Read Online Cursed Be the Child by Mort Castle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mort Castle
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filling his mind from one waking minute to the next. As for the drinking, well, in those dreadful drinking days, Warren had been married to the bottle, and he had been a faithful husband.
“I love you, Vicki.”
“I love hearing you say that,” she whispered. Then, knowing she had never before said anything more truthful in her life, she said, “I love you.”
She marched up the front stairs. One-two-three…Four-five-six! She stepped onto the porch and went to the front door of the house.
Missy was dreaming, and she knew it. She was inside and outside the dream. She had had dreams like this before. Sometimes they were scary and sometimes they were fun, and sometimes even after she woke up, she kind of thought what had happened in the dream was real.
Like when she dreamed she could fly. The secret was, if you got running a special way, and you breathed a special way, and you didn’t take your eyes off what was straight ahead, not even a flicker to either side, and then you held out your arms just right… Wow, you could fly!
That’s how it was in the flying dream, anyway. When she woke up, it was so real she had to try it. What happened was she ran and ran, squinting to keep her eyes straight ahead, and she kept on running until her eyes burned and the wind stung the tears on her cheeks and her side hurt so bad she thought she was going to burst. Then she fell down and ripped her jeans.
She didn’t know if she was crying because her knees hurt so much or because she would never ever fly.
But that was when she was little. She was only in kindergarten then. Now she was in second grade. She knew what was real and what was not.
And this house in her dream was real. It was the real house she lived in. “My name is Melissa Barringer, and I live at 1302 Main Street, Grove Corner, Illinois. Zip Code: 60412.” That was something you had to know.
All by itself, the front door slowly opened.
She walked into the living room. This was her house—but it wasn’t. That was how it worked in dreams sometimes. The living room was big, much bigger than it really was. It was gigantic. There was no furniture.
Instead, there was a tall mirror. It was the trick kind with wavy glass.
But there was something weird about the trick mirror. When you stood in front of it, you were supposed to see yourself. Sure, you’d look different, maybe all squashed down or stretched out like toothpaste squeezed out of the tube. You were supposed to see a goofy you—and not someone else.
But I don’t see myself in the mirror, she thought.
Yes, you do.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Lisette in-the-mirror. “I live here. This is my house. This is where I belong.”
This is where I belong.
Was Lisette being a snot? You know, repeating what she said. Oh, it didn’t matter. This was just a dream.
But now she knew it wasn’t going to be a fun dream.
Then Lisette held out her hands.
Missy took them. She didn’t want to, but she knew in dreams you sometimes have to do what you don’t want to do. She wasn’t sure if she pulled Lisette out of the mirror or if Lisette pulled her into it.
Lisette was gone.
No!
Oh, this was very scary. It was she herself who was gone. Now she just…wasn’t.
I am.
No!
Mom! Dad!
She called and called and no one came.
She was not in the living room, not anymore.
She was downstairs in the basement.
But it wasn’t the basement with the sofa and the television and the paneling on the wall. This wasn’t the real basement.
But, oh, this basement did feel real, awful and real, and it was cold, and it had a hard concrete floor and it smelled like wet coal.
And she had no clothes on.
Mom! Please, Mom, come get me. I don’t want to be here. I’m alone. I’m so alone. Mom!
Mama can’t come.
Dad! Dad!
She saw him on the wooden stairs. “I hear you, I hear you…”
Dad was here, and everything was okay.
But then she was scared all over again. She was scared worse. Dad’s face
“I love you, Vicki.”
“I love hearing you say that,” she whispered. Then, knowing she had never before said anything more truthful in her life, she said, “I love you.”
She marched up the front stairs. One-two-three…Four-five-six! She stepped onto the porch and went to the front door of the house.
Missy was dreaming, and she knew it. She was inside and outside the dream. She had had dreams like this before. Sometimes they were scary and sometimes they were fun, and sometimes even after she woke up, she kind of thought what had happened in the dream was real.
Like when she dreamed she could fly. The secret was, if you got running a special way, and you breathed a special way, and you didn’t take your eyes off what was straight ahead, not even a flicker to either side, and then you held out your arms just right… Wow, you could fly!
That’s how it was in the flying dream, anyway. When she woke up, it was so real she had to try it. What happened was she ran and ran, squinting to keep her eyes straight ahead, and she kept on running until her eyes burned and the wind stung the tears on her cheeks and her side hurt so bad she thought she was going to burst. Then she fell down and ripped her jeans.
She didn’t know if she was crying because her knees hurt so much or because she would never ever fly.
But that was when she was little. She was only in kindergarten then. Now she was in second grade. She knew what was real and what was not.
And this house in her dream was real. It was the real house she lived in. “My name is Melissa Barringer, and I live at 1302 Main Street, Grove Corner, Illinois. Zip Code: 60412.” That was something you had to know.
All by itself, the front door slowly opened.
She walked into the living room. This was her house—but it wasn’t. That was how it worked in dreams sometimes. The living room was big, much bigger than it really was. It was gigantic. There was no furniture.
Instead, there was a tall mirror. It was the trick kind with wavy glass.
But there was something weird about the trick mirror. When you stood in front of it, you were supposed to see yourself. Sure, you’d look different, maybe all squashed down or stretched out like toothpaste squeezed out of the tube. You were supposed to see a goofy you—and not someone else.
But I don’t see myself in the mirror, she thought.
Yes, you do.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Lisette in-the-mirror. “I live here. This is my house. This is where I belong.”
This is where I belong.
Was Lisette being a snot? You know, repeating what she said. Oh, it didn’t matter. This was just a dream.
But now she knew it wasn’t going to be a fun dream.
Then Lisette held out her hands.
Missy took them. She didn’t want to, but she knew in dreams you sometimes have to do what you don’t want to do. She wasn’t sure if she pulled Lisette out of the mirror or if Lisette pulled her into it.
Lisette was gone.
No!
Oh, this was very scary. It was she herself who was gone. Now she just…wasn’t.
I am.
No!
Mom! Dad!
She called and called and no one came.
She was not in the living room, not anymore.
She was downstairs in the basement.
But it wasn’t the basement with the sofa and the television and the paneling on the wall. This wasn’t the real basement.
But, oh, this basement did feel real, awful and real, and it was cold, and it had a hard concrete floor and it smelled like wet coal.
And she had no clothes on.
Mom! Please, Mom, come get me. I don’t want to be here. I’m alone. I’m so alone. Mom!
Mama can’t come.
Dad! Dad!
She saw him on the wooden stairs. “I hear you, I hear you…”
Dad was here, and everything was okay.
But then she was scared all over again. She was scared worse. Dad’s face
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