Blue Is for Nightmares by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page B
Authors: Laurie Faria Stolarz
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy, Juvenile Fiction, Magic, Fantasy & Magic, Witchcraft & Wicca, Witchcraft, Horror & Ghost Stories, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Schools, Body; Mind & Spirit, stalking, Extrasensory Perception, Bedtime & Dreams
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pot with my fingers, and then pour the mixture into the dream bag. I wait a few seconds for the candle to cool a bit, for the pool of liquid wax around the wick to solidify. Then I scoop the clump out and plant it inside the dream bag.
'And you said / had weird habits," Amber says.
I zip the bag back up and slide it into my pillowcase. "Repeat after me," I say, clasping their hands. "With the strength of the moon and stars and sun, as I do, it shall be done. Blessed be the way!"
Drea and Amber repeat the chant and we unclench hands. I lay down in bed and touch the silver chain around my neck, the sweet, flowery smell of rosemary lingering on my skin and the nubs of my fingers. "Good night," I say.
I pull the covers up to my chin and concentrate on the dream bag inside my pillow and the question inside, confidant that they will soon help reveal the truth behind my nightmares.
They have to.
Nine
Before I'm able to nod off to sleep, Amber announces she's crashing in our room, claiming that all my nightmare-talk has wigged her out. I'm nervous at first. It's hard enough trying to hide my bedwetting from Drea, never mind Amber, who'll be sleeping on a futon wedged in between our beds. But sleeping isn't even an issue because as soon as her head skims the pillow, Amber starts snoring--chestheaving, wide-mouthed, nostril-flaring snores.
When the alarm clock vibrates beneath my pillow, alerting me that it's 5 A.M., I sit up, fish a sweatshirt from the growing pile of dirty clothes on the floor, yank it over my head, and head out to the laundry room to retrieve my stuff.
The campus is still asleep as I make my way over there, but the woods are not. I can hear birds chirping away from the tops of trees and the nests of bushes as the morning dew lifts itself from trunks and branches and stretches out into the morning air. It's almost peaceful, almost worth getting up so early on a school day after not having slept all night. Almost.
When I get to the washroom, I'm filled with this delicious sense of peace, of being one with nature. But then I swing the door open and everything changes. There's no laundry in sight.
I hurry across the speckled linoleum floor to the machine I used last night. I hold my breath and flip the lid open.
Empty.
I begin flinging open and slamming shut the lids of all the other washers and dryers, hoping that maybe someone merely moved my stuff. But it's nowhere.
Someone must have taken it.
I pick up the campus phone on the wall and call security, thinking that maybe someone turned my laundry in to lostand-found. No luck. They ask me if I want to make a formal complaint, but considering how that would sound, I politely decline. I'm hoping someone just made an innocent mistake and grabbed my laundry by accident. Hoping that whoever that is doesn't recognize the stuff as mine.
When I get back to the dorm, it's 5:30, and Drea and Amber are still asleep. I crawl back into bed and drag a pillow over my ear. But it isn't enough to block out Amber's snoring, and it isn't enough to muffle the blare of the phone.
"Hello?" I say, dragging the receiver up to my ear. Silence.
"Hel-lo?" I repeat.
Still nothing, so I hang up.
"Who was it?" Drea asks, rolling over in bed.
"Probably that freakazoid you've been talking to. Who the hell is he, Drea? And why is he so psycho?"
Amber lets out this pain-filled moan. She scooches up in bed, her orange pigtails sticking out like Pippi Longstocking. "What's all the drama?"
The phone rings again. Drea goes to answer it, but Amber intercepts. "Hello? Drea and Stacey's Love Shack."
I have never seen anyone wake up so fast. There's already a wide and cheeky smile stretched across her freckly cheeks. "Queue coincidence, monsieur," she says into the phone. "We were just talking about you last night." She winks overtly at the two of us. "Funny you should call at this early hour, though. Couldn't sleep? Something keeping you up?"
"Who is it?" I mouth.
"It's Chad." She
'And you said / had weird habits," Amber says.
I zip the bag back up and slide it into my pillowcase. "Repeat after me," I say, clasping their hands. "With the strength of the moon and stars and sun, as I do, it shall be done. Blessed be the way!"
Drea and Amber repeat the chant and we unclench hands. I lay down in bed and touch the silver chain around my neck, the sweet, flowery smell of rosemary lingering on my skin and the nubs of my fingers. "Good night," I say.
I pull the covers up to my chin and concentrate on the dream bag inside my pillow and the question inside, confidant that they will soon help reveal the truth behind my nightmares.
They have to.
Nine
Before I'm able to nod off to sleep, Amber announces she's crashing in our room, claiming that all my nightmare-talk has wigged her out. I'm nervous at first. It's hard enough trying to hide my bedwetting from Drea, never mind Amber, who'll be sleeping on a futon wedged in between our beds. But sleeping isn't even an issue because as soon as her head skims the pillow, Amber starts snoring--chestheaving, wide-mouthed, nostril-flaring snores.
When the alarm clock vibrates beneath my pillow, alerting me that it's 5 A.M., I sit up, fish a sweatshirt from the growing pile of dirty clothes on the floor, yank it over my head, and head out to the laundry room to retrieve my stuff.
The campus is still asleep as I make my way over there, but the woods are not. I can hear birds chirping away from the tops of trees and the nests of bushes as the morning dew lifts itself from trunks and branches and stretches out into the morning air. It's almost peaceful, almost worth getting up so early on a school day after not having slept all night. Almost.
When I get to the washroom, I'm filled with this delicious sense of peace, of being one with nature. But then I swing the door open and everything changes. There's no laundry in sight.
I hurry across the speckled linoleum floor to the machine I used last night. I hold my breath and flip the lid open.
Empty.
I begin flinging open and slamming shut the lids of all the other washers and dryers, hoping that maybe someone merely moved my stuff. But it's nowhere.
Someone must have taken it.
I pick up the campus phone on the wall and call security, thinking that maybe someone turned my laundry in to lostand-found. No luck. They ask me if I want to make a formal complaint, but considering how that would sound, I politely decline. I'm hoping someone just made an innocent mistake and grabbed my laundry by accident. Hoping that whoever that is doesn't recognize the stuff as mine.
When I get back to the dorm, it's 5:30, and Drea and Amber are still asleep. I crawl back into bed and drag a pillow over my ear. But it isn't enough to block out Amber's snoring, and it isn't enough to muffle the blare of the phone.
"Hello?" I say, dragging the receiver up to my ear. Silence.
"Hel-lo?" I repeat.
Still nothing, so I hang up.
"Who was it?" Drea asks, rolling over in bed.
"Probably that freakazoid you've been talking to. Who the hell is he, Drea? And why is he so psycho?"
Amber lets out this pain-filled moan. She scooches up in bed, her orange pigtails sticking out like Pippi Longstocking. "What's all the drama?"
The phone rings again. Drea goes to answer it, but Amber intercepts. "Hello? Drea and Stacey's Love Shack."
I have never seen anyone wake up so fast. There's already a wide and cheeky smile stretched across her freckly cheeks. "Queue coincidence, monsieur," she says into the phone. "We were just talking about you last night." She winks overtly at the two of us. "Funny you should call at this early hour, though. Couldn't sleep? Something keeping you up?"
"Who is it?" I mouth.
"It's Chad." She
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