January Dreams

by Carrigan Richards

  “I’m so excited that you’re here.” She smiles.

  “Me too.”

  The storm cleared, for now, but the cool breeze moving the wispy clouds above creeps me out. It feels like an Edgar Allan Poe story. It doesn’t help that there is some weird slasher movie music playing. I try to ignore the chill that comes over me as we wait in line to enter the haunted house. I can’t remember the last time I went to one. Mom’s not big on letting me experience much, if anything. She says a lot of things are a waste of time and there’s no point. Didn’t she ever want to do things like this when she was a kid?

  We slowly enter the tunnels of Sloss furnace, and of course, one lone orange light shines. Weaving our way through the creaking iron tunnels, we’re surrounded by iron towers and boilers that was once the reason for the city’s nickname, the iron city.

  We walk down the stairs to enter the underground tunnel. It’s dark. I can’t see my hand in front of my face, but there are black lights every few feet. Flashing strobe lights. Every so often, we hear someone screaming. Male and female. Cherry and I hold on to each other as we wait for something to grab us or someone to jump out. Adrenaline courses through my veins.

  A skeleton falls from the ceiling. Cherry screams.

  I giggle.

  “You just wait,” she whispers.

  Chills reach my neck.

  We reach a room where a corpse lies on a table and a woman dissects him with a knife. She looks up, blood running down her chin, and eyes that glow. “Are you next, pretty girl?”

  Cherry rushes me along.

  I know it’s a haunted house, but I can’t get over the feeling that someone is following me. Glancing behind me, I see a shadow and gasp.

  “What?” Cherry asks.

  I look again and see nothing. “Nothing,” I tell her, but I speed her along.

  People jump out. Blood splatters the walls. But I’m ready to get out. Every time I glance back, I see him. It feels like the same man who tried to chase me down in my dreams. My pulse edges higher. I hate this feeling, and I hate how much the dream keeps flashing in my head.

  I’m ready to leave.

  “Stop pushing me,” Cherry says.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “It’s okay, Megan. It’s all fake.”

  I take a deep breath and keep going.

  A man jumps out with a knife and both Cherry and I scream. He moves toward us; his dark eyes send an uneasy feeling over me. But then I recognize him.

  “Vincent?”

  He relaxes his face. “Megan, right?”

  Cherry playfully punches him. “Omigod you scared us.”

  “I should be sorry, but I’m not. Means I’m doing a good job.”

  “You should get a raise,” Cherry says. “How’d you get this gig?”

  He shrugs. “Just signed up.”

  “Can you take a break?”

  “I’m not supposed to, but I can. Why?”

  “This one’s freaking out.” She jerks her thumb at me.

  I throw her a glare. Way to make me look good.

  Vincent gives a soft laugh. He seems more relaxed here than when I first met him. I like that. “I could walk with you.” His smile sends my stomach to do flips.

  Cherry ends up walking ahead of us, and I feel completely awkward and nervous. I wasn’t prepared for this.

  “You look cute, by the way,” he says.

  “Oh, thanks. It was Cherry’s idea.”

  “I like it.”

  We’re quiet for a little bit as we continue through the tunnels. Something crashes down in front of Vincent and me and I scream, clutching onto his arm. He’s patient and doesn’t let it deter him.

  Once my heart returns to normal, I thank him.

  “It’s okay. This isn’t your thing, is it?”

  “No, I love Halloween. I’ve just…” I shake my head, not wanting to bore him with my problems.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve just been having scary dreams lately.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “Cherry says I should write them down for a story.”

  “You write?”

  “Yeah sometimes.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  He walks me to a certain point in the tunnel and stops. “I should head back, but you’re at the end.” He grips the back of his neck.

  “What? What is it?”

  “There’s a really scary guy in chains that will chase you.” As he says this, I can hear Cherry’s blood curdling scream. Vincent laughs. “You’ll be just fine.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Guess I should get this over with.”

  “Gary’s cool. He just scares the crap out of people.”

