‘Sounds like she’s in the kitchen but why is she awake and out of bed at this hour?’
She screams again, calling my name. ‘She needs me.’ I spring from my bed, confused. Scared.
Pausing at the threshold to my room, I look left. Mom’s door is open. I look right and see what appears to be the dim flicker of candlelight emanating from downstairs.
As I pass the hall closet, Mom’s hand grabs mine, pulling me in, whispering, “That was not me.”
