Bad Dreams (6 page)

I've blown it! she thought.

She had never lost a really big race before.

Could she still win? It was now or never.

Freestyle was her strongest stroke. But she had only two laps to catch up.

She felt as if she were skimming over the water. The shrill cheers and screams in the gym reached an even higher pitch. Nearing the far wall, Maggie passed Andrea—then Tiffany.

Maggie kept charging. She was swimming very close to the lane marker, but there was no time to straighten out now. She just had to hope that her hand didn't smack into the little lane markers, or she'd lose for sure.

Faster! Faster!

She pulled herself forward, churning through the
water with all her might. She was only inches behind Dawn now.

Only a few strokes left.

She pulled with all her might and stretched for the wall.

Her wet palm slapped the tiles—

And a split second later—

Dawn hit the wall.

Maggie was first.

Tiffany arrived a full second later.

And a stroke behind her—Andrea, who finished fourth.

Holding on to the wall with both hands and gasping for breath, Maggie gazed up at Coach Randall with a happy grin. The coach was studying her stopwatch and making notes on the clipboard.

“First place, Maggie Travers,” she called. Maggie didn't bother to listen to the rest, she just pushed off the wall into a lazy backstroke as she started to unwind.

Then she swam back and dragged herself out of the pool. After swimming so hard, her arms ached and her body felt like dead weight.

“Nice finish, Maggie,” Coach Randall told her, and smiled.

Maggie beamed. Compliments from Coach Randall were like gold.

“Next time I want to see you pick up the pace on your butterfly and backstroke,” the coach added.

She never let you have a pure compliment. There was always a catch.

“Whoa! Time out!” Dawn cried. She was out of
the pool now and charging over to Maggie and the coach. “There was interference! Didn't you see it? Maggie shoved the line right into me.”

“She didn't shove the line,” Coach Randall replied firmly. “Her wake pushed the line over.”

“Well, so what?” Dawn continued. “You're not going to allow that, are you?”

“Save it, Dawn,” Coach Randall replied sharply. “You came in second.”

Andrea picked up a towel and wrapped it around her broad shoulders. Maggie gave her a sympathetic glance. Andrea turned away.

Some congratulations!

Tiffany sat on the edge of the pool, kicking her feet in the water, shaking her head unhappily.

“Okay, girls,” Coach Randall said with a smile. “Let's not get down. That was just one race. We've got three more.”

Maggie glanced up to see Dawn glaring at her, breathing hard. “Dawn,” Maggie said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—”

“Of course not,” Dawn replied, rolling her eyes.

Maggie glimpsed Andrea watching them, obviously enjoying the argument.

“All right,” Coach Randall called to the girls in the bleachers. “Everyone in the pool!”

Maggie groaned. The race had been so intense. She had forgotten they still had an hour of practice!

By the time practice was over, Maggie was exhausted. Every muscle ached.

She took a really long shower.

Some girls talked excitedly about the practice and
the races. But Maggie dressed in silence, lost in her own thoughts.

She was the last one out of the locker room.

She walked out through the pool.

Most of the lights were off now. Maggie's eyes were still burning from the chlorine. They kept blurring, watering over.

So it wasn't until she got right up to the water that she saw the body floating facedown in the pool.

“D
awn!” Maggie shrieked.

In the middle of the pool Dawn's body was slowly drifting with the water's gentle movement.

Maggie hesitated for only a second. Then she dove into the water with all her clothes on.

Please—let me be in time! Maggie prayed. Please!

When she surfaced, Dawn was still several yards away.

Please—be alive! Be alive! Maggie prayed.

Dawn raised her head.

“Dawn!” Maggie gasped, swimming over and grabbing her.

Dawn's face twisted in surprise. “Let go,” she said, shoving Maggie away. “What's your problem?”

Maggie treaded water, staring at her in disbelief.
“My
problem? What do you think
you're
doing?”

Dawn blinked water from her eyes. “Practicing breath control, what do you think?”

“I—I thought you were dead!” Maggie stammered. She grabbed Dawn's arm again. It was hard to tread water with her clothes weighing her down.

Dawn laughed. “Dead?”

Maggie started laughing too, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment.

“I guess I got you,” Dawn said, splashing water at Maggie's head.

“You did this on purpose, didn't you!” Maggie demanded, splashing Dawn back.

Dawn backstroked out of Maggie's splashing range. “No way!” she insisted. “How was I supposed to know you'd be such a jerk! Look at you! You've got all your clothes on!”

Maggie reluctantly admitted to herself that it was pretty funny.

Dawn threw her head back, laughing. She had a contagious laugh, and soon Maggie felt herself losing it as well. The two girls laughed till they nearly cried, their voices echoing off the high tile ceiling.

Tuesday night. Maggie struggled to fall asleep.

Staring up at the canopy over her head, she tried to clear her mind, to relax her muscles, to relax—relax.

As her eyes closed, she felt a force pulling her down.

It was as if she were being dragged down into the darkness.

A darkness that became a swirling gray haze.

As the haze circled around her, she drifted lower. Down toward a square of pink.

Focus! Focus! The square of pink became a canopy on an old-fashioned four-poster.

