anything in particular.”
“I don’t understand!” I held out my hands, and Mum began putting cream on them.
“It’s a bit like your ghosts, darling. I’m sure you do see them, just as I believe that Aunt Maddy has visions.”
“Does that mean you believe I see ghosts but you don’t believe they really exist?” I cried indignantly, taking my hands away.
“I don’t know whether they really exist or not,” said Mum. “What I believe has nothing to do with it.”
“But if they didn’t exist, that would mean I was just imagining them. And that would mean I was crazy.”
“No,” said my mum. “It would only mean that … oh, darling, I don’t know what to say. Sometimes I get the feeling we have rather too much imagination in this family. I suppose we’d live more restful, happier lives if we stuck to believing what normal people believe.”
“I get the message,” I said. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a great idea to come out with my news tonight. Hey, Mum, we traveled back into the past this afternoon, me and my abnormal imagination.
“Don’t look so sad,” said Mum. “I know, I know, there are more things in heaven and earth and all that. But maybe we make them seem far too important the more we think about them. I don’t think you’re crazy. Or Aunt Maddy either. But be honest: do you imagine Aunt Maddy’s vision could have something to do with your own future?”
“Maybe.”
“You do? Are you planning to climb a clock tower sometime soon—sit on the clock and dangle your legs?”
“Of course not. But maybe it was a symbol.”
“Maybe,” said Mum. “Or maybe not. Go to sleep now, darling. You’ve had a long day.” She looked at the little clock on her bedside table. “Let’s hope it’s safely behind Charlotte by now. Oh, I do hope she’s finally done it.”
“But maybe Charlotte just has too much imagination as well,” I said. I stood up and gave Mum a kiss.
I’d try again tomorrow.
Maybe.
“Good night.”
“Good night, sweetie. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mum.”
When I’d closed my bedroom door behind me and climbed into bed, I felt guilty. I should have told my mother all about it. But what she said had made me think. Yeah, sure, I did have a big imagination, but daydreaming is one thing. Imagining you’re traveling through time is quite another.
People who imagined that kind of thing got psychiatric treatment. And they should, if you asked me. Maybe I was like those weirdos who claim to have been abducted by aliens. Completely out of my mind.
I switched off my bedside lamp and snuggled down under the duvet. Which was worse? Being crazy or actually traveling back in time?
Probably the second, I thought. Maybe you could take tablets for the first.
In the dark my fears came back. Once again I was wondering how far I would fall from here to the ground floor. So I switched the bedside light on again and turned my face to the wall. Hoping to get to sleep, I tried thinking of something harmless and soothing, but I just couldn’t do it. In the end I counted backward from a thousand.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I’d been dreaming of a big bird when I woke and sat up in bed, heart pounding.
There it was again, that horrible dizzy sensation in my stomach. I jumped out of bed in a panic and ran to Mum’s room as fast as my trembling legs would carry me. I didn’t care if she thought I was crazy—I just wanted it to stop. And I did not want to fall three floors down and land in a swamp!
I got no farther than the passage before I was swept off my feet. Convinced that my last hour had come, I squeezed my eyes shut. But I only fell on my knees with a bump, and the floor felt just like the familiar wooden floorboards. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. It was lighter now, as if the sun had risen in the last second. For a moment I hoped that nothing had happened. Then I saw that I had indeed landed in our corridor, but it looked different. The
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