Juniper Berry by M. P. Kozlowsky

caught in the plushness of her pillow, she was asleep. Or at least she appeared to be, for this was part of her plan. She could just barely see out of the tiniest of slits she had made of her eyelids, and what she waited to see were shadows in the hall, just outside her door, coming for her.
    She didn’t have to wait very long.
    With the rain pounding against the window, growing heavier by the minute, she watched the stretch of darkness reach her bedroom door. They were here.
    Juniper had formed the plan earlier that evening, shortly after Giles left. It was Kitty who sparked it. She was trembling before Juniper, whimpering uncontrollably, her sad eyes glassy. In rapid bursts, she scratched at Juniper’s legs, then took off down the hall.
    Curious, Juniper followed.
    A minute later, she found herself outside her father’s study. The door was open and the moaning from inside was audible. “Oooohhh. Oooohhh.” It sounded painful and caused Kitty to retreat, most likely beneath some blankets or sheets, where so many have fooled themselves into believing they are safe—it was okay, she had done her job.
    Stepping into the room, Juniper saw her father lying on the floor. He was on his back with his arms and legs stretched wide like a fallen star, staring at the ceiling. The moaning suddenly ceased and, quietly, eerily, he began to sing damaged, twisted notes that crawled from down his throat in a scratching grind and grew to a near shriek:
    I don’t know what’s right.
    There’s nothing in my head.
    Nothing in sight.
    There’s nothing in my head.
    Nothing but white.
    I am me, but I’m not me
    I’m not me, but I am me
    I am me, but I’m not me
    I’m not me, but I am me.
    Then, clutching his stomach, he went back to moaning in the voice that didn’t seem to be his own. “Oooohhh. Oooohhh.”
    â€œDad?”
    Sharply, Mr. Berry turned his head but appeared to look right through her. His eyes frightened Juniper and, heart pounding, she took a quick step back, ready to run.
    â€œYes, Juniper?” he said, and the words were distorted, her name battered into a guttural absurdity. To Juniper, it almost sounded like two different voices overlapping each other, his own and something else, something otherworldly. He swallowed and coughed, nearly gagging.
    â€œAre . . . are you okay?”
    â€œNo. No, I’m not,” he whispered, his voice slowly returning to him.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    â€œI’m lost. The character . . . he won’t come to me. Or he will and he won’t go. I don’t know anymore. The pieces don’t fit together.”
    Juniper couldn’t understand; her father had starred in dozens of movies, and he was so greatly admired, by none more than her. She glanced over at his shelves of awards—two Oscars, four Golden Globes, dozens of critics prizes. He never struggled like this. Never.
    â€œCan I help?”
    â€œNo. I’m afraid you can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?” she asked.
    He turned back to the ceiling, raised his arms, and pulled at his auburn hair. “Forget I even said anything. Go tell your mother I have to talk to her. Hurry. This can’t wait much longer.”
    Then, with his arms in the air, fingers tugging away at large clumps of hair, his sleeves fell to his elbows and she saw marks, red marks that sent her stomach plunging. “Dad? What’s that on your arms?”
    Mr. Berry quickly pulled his sleeves down and sat straight up, glaring at her with damaged, volcanic eyes. “I said go!” he screamed.
    Hurrying off, Juniper couldn’t help but think about Giles’s story of his parents. Something was wrong, and she needed to find out what. She clenched her fists. A plan would be needed.
    Juniper waited until her mother closed the study door, then began to search for the best spot to hear their voices. Once she found it, she placed the rim