Free Fade by Lisa McMann

every study hall. Maybe she"ll try it with
    Cabel this weekend.
    10:06 p.m.
    Janie"s nearing the end of the last file. She rubs her temples as she reads.
    Her head aches. She grabs an Excedrin and a glass of water from the
    kitchen, and returns to her reading.
    She"s fascinated. Enthralled. Building up a list of questions for Miss
    Stubin and planning a dream visit soon.
    Finally she closes the last file and sets it aside. All that"s left are a few
    stray papers and a thin, green spiral notebook.
    Janie glances at the papers. They appear to be notes, scrawled in illegible handwriting that doesn"t stay between the lines. All the other
    files were typed. Janie"s glad she didn"t have to try to read them all like
    this. They must have been written late in Miss Stubin"s career, after she
    retired and lost her eyesight.
    Janie sets the papers aside and opens the spiral notebook. Reads the first line. It"s written in a controlled, sprawling hand—
    it"s
    infinitely more legible than the notes on the bed next to Janie. It looks
    like a book title.
    A Journey Into the Light
    by Martha Stubin
    There is a dedication below the title.
    This journal is dedicated to dream catchers. It"s written expressly for
    those who follow in my footsteps once I am gone. The information I have to share is made up of two things: delight and
    dread. If you do not want to know what waits for you, please close this
    journal now. Don"t turn the page.
    But if you have the stomach for it and the desire to fight against the
    worst of it, you may be better off knowing. Then again, it may haunt you
    for the rest of your life. Please consider this in all seriousness. What you
    are about to read contains much more dread than delight. I"m sorry to say I can"t make the decision for you. Nor can anyone else.
    You must do it alone. Please don"t put the responsibility on others"
    shoulders. It will ruin them.
    Whatever you decide, you are in for a long, hard ride. I bid you no regrets. Think about it. Have confidence in your decision, whatever you
    choose.
    Good luck, friend.
    Martha Stubin, Dream Catcher
    Janie feels her stomach churning.
    She slides the notebook off her lap.
    Closes it.
    Stares at the wall, barely able to breathe. Buries her head in her hands.
    ı
    And then.
    Slowly.
    She picks up the notebook.
    Puts it in the box.
    Stacks the files on top of it.
    And hides it deep in her closet.
    3:33 a.m.
    Janie’s falling at top speed. She looks down dizzily and Mr. Durbin is
    there, waiting for her to land. He’s laughing evilly, arms outstretched to
    catch her.
    Before he can grab her, Janie swoops sideways and is sucked into
    Center Street, pulled through the air to the park bench and deposited
    there. Mr. Durbin is gone.
    Next to the bench, in her wheelchair, sits Martha Stubin.
    “You have questions,” Miss Stubin barks.
    Janie tries to catch her breath, alarmed. She grips the bench’s armrest.
    “What’s going on?” she cries.
    Miss Stubin’s gaze is vacant. A blood tear drips from the corner of her
    eye and slides slowly down her wrinkled cheek. But all she says is,
    “Let’s talk about your assignment.”
    “But what about the green notebook?” Janie grows frantic.
    “There is no green notebook.”
    “But…Miss Stubin!”
    Miss Stubin turns her face toward Janie and cackles. Janie looks at the woman.
    And then.
    Miss Stubin transforms into Mr. Durbin. Slowly his face melts until all
    that remains is a hollow skull.
    ı
    Janie gasps.
    She breaks out into a cold sweat.
    And wakes up, sitting straight up in bed and screaming. ı
    Janie whips off her blankets and hops to her feet, turns on her light, and
    paces between the door and the bed, trying to calm down.
    “That wasn"t real,” Janie tries to convince herself. “That wasn"t Miss
    Stubin. It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. I didn"t try to go
    there.”
    But now she is afraid to go to sleep.
    Afraid to go back to Center Street again.
    January 27, 2006
    Janie"s mind is far away,