Free The Nightmarys by Dan Poblocki

it?”

    “You don’t like it?”
    “Well, I didn’t ask to live here.” Suddenly,
    she looked at him, her eyes wide. “Oh my God,
    I probably sound like such a lit le brat. I’m
    sorry.”
    “No, you don’t.”
    “My grandmother is real y lucky to have this
    place. And I’m real y lucky to be able to stay
    until … wel , for now. It’s just that at night … it
    can get a lit le … creepy.”
    “Creepy how?” said Timothy, suddenly
    noticing the many shadows in the numerous
    corners.
    “Here,” said Abigail, leading him into the
    dining room, changing the subject. “You can
    put your stu down. I’ve already got en started
    in the kitchen.”
    “Started with what?”
    She turned to look at him. With an
    embarrassed smile, she said, “You’l see.”
    Timothy dropped his coat and bag on a chair
    at the end of the dining table, then fol owed

    at the end of the dining table, then fol owed
    Abigail through a series of doors to a narrow,
    clut ered kitchen. The countertop was scat ered
    with a number of plastic bot les, and on the
    stove sat a smal cardboard box. On the cover, a
    woman smiled as she ran her hands through
    her black hair. The words COLOR ME WILD—
    RAVEN SILK leapt out in white text underneath
    the woman’s shapely chin.
    “You’re going to dye your hair black?”
    “Nope,” said Abigail, snatching the box from
    the stove-top and handing it to him. “You’re
    going to do it for me.”
    Hepzibah came around the corner from the
    direction of the dining room. She sat in the
    doorway and looked at him, as if prepared to
    watch the show.
    “You want me to dye your hair?” asked
    Timothy, appal ed.
    “You don’t need to be good.” She sighed and
    rol ed her eyes. “I just need an extra pair of
    hands to get the back, but the box only comes
    with one pair of gloves, so you might as wel

    with one pair of gloves, so you might as wel
    just do the whole thing. You don’t real y mind,
    do you?”
    Timothy thought about that. After everything
    that he’d been through that week, helping his
    new friend dye her hair shouldn’t be a big deal.
    His new friend? Was that what they were
    now?
    “Okay,” said Timothy softly.
    “Great.” Abigail reached into the open box
    and pul ed out a pair of plastic gloves. “See if
    these fit. I’l start mixing.”
    Hepzibah fol owed as they set themselves up
    at the long dining room table. Abigail spread
    out some old newspapers underneath their
    supplies, then sat in one of the high-backed
    chairs. Grabbing the plastic bot le, which
    Abigail had l ed with pungent-smel ing
    chemicals, Timothy squeezed a lavender-
    colored gel onto her head.
    “Ooh, it feels gross!” she said.
    “Sorry,” said Timothy.

    “Sorry,” said Timothy.
    He remembered the reason he’d come here:
    to talk to Abigail about her grandmother. But
    he stil didn’t know how to tel his story.
    “Why did you want to do this anyway?” he
    said instead.
    “I guess I just want to be someone else for a
    change. I’m cut ing it al of next.”
    “Real y? Al of it? Like a crew cut?”
    “Nah, sort of, like … ear length. I’ve got the
    scissors in the bathroom.” She glanced up at
    him. “Make sure you get it al even. Then just
    start combing it through.”
    Even through the gloves, the gel was squishy.
    “Is it just you and your grandmother here?” he
    asked.
    “No. I came with my mom from New Jersey
    when Gramma fel again last month. Mom
    thinks she’s get ing sick. I just think she’s
    get ing old and doesn’t want to admit it. She
    says to my mom, ‘If I’m sick, you’re sick.’”
    “Is your mother sick?”

    “Is your mother sick?”
    “Not in the conventional sense of the word.”
    Abigail suddenly burst out laughing. “My
    mother su ers from a disorder cal ed
    Freakazoidism.”
    Despite al the talk of il ness, or perhaps
    because of it, Timothy couldn’t hold back his
    own laughter. “So do my parents!” he said.
    “Yeah,” said Abigail. “My mom