  “Good to know.”

  “See, ya Megan.”

  I take a deep breath and use the adrenaline of talking to Vincent to propel me out of the haunted house. Gary doesn’t fail. Covered in chains with a bloody disfigured face, he chases after me until I run into Cherry’s arms.

  We laugh.

  “Thanks for convincing me to come out tonight,” I tell her.

  “Anytime. And you got to see Vincent.”

  My lips stretch into a huge grin.

  Chapter Four

  A constant beep sounds in my head. It’s so annoying and I can’t end it. It grates on my nerves. I can’t shut it off.

  “Megan.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Megan, turn off the alarm.”

  My eyes jolt open and I try to adjust. Mom hovers over me, her eyes staring into mine with a heated glare. She’s seething and her arms are crossed.

  I reach over onto my nightstand and shut off the irritating beep. My heart slows down after almost jumping out of my chest.

  “I wish you wouldn’t let that go off for thirty minutes straight.” Her voice is loud, especially in the morning.

  “Sorry. I didn’t hear it.”

  Mom sighs and leaves the room. Like me, she’s also very cranky in the mornings.

  At least I remembered to set it this time.

  The grey morning light bleeds through my blinds. Savannah slowly worms her way out from under the covers, looking as sleepy as I feel.

  I had another dream about Casper. Madly in love and on the run. What is going on? I don’t like the guy. Yeah, he looks good, but that doesn’t mean I have to dream about him like I’m in love with him. Maybe my mind really is giving me a story to write. I rub my face and slip out from under the warm covers. Okay, I know it was only a dream, but it felt real. Too real. Or maybe I’m delusional and unaware of how much.

  I arrive at school still stupefied.

  “Good morning.” Cherry smiles. She usually greets me the same way every morning—very cheerful and way too energetic. This is where we are opposites. Cherry can wake up before her alarm, whereas for me, sometimes it takes my mother yelling and screaming at me to wake up to turn the damn thing off. I can’t help that I’m a deep sleeper.

  “Morning.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

  I shrug, not looking at her.

  “Did your parents find out about last night?”

  I shake my head. I look up to tell her, but my eyes catch Casper’s, who watches me as he walks by. He furrows his eyebrows like he’s frustrated. Why is he looking at me like that? And why the hell is my heart pounding like a freaking animal stampede?

  “Is there something I don’t know?” Cherry raises her eyebrows and puts a hand on her hip.

  “Eww, no.”

  “Are you sure? Because it just got really hot in here.” She fans herself.

  I roll my eyes. “I had another dream, Cher. We’re in love. It’s so bizarre and it feels real.”

  “Okay. I think your secret crush has seriously gone into a full overdrive.”

  I give her a pointed look. “I don’t have a secret crush on him.”

  “Tell that to your subconscious.” She says, scrolling on her phone. �
�It’s okay. It was a dream. It’s not like you’re going to actually fall in love with the Douchebag.”

  She’s right. I’m overreacting, but it’s a strange coincidence that I’ve had two dreams about him and he’s staring at me like he’s in love.

  When the final bell of the day rings, I flee to my locker, as fast as the thick crowd allows me. I pull out my backpack and a folded piece of paper falls out. Probably a note from Cherry. I shove it in my pocket, grab the books I need, and close my locker. Walking out to my car, I open the note.

  I can’t explain it, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Call me. Casper.

  I roll my eyes and sigh. Oh, clever girl, Cherry. Clever. I’ll get her back somehow.

  I get home and release my dogs into the wooded backyard so they can play. They rush past me almost knocking me over like I’m nothing but a vase. I watch them wrestle with each other, knowing the dropping temperatures make them frisky. Except Savannah. Little delicate Savannah. It’s like in the high fifties and she holds up her tiny paw like the ground is too cold. I pick her up and she snuggles close to me, shaking.

  I’m off from work tonight, thankfully, but I have to cook dinner before I start my homework. I’m not supposed to talk on the phone as a stipulation of the grounding, but I have time before my parents come home so I call Cherry.

