Of Starlight by Dan Rix

we’d wrapped in dark matter, which had somehow vanished from its cage, had of course ended up in my bed.
    Megan probably left it here as a prank.
    Teeth gritted, I felt around my backpack for my phone, not wanting to take my eyes off the mattress. A tiny dent appeared next to my pillow. The damn thing probably would have crawled down my throat if I hadn’t woken up.
    Where the hell was my phone?
    I patted my backpack and dipped my hands into the pocket, but came up short. I tore my eyes off the bed for a split-second to look for it, then remembered it was still invisible.
    Forget it.
    I noted the snake’s last location—my pillow—and sprinted into the kitchen to grab the cordless.
    It was four a.m.
    Surprisingly, Megan answered after the second ring. “Hello?”
    “Come get your stupid snake,” I snarled.
    “What?”
    “Your snake . . . your invisible fucking snake.”
    Silence. “You found Salamander?”
    “Uh-huh. In my bed . Now come get it before it eats me!”
    “Okay, chill. I’m coming over.”
    I slammed the phone down on its holder. It’s in my room . I had to go back there. I had to go back there and watch to make sure it didn’t get away, otherwise I’d never be able to sleep in my room again.
    An invisible snake . . .
    I’d have to beg my parents to move.
    I journeyed back to my bedroom, pausing in the foyer to leave the house unlocked for Megan. Then I crept up the hallway, took a deep breath outside my room, and pushed the door open a crack. When the snake didn’t hiss and jump out at me, I pushed it in a little further and stepped inside, and my pulse took a fearful leap.
    It didn’t attack.
    Nothing moved on the bed. Or anywhere.
    I licked my lips, and a chill slid down my spine.
    Where was it?
    My eyes darted around the room, alert for movement. My parents had finally helped me repaint the walls yellow—supposedly yellow made people happy—and we’d brought in a big rug from the living room to cover the exposed floorboards. At least until they got new carpet installed. My clothes slumped in stacks next to the closet. My mattress still lay on the floor, covers dragging on the ground.
    That must have been how the snake got up.
    Now where was it? My breath pinched off in panic.
    There! In my periphery. On the rug, closest to the bed, the loose threads began to flatten. It was moving across the rug, making a beeline toward my clothes.
    Oh, hell no.
    I sprinted into my mom’s office and rummaged around the desk for masking tape, spilling a neat stack of paper onto the floor. I found it and dashed back to my bedroom, and it took a few nerve-wracking seconds to locate the moving area of squashed threads. Still on the rug.
    With sweaty fingers, I yanked off a piece of masking tape, lunged forward, and hurled it onto the snake. The tape fluttered to the floor and stuck to the carpet fibers, nowhere near its path. I ripped off another piece and threw it. Another miss. Growing desperate, I unrolled a yard-long piece and let it fall. It folded and stuck to itself, useless. The snake slithered right under it and cleared the edge of the rug.
    Where I couldn’t follow it.
    A better idea.
    I yanked the sheet off my bed and tossed it over my clothes, stretching the front edge so it lay flat. Then I waited, hardly breathing.
    The sheet nudged a little. Then one by one, the rumples began to depress. Got ya . I sprang forward and yanked up the edge of the sheet, and the snake’s weight tumbled into the middle. I gathered all the corners and pulled them into a bundle, trapping the snake inside. Holding the fabric in my fist, I wrapped scotch tape around the neck, dragging it around and around until the last strip tore off the cardboard roll. A whole roll wasn’t enough.
    I could feel the snake twisting, searching for an escape. For a moment, its hideous serpentine body pressed against the fabric, brushing my bare thigh. I flinched and dropped the bundle and backed away, panting. My hair clung to