Like, immediately. She didn’t say a word. She ran upstairs as if being chased, got dressed as fast as she could, rolled up her sleeping bag, and shoved her pajamas into her backpack. She bolted out of the house without going into the kitchen to say good-bye. Once outside, she ran down the driveway and called her dad from her cell phone, saying to pick her up on the corner of Whitney’s street, Alabaster Way, as fast as he could.
She stood close to the street sign so her dad would see her. Alabaster Way. What kind of a street name was that? It sounded like the name of a ghost.
Katie had never been happier to see her dad’s car. Or her dad, for that matter.
“Kookaburra!” he said when she got in. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I really don’t know where to start,” Katie said, still shaky but feeling better already as the car started moving. She suddenly loved the inside of the car, and she suddenly loved driving with her dad. She could drive with him all day.
“Well, why don’t you start at the beginning?” her dad said with a grin. “A very good place to start.”
Katie took a deep breath. “When I got there, I noticed all her dolls. She has a million dolls, the old-fashioned kind. And she wanted to play with them, which I thought was weird and babyish. But I went along with it.”
“Right,” her dad said. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right?”
“That’s kind of what I thought,” Katie said. “And the rest of the time was okay. It was pretty fun. We drew pictures with these cool glitter pens, and her dad brought us food on a tray. We played a word game before we fell asleep. But then I thought I heard the dolls chanting my name.”
“Chanting your name?” her dad said. Now she really had his attention. “Out loud?”