  “Very funny.”

  “What?” she answers as innocently as she can.

  “You did a good job with the crappy handwriting so that it looks like Casper wrote it. Good job. Just wait for payback.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You can stop. It was funny, but come on, don’t drag it out like you usually do.”

  “Meg, seriously, what are you talking about?”

  “The note you left in my locker.”

  “I didn’t leave a note.”

  “Then who did? Did you get someone to drop it in?”

  “No. It wasn’t me, geez. What does it say?”

  I read her the note.

  She gasps. “Omigod. He left his number. Is it really his?”

  “He overheard us talking about those stupid dreams and he’s playing a cruel joke.” I pause a minute. “You didn’t tell anyone about my dream, did you?”

  “Yeah, I told the entire school. What do you think?” she asks, sarcastically, and obviously, a bit offended.

  “Sorry. What if he overheard me and now, he’s messing with me?”

  “I doubt anyone listens to us. Maybe he’s finally realized what a fox you are and can’t keep his eyes off you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think guys like him would go for this pastiness,” I joke, and she laughs. “Besides, I’m not going to be one of his conquests. He’d be the last person I’d date.”

  “Good. You can do so much better. Like Vincent.”

  Hearing his name does funny things to me. “I never see him. How can I get to know him?”

  “Maybe you need to visit the office more. Get his number…” her voice trails off.

  “Oh, like you have with Luke?”

  “Love takes time,” she laments.

  “What should I do about this note?”

  “Ignore it. Or call the number and see who answers.”

  “No. I’m not going to call and relive humiliation. Remember in fifth grade when Maggie wrote all those letters and cards saying they were from Casper? Casper pretended to like me and asked me out only as a joke.”

  “I know. Throw it away. If it really is from Casper, you know it’s not good.”

  “True.”

  I hear the hum of the garage door opening.

  “I gotta go. See ya tomorrow.” I hang up, let my dogs in, and run down the hall to my room. I open my backpack, pull out whatever book I grab first, and pretend to be studying. Seeing as it’s only 4:30, I assume it’s my stepdad. I cringe when I hear his stupid stomping on the hardwood floors, and he stops in my doorway and greets me happily.

  “Hello,” I nonchalantly answer, without looking up.

  “What are you so mopey about?”

  Certainly not the fact that I’m grounded. “Nothing.”

  A few seconds pass.

  “Aren’t you going to ask about my day?”

  I sigh internally. “How was your day?”

  “It was good. I made some sales and picked up a few new clients.”

  “Good.”

  I relax once he leaves.

  Ron has been my stepdad for five years, but it’s felt like an eternity. I honestly try to get along with him, but it’s so difficult. He forces us to have a civil chat every day or small talk. It’s all fake, at least from my side. I have no respect for the guy since he treats Jonathan, my brother, and me like crap and Mom like a queen.

  I hear Ron’s loud footsteps as he approaches my room again. “You know you’re cooking dinner tonight, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I groan and finally look at him. I hate the way his brown eyes bug out, like any second they’re going to fall out of their sockets. He’s short with a beer gut, but swears to my mom he never drinks anymore, but you can’t hide the smell of alcohol. He even lies to her about smoking. When my mom caught him smoking, he told her it wasn’t his cigarette. He had just picked it up from someone who threw it out from a passing car.

  He repulses me, which only fuels my hatred for him more. I’m not a hateful person, but Ron makes my life a living hell.

  “Don’t you think you need to get started?” he asks.

  “I’m going to finish this chapter and then start.”

  “Your mom will be home soon, so you should get started on it now.”

  I clench my teeth, trying my best to hold in the anger. I don’t want another month added to my grounding. “Okay,” I finally say, and he stomps to the living room at the front of the house.

  I hate the way he walks. I don’t get why he has to walk so hard that it sometimes rattles the windows. Then again, I’m sure his chunky body doesn’t help.