Under the canopy, Maggie could hear someone in the bed. Someone moaning, “No—no—”

Maggie drifted down through the pink canopy. Into the bed.

She saw the girl, who was tossing fitfully beneath pink blankets.

The girl with the ash-blond hair.

Maggie knew she was dreaming, but somehow that made the dream twice as frightening.

It was cold in the room, but there were beads of sweat glistening on the girl's bare shoulders. She lay still now, her head turned away.

If only Maggie could see her face!

Maggie wanted to call to the girl to turn around. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.

This girl was in trouble. Maggie knew it.

And then she knew why. It came over her suddenly, like a shadow rolling across her body.

She and the girl were not alone. There was someone else in the room!

Maggie whirled. And saw—

The glint of a knife blade in the darkness!

Then all at once the darkness exploded violently as a figure leaped forward.

The blond girl tried to twist away. And her skull smacked against the headboard. Then the knife came slashing down through the air.

Maggie jerked so sharply in her sleep that she
woke herself up. She lay in her bed in the darkness, gasping in air, her heart thudding, her eyes still shut.

Just a dream, she told herself. Just a dream, just a dream, just a—

An image from the nightmare loomed in her mind. The pink canopy! The same pink canopy she saw when she opened her eyes. The canopy.
Her
canopy.

The girl in the dream was sleeping in
her
bed!

The realization made Maggie's heart start to pound even harder. What did it mean?

I'm just stressed out, she told herself, gripping the bed-sheet. I'm sleeping in a new bed. So I'm dreaming about it. That's all.

But then another frightening thought came to her—one she'd had before. Maybe the dream was a warning. Maybe her own subconscious mind was trying to warn her about something through the dream.

But what?
What?

She closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side, gazing at the window.

Only then did Maggie feel the presence of the intruder. Her eyes popped open. Her mouth contorted into a silent scream.

The girl stood blanketed in darkness next to Maggie's bed, staring straight down at her, straight down into her face.

With a desperate gasp, Maggie jerked backward, banging her head against the headboard. She couldn't get away.

The girl reached out to grab her.

M
aggie opened her mouth to scream.

“It's me, it's me, it's me!” the girl kept repeating in a desperate whisper.

Maggie stopped yelling and covered her mouth, her shoulders heaving.

The girl leaned closer, close enough for Maggie to see her face. “Andrea!”

“Are you okay?” Andrea's features showed her concern.

“Andrea!” Maggie murmured. “I keep thinking you're the one in the dream. I keep mistaking you—Why?”

Andrea squeezed Maggie's hand. “You're not making any sense. Get yourself together, Maggie. You're
scaring
me.”

“S-sorry,” Maggie stammered. She pulled herself up and shook her head as if trying to shake the dream away.

“You were moaning and making all these frightening cries,” Andrea whispered. “I thought I'd better wake you.”

Maggie swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry. She covered her face with her hands. “Wow.”

“Another nightmare?” Andrea asked, settling down on the edge of the bed.

“No,” Maggie replied through her hands. “Same one I had the other night. Only this time—”

“What?”

Maggie shut her eyes, picturing the dream again. “This time the girl got stabbed! It was so awful. She was being stabbed, and I—I couldn't do anything about it.”

“Who stabbed her?” Andrea asked.

“I don't know. I couldn't see.”

“It's like a horror movie,” Andrea said.

“Yeah. Only it's playing right in my head.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Not total silence. The rickety old house was full of quiet sounds—creaks and cracks.

“Did my cries wake you?” Maggie asked, her voice still shaky.

“Nah,” Andrea said. “I was up. I couldn't sleep. I went downstairs for a glass of water—and guess where Gus is sleeping?”

“Next to the rocking chair?”

Andrea nodded.

“Dumb old Gus,” Maggie murmured affectionately.

Officially, Gus was Maggie's dog. But really, Gus had been Mr. Travers's dog. Wherever Mr. Travers
was, that was where you'd find Gus, sleeping with his head on Mr. Travers's lap or feet.

Mr. Travers liked to read in the rocking chair at night, and so that was still Gus's favorite spot to snooze.

From somewhere in the house came the sound of something snapping. Maggie jumped.

“Relax, will you?” Andrea cried. “You're getting
me
scared.”

“I hate this house,” Maggie admitted suddenly.

“You're not the only one.”

“I feel like it's haunted.”

“Please,” Andrea begged. “I'll be up all night.”

“No, you won't. You're not the one having nightmares.”

“Maggie, you've got to calm down. Don't start losing it. It's only a dream.”

Maggie wasn't listening. In her head the dream started to replay itself. Something was bothering her—teasing at the edges of her memory.

What was it? What was she trying to picture? She couldn't quite get a hold on it.

Andrea stood up. She ran her finger down one of the bedposts. “See? I told you you should've let me have this bed. It's bad luck. And it's giving you nightmares.”

Maggie stared at her as if she hadn't heard. “The bed …” she said. That was it! She reached out and grabbed her sister's hand. “Andrea, you're right! The girl in the dream, the girl in trouble? She was sleeping in this bed!”