it up, take it to my room, and maneuver it into the closet, figuring I can return it to the garage tonight, after they’re asleep.
Both the stain on the floor and the blood dripping from the ceiling have disappeared.
I have no idea what all of this means or what it might have to do with the bo y in the roa d—i f an yt hin g—b ut in a certain sense, the two blurs are complete opposites of each other.
In the first, I was trying to save that boy.
In this one, my blur was trying to attack me—and who knows what would have happened if it’d been able to get to me.
When I return my headlamp to the closet, I see my hunting knife beside my camping gear and remember the time I woke up from sleepwalking last December in my dad’s bedroom holding it, staring down at him.
You’re losing it.
“Daniel?” It’s Dad. “You up there?”
“Yeah,” I call down the steps.
“Can you come here for a minute?”
“Sure, just a sec.”
I don’t like the idea of that knife waiting in here when I go to sleep tonight. I’m not sure where to put it, except for ma yb e stowing it in the garage later when I put the ladder awa y.
For now, I leave it in its sheath, close the closet door, and head downstairs.
Because of their argument when they first walked in, I’m a little apprehensive about what they might want to talk to me about, but when I get to the living room Dad just asks how I’m doing.
“Good. I’m good.”
“You look pale,” Mom says, reading me a little too well. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yep.” Before she can probe, I change the subject. “So, do you know when we might be having supper? I’m starved.”
She doesn’t answer right away. “Give me a half hour or so.”
While she gets started in the kitchen, Dad heads out to work on one of his carpentry projects in the garage. I go back to my room.
I feel like I need to talk to someone about what just happened in the attic, but I figure that bringing it up with either of them might kill off my chances of going to Georgia.
After considering Nicole, but deciding that I don’t want her to worry about me, I text Kyle to give me a call when he has a chance. Only a few minutes later, he does and I tell him, “I saw something again. Another blur.”
“Of what?”
“Myself, actually. But I was dead. Then I came to life.”
“Okay. So, that would be a ten on the creep-o-meter. Let me psychobluralize you. What scared you the most?”
“What do you mean?”
“Seeing yourself dead, seeing yourself come alive, or worrying about where things might go from here?”
“I guess I’m afraid the thread will snap for good.”
“The thread?”
“The one that’s right in front of me. The one that holds things together.”
A pause. “The one that keeps you sane?”
“Yeah.”
“So basically, you’re scared that you’ll go completely crazy with no chance of turning back—that you’re on a road that leads off a cliff and there’s no exit ramp.”
“Thanks for putting it like that.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I guess if I’m going to head off a cliff, I wish it would just happen. It’d be a lot less terrifying.”
“Than what?”
“Than realizing that’s where I’m heading, but that I can’t stop.”
“Have you figured out a way yet to tell your blurs from what’s real?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Try filming things next time with your phone. Maybe see if, when you watch it on the screen, it’s still there.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“You cool?”
I’m not sure .
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m cool.”
“In the meantime, don’t drive off the cliff. I mean, metaphorically speaking.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Later on, when my parents are in bed, I sneak the ladder and my hunting knife down to the garage. On the way back to my room, I overhear them talking in hushed voices in the master bedroom.
“So, you’re fine with him going down there to this camp?” Mom says.
“This
Both the stain on the floor and the blood dripping from the ceiling have disappeared.
I have no idea what all of this means or what it might have to do with the bo y in the roa d—i f an yt hin g—b ut in a certain sense, the two blurs are complete opposites of each other.
In the first, I was trying to save that boy.
In this one, my blur was trying to attack me—and who knows what would have happened if it’d been able to get to me.
When I return my headlamp to the closet, I see my hunting knife beside my camping gear and remember the time I woke up from sleepwalking last December in my dad’s bedroom holding it, staring down at him.
You’re losing it.
“Daniel?” It’s Dad. “You up there?”
“Yeah,” I call down the steps.
“Can you come here for a minute?”
“Sure, just a sec.”
I don’t like the idea of that knife waiting in here when I go to sleep tonight. I’m not sure where to put it, except for ma yb e stowing it in the garage later when I put the ladder awa y.
For now, I leave it in its sheath, close the closet door, and head downstairs.
Because of their argument when they first walked in, I’m a little apprehensive about what they might want to talk to me about, but when I get to the living room Dad just asks how I’m doing.
“Good. I’m good.”
“You look pale,” Mom says, reading me a little too well. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yep.” Before she can probe, I change the subject. “So, do you know when we might be having supper? I’m starved.”
She doesn’t answer right away. “Give me a half hour or so.”
While she gets started in the kitchen, Dad heads out to work on one of his carpentry projects in the garage. I go back to my room.
I feel like I need to talk to someone about what just happened in the attic, but I figure that bringing it up with either of them might kill off my chances of going to Georgia.
After considering Nicole, but deciding that I don’t want her to worry about me, I text Kyle to give me a call when he has a chance. Only a few minutes later, he does and I tell him, “I saw something again. Another blur.”
“Of what?”
“Myself, actually. But I was dead. Then I came to life.”
“Okay. So, that would be a ten on the creep-o-meter. Let me psychobluralize you. What scared you the most?”
“What do you mean?”
“Seeing yourself dead, seeing yourself come alive, or worrying about where things might go from here?”
“I guess I’m afraid the thread will snap for good.”
“The thread?”
“The one that’s right in front of me. The one that holds things together.”
A pause. “The one that keeps you sane?”
“Yeah.”
“So basically, you’re scared that you’ll go completely crazy with no chance of turning back—that you’re on a road that leads off a cliff and there’s no exit ramp.”
“Thanks for putting it like that.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I guess if I’m going to head off a cliff, I wish it would just happen. It’d be a lot less terrifying.”
“Than what?”
“Than realizing that’s where I’m heading, but that I can’t stop.”
“Have you figured out a way yet to tell your blurs from what’s real?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Try filming things next time with your phone. Maybe see if, when you watch it on the screen, it’s still there.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“You cool?”
I’m not sure .
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m cool.”
“In the meantime, don’t drive off the cliff. I mean, metaphorically speaking.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Later on, when my parents are in bed, I sneak the ladder and my hunting knife down to the garage. On the way back to my room, I overhear them talking in hushed voices in the master bedroom.
“So, you’re fine with him going down there to this camp?” Mom says.
“This
Similar Books
