Skeleton Man by Joseph Bruchac Page A

go over it upright or on my stomach with my legs wrapped around it. I don’t walk across, I run!Maybe it is foolish to turn around to look, but when I do I see I was almost too slow. Skeleton Man is there, standing on the other bank, one bony foot already on the log. He holds out his arm and points at me.
    â€œMy niece,” he whispers, “I am coming for you.”
    The rabbit nudges my leg with its paw.
    â€œDon’t run now,” the rabbit says. “Wait.”
    Skeleton Man is coming across the log now, taking one step at a time, his eyes boring into mine. I feel as if I’m being hypnotized, but I can’t let that happen. I know what I have to do. Another step and I still wait, another step, another, and now he is in the middle. I tear my eyes away from him, go down onto one knee, and push the end of the log as hard as I can.
    â€œNoooo!” Skeleton Man howls.
    But he is too late. The end of the log slips off the bank into the water, twists as the current catches it, and then goes tumbling over the falls, carrying Skeleton Man with it toward the sharp rocks below.
    Â 
    I open my eyes before he hits the bottom. It was all a dream, the whole thing. I’m safe in my bed and it’s morning, and I feel great. I cansee a crack of light coming in through the closed curtains. I jump out of bed and throw open the curtain, certain that I’ll see my mom’s autumn flower bed with its birdbaths and feeders, my old swing set, and the little willow tree Dad and I planted.
    But the morning sunlight doesn’t show me that at all. My heart sinks again as I see below me a dreary backyard where nothing wants to grow and the tall, bent-shouldered shape of my uncle walking toward his toolshed. I step back from the window before he can catch a glimpse of me and I sit down on the floor. Nothing has changed.
    I get up and go into the small bathroom. I try not to even think about the possibility of another camera being in there, but just in case, I keep a big towel wrapped around me as I wash up and get dressed.

13
Tomorrow
    A S I WALK into Ms. Shabbas’s classroom, she gives me a very big smile and mouths the words, “We’ll talk later.”
    I nod to her and smile. The door to my room was unlocked this morning after all, just like every other morning. Breakfast was waiting for me on the table. A blue bowl with cornflakes in it, a glass of milk, and a smaller glass of orange juice—all so neatly laid out that it looked like something in one of those old situation comedies about happy families that they rerun on cable. Except no mother and father. My so-called uncle was nowhere to be seen. I sat down just like anormal kid. Then I looked around furtively in every direction and shoved all of the food into my backpack.
    And now I’m safe in school. Everything is like it always is here. The only thing different is the workmen. They’re sloppy, leaving their tools all over the place. And here I am in my own classroom, a place so safe-feeling that it is unreal to me. I look around, blinking my eyes to make sure I’m not imagining it.
    Will Ms. Shabbas believe me when I tell her about my seeing those television monitors? Or about the camera I think may be hidden in my light fixture? Will that make me sound ultra-paranoid or what? I know she’s on my side and I want to tell her. But then I also know what the rabbit told me in my dream about my parents being buried and that I have to save them. If I tell Ms. Shabbas about the cameras, she’ll take me away and then I won’t be able to save them. Somehow I feel that I have to do it by myself.
    Today Ms. Shabbas doesn’t forget to sing. It’s that song about Annie that I sang myself to sleep with. “Tomorrow.” She looks right at me as she sings about how it is going to be better on the day after this one. I know she is telling me that she is still on my side, that I have to buck up,keep a stiff upper