The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,4

passing the quiet houses on either side, until he reached the wooded area on the left that dropped away from the road. A battered silver guardrail hugged the sharp curve—the “edge” part of Edgehill Road. From there, a long, covered staircase descended the steep wooded hill to the college’s athletic fields at the bottom.

At the end of the guardrail, Timothy came upon the entrance to the stairs. The bluffs across the river looked as sullen and cold as Timothy felt, the clouds above darkening in papier-mâché strips. The only color Timothy could see came from inside the stairs’ graffiti-covered walls.

The staircase had been nicknamed the Dragon Stairs by students and faculty who lived off campus in Timothy’s neighborhood. Several years ago, someone had painted an immense Chinese dragon onto one wall, stretching from the bottom stair to the top, where its swirling eyes rolled back into its head as if in the throes of a terrible dream. Timothy thought the dragon was cool, but its eyes were creepy. He felt like he might fall into them and keep falling forever. It was an irrational fear, like in nightmares, the way everyday objects can instantly become ominous. Stuart teased him about it, pretending to chortle in the dragon’s high-pitched voice, telling Timothy, “I’m going to eat you up.” Then they’d laugh together, turn up Beech Nut Street, and race home.

Now, at the top of the stairs, the monster’s black-and-white pinwheel pupils reminded Timothy of the thing that had been watching him from inside the jar back in Mr. Crane’s classroom. He suddenly found himself thinking about the new girl, Abigail Tremens, who would be his project partner during the field trip to the museum tomorrow. In his head, Timothy could see Abigail’s eyes boring into his own, only now, instead of brown, they had turned the black and white of the Chinese dragon. Stay away from me, they growled.

Timothy shook his head and turned away.

Why had she been so angry? he wondered.

Maybe invisible things don’t like being seen.

Timothy was nearly soaked by the time he reached the front porch of his small gray house. He thought of the last time he walked home alone from school. Last week, when Stuart was at a doctor’s appointment, Timothy had found a big black car parked in his driveway. Inside, the men in uniforms had already told his mother about Ben’s injuries.

Today there was no car. Timothy brushed a drip of water from his forehead. A cough came from the house next door. He didn’t even need to look to know that Stuart was watching him. He took a deep breath and turned around, ready to confront his best friend, once more hoping they could just laugh it off the way they usually did.

But Stuart had already gone. The slam of the screen door rang out across their shared yard. The Chens’ front porch was empty. Unless Stuart had figured out a way to become invisible himself, he wasn’t there, wasn’t watching.

4.

Inside, Timothy ripped off his wet jacket and threw it over the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Then he dropped his bag onto the wooden bench in the hallway. Timothy noticed his mother standing in the kitchen down the hall, leaning her head against the cabinet next to the sink. “Hi, Mom,” he called. “Guess what?” He waited for her to turn around, but she didn’t, so he continued, “I saw a girl light her foot on fire today.”

“That’s nice, honey” was his mother’s muffled reply. A few seconds later, when she did turn around, her face was drawn. “I’m going to make dinner,” she said. “Your father should be home soon.” She looked older than usual and terribly sad.

“Mom?” Timothy tried again. She turned on the sink. “When can we talk to people about what happened to Ben?”

“Soon, honey.” She turned away from him. “When we know a little more about …” She washed her hands.

“About what?” he asked cautiously. He waited and waited, but the only answer that came from the kitchen was the sound of clinking dishes.

Later that night, when Timothy was in bed, through the wall, he could hear his parents arguing. Outside, the wind had blown away the clouds, so the moon shone brightly onto his quilt. The house rocked against a particularly powerful gust.

His parents were talking about Ben. Timothy was upset that they had each other to confide in but he had no one. And when he tried to talk to them about it,