I’m Not Supposed to Be in the Dark by Riss M. Neilson EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Riss M. Neilson
- Language: English
- Genre: Coming of Age Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Steps to keep away the dead (a family remedy):
1. Crush tea leaves
2. Add to cup of boiled water
3. Drink every single drop within thirty minutes
4. Repeat twice a day, every day … forever.
Except it doesn’t keep them out completely. Most nights when sleep finds
me, so do the spirits. They don’t interact with me, but I can see their
shadows lurking in the void space of my sleep. Mom says it was bad before
the tea. They would talk to you in your dreams, touch you, and worse: find
you while you were awake.
I’m not scared to dream, but she says I should be.
I put my cup on the windowsill and listen to the sounds of night while I
wait for Derek Johnson to come out of his house across the street. He’s late.
Twenty minutes past the time he’s been coming out the last couple weeks.
Maybe he’ll stay in. Maybe …
His front door opens.
Nerves steal my breath. I hide behind my blackout curtains to peek at
him through my binoculars. He’s wearing a yellow hoodie under a jean
jacket and sunglasses. Sunglasses with dark lenses, even though it’s night.
But stranger than that is what he does. How he stands on the top step, so
still and unmoving, for so many seconds I remind myself to breathe. When
he finally moves, he glides down the steps like a phantom, otherworldly, but
then he does something different. He walks over to the rosebush crawling
up the side of his house. It’s an everblooming rosebush that brushes his
bedroom window and has for well over a decade. He just stares at it.
I squint through the binoculars to get a good look. Maybe there’s an
animal hiding between the branches. Maybe something is wrong.
Minutes pass before he turns and walks across the lawn to the sidewalk
and up the street, fading into the distance and darkness as he goes.
My hands shake as I hang my binoculars and prepare for sleep. Not that
I want to. What I want is to find out where Derek goes on these late-night
adventures. Does he meet up with someone? There’s an urge in my body to
know, to find out, and it’s hard to quiet. Each night, I consider going after
him to see for myself, and the urge turns into a deep ache somewhere down
in my bones, in my marrow. I can’t pretend he doesn’t exist the way he
pretends I don’t exist, but I shouldn’t go after him. He’d catch me, I’m sure
of it. And I can’t ask him what’s going on because he won’t speak to me at
all. Not after he ended our friendship two years ago.
I try to bury the urge while scribbling in my journal, hoping the street
wakes to distract me. My neighbors usually give me something to write
about with their late-night arguments, the pit bulls barking from backyards
and their outdoor cats making hellish breeding sounds.
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