I woke in the dark, in a confused, drowsy fog. I could feel Mom's cool fingers grazing my forehead, as if to feel for a fever. I must have been making noises in my sleep. I didn't feel sick, hot, or cold, though. Just really, really tired.
"Mom, I'm ok. Lemme sleep."
Mom smoothed my hair back, and left a gentle goodnight kiss on my cheek.
"Ok, sweetie. Go back to sleep. It was probably just your allergies acting up because of the mess. The doctor will be here in the morning, just in case."
What? The doctor? Now I was awake. I was not sick. I did not have a lot of allergies any more. Why would a doctor come here? I don't think they even make house calls any more. And why did Mom sound so...
That wasn't Mom's voice. That wasn't Mom's voice! My eyes flew open. Having been asleep, I could see pretty well in the moonlight. No one was in my room. The door was closed. The things on my desk were arranged in tidy stacks. My shoes were lined up underneath. Next to my computer was my
was my
That was not my book.
I could barely make out the shiny lettering across the cover of the huge tome. "Holy Bible."
Holy crap!
That was not my book on the desk. That was not my Mom caressing my face. WHO HAD BEEN TOUCHING ME?
Ice shot down my back, and my stomach lurched. My skin tightened so rapidly that it hurt. Even the hair on my scalp stood up. My stomach hurt like I'd been sucker-punched. The tears flowed. I was no longer worried about acting grown-up. I was scared out of my gourd.
Too terrified to move, I pulled the blankets over me, covering everything but my eyes, and watched the mirror, waiting for something to come out of it. I kept thinking that I should bolt for the door. I had the impulse to bolt for the door, but my muscles would not obey. I now realize what it means to be frozen with fear. No matter how badly I wanted out of that room, I could not move!
I felt like I was going to puke. My breath came in short, shallow, hitching gasps. I felt light-headed.
The voice returned. "Settle down, dear. You'll give yourself an asthma attack."
That finished it. For a wide-eyed moment, I couldn't breathe at all. A wave of dizziness hit me, and darkness closed in on my vision like an old television being shut off in front of my face.
I woke later, as bright sunlight filled my room. I could hear birds chirping outside, and traffic driving by. Still in the same position with my covers entirely over my head and neck, I was feeling overheated. I was afraid to open my eyes, but I couldn't help it. I looked.
There was no scary, strange woman. There was no book. There was nothing. Only one thing prevented me from rationalizing the experience, convincing myself that it had been only a bad dream.
My room was totally clean.
My clothes were hanging in the open closet, or placed in the hamper. My papers and projects were neatly arranged on my desk and shelves. My beanbag was moved over to the wall. My shoes were still on the floor under the desk. My trash can was full of receipts and plastic packaging that had been sitting on the desk for months. My dresser drawers were closed. Nothing was hanging out of them. The same was true of my jewelry box. Even the things on my nightstand were moved so that everything was neatly squared away, with my alarm clock sitting beside the little lamp and facing me, my collecitble card game deck stacked beside it, and the unopened packages stacked next to that. Beside those were the pink ribbons I'd found in my hair yesterday... which I'd left downstairs in the family room, where I had pretended to be asleep on the couch.
In the bright morning sunlight, it seemed irrational to believe this. Maybe my room wasn't so messy after all, my mind said. Maybe I brought the ribbons up with me.
I knew better. My room hadn't been this clean since early childhood. I wanted to hide under the covers, but I couldn't. I had to pee, really really bad.
Stupid hot chocolate. It hadn't helped, anyway.
I braced myself, then shot out of the covers and bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind me as I fled to the bathroom.
****************************************************************
No one in my house noticed that I dressed in the bathroom instead of in my room, but Mom noticed the neatness the first time she came in. She was thrilled to pieces, clapped her hands, and gave me a huge hug. I didn't know what to say. I mean, what could I say, "No, Mom, it wasn't me. My room is haunted by an obsessive-compulsive boogieman?" She'd think I was smarting off, or joking. At best, if she took me seriously, she'd think I was crazy.
Was I?
I mean, really. Was I nuts? What kind of stupid haunt does nothing but take your temperature in the night and clean your room?
Oh, yeah... the temperature.
"Mom, did you come into my room last night and check my temperature?"
"No," she answered, with a slightly surprised and worried look. "Were you not feeling well last night?"
I shrugged it off, not wanting to make a big deal that would lead to more questions. "Nah, I must have been dreaming then. Probably about some time when I was sick or something. It just felt kind of real, is all."
That seemed to satisfy her. She said, "Well, your room looks terrific. I'm really proud that you decided to tidy up. What prompted it?"
Searching for some reasonable explanation why the messiest kid on the block would have a cleaning fit, my brain flew through possibilities that wouldn't work. I couldn't say I got tired of the mess, because then I'd have to keep up the neatness, and it just wasn't in me to do that. If I said I saw a spider, Mom would spray the house, and that would smell. I couldn't say I was bored. I don't get bored. I guess it goes with being a bibliophile. I have an endless supply of stories to remember. I can't get board.
I know...
"I couldn't find my sneakers, and I didn't want to wear my boots with these jeans."
Mom rolled her eyes. The explanation was sufficiently messy, girly, and childish to throw off the Mom sense. She bought it. I would not be committed to any institutions today.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
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