  I slam my book shut and go to the kitchen. I drag out a pot and ingredients for chili. I’m surprised they aren’t going out to eat and leave Jonathan and me to fend for ourselves. I started cooking when I was eleven and I hate it. Probably because anytime I try to experiment, my parents won’t eat it. That and I hate cooking in this ancient kitchen. Only two eyes work on the stove, and of course, they are the two small ones. The sink is the size of a Dutch oven and there isn’t a dishwasher. But according to Ron, Jonathan and I are the dishwashers. God forbid he lift a finger. And there is a random bathroom that Ron uses as a storage closet.

  The house belongs to Ron’s parents, but they let us live in it. It’s a dated house, built in the early 1900’s, and while I like old things, it does have several disadvantages. Like how cold it gets in the winter.

  Before Mom, Jonathan, and I moved in, the place looked like a bachelor pad. Mom arranged the millions of antiques they both had, repainted, and decorated the place. Yes, Jonathan and I had a hand in those repairs. Jonathan and I don’t mind doing chores so much, it’s the way our parents make us. I’ll never forget Ron actually referring to us as their slaves.

  That’s why I have to get out of here, and the only way I can is to focus on school. So far, I’m right on track with grades. I’m counting down: a year and a half. I just hope these stupid dreams go away.

  I finish cooking the chili, and everyone grabs a bowl and we sit at the table tonight. Mom must have read something that convinced her we’ll be a closer family if we eat at the table and talk about our days. They don’t really want to hear about mine or Jonathan’s days though. We’re teenagers. What struggles can we possibly have? We’re lazy, moody people who don’t do anything but stay glued to our phones or computers. She puts on classical music in the background and no one really talks. Just the sounds of spoons hitting bowls.

  Jonathan’s cell phone rings and he quickly silences it.

  Mom clears her throat.

  “Sorry,” Jonathan says. “It was Dad.
”

  Mom makes a disappointed sound. If it were me with the cell phone at the table, she’d have grounded me. But Jonathan is her baby. He even got her looks. Same brown eyes and same shade of reddish-brown hair.

  “Probably calling to make fun of your mother?” Ron says, and I clench my teeth. Dad doesn’t say a word about Mom, but they always talk about Dad. It’s infuriating. Jonathan tolerates Ron more than I do. Ron wanted us to start calling him “Dad,” shortly after he and Mom married, but I refused. Jonathan did for a while, which upset me, but he doesn’t anymore.

  “I just hope he sends that child support check,” Mom says. “If he doesn’t, I’m going to call my lawyer.”

  “Mom.”

  “Megan, if he can afford a new family, he can afford to pay for you and Jonathan.”

  You mean pay for your car. I know that’s what she uses the money for.

  Once dinner’s over, I flee to my room to do homework and grumble at the silence. I always listen to music, but Mom took all my music away, like always, when I’m grounded. She knows how much I love music and I guess she loves torturing me.

  Savannah shifts under the blanket on my bed and lets out a long sigh.

  “I hear ya,” I tell her.

  My door opens and Jonathan slips inside and closes it. He hands me his phone. “It’s Dad.”

  “Hey Dad,” I whisper. Jonathan acts like a lookout by the door, listening for footsteps. The things we do for each other.

  “Hey,” Dad says. “Why are you grounded this time?”

  “I can’t even remember.”

  “They shouldn’t have taken your phone away or ground you from talking to me.”

  “You know how ridiculous they are.”

  “That’s not right. Let me talk to your mother.”

  “No, it’s okay.” We talk for a few minutes. He tells me about work and Kimberly, my stepmom, and Olivia, my half-sister. She is three and cute as a button. I hardly see them since they are in Atlanta and I’m not allowed to drive there alone at my age. It’s only three hours away. I’m pretty capable of driving the distance. I don’t text and drive. I know I’ve only had my license for about six months, but I miss them like crazy. My dad always treats me like I’m a person. I can’t remember the last time Mom and I actually sat down and had a conversation. He tells me Olivia keeps asking about me, which makes me feel guilty.