Free Annie's Room by Amy Cross

the subject. “Has weird stuff been happening to you?”
    She dips the sponge in water again, before starting to clean my left arm. “I'd rather not talk about it,” she says eventually. “Nothing happened, it's just a bunch coincidences.”
    “Yeah, like my name being -” I catch myself just in time, remembering that Dad told me not to mention the Garrett family murder to Mom. I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of keeping things from her, but at the same time I know this probably isn't the right moment to bring up something so momentously creepy. “What kind of coincidences?” I ask.
    “Silly ones that don't mean anything.”
    “Like?”
    She sighs. “Like... Just doors...” She pauses, followed by another sigh. “It doesn't matter.”
    “Tell me,” I reply, seeing the hint of concern in her eyes. “I've heard a few odd bumps over the past few days, mostly downstairs.” I wait for her to say something. “I know you,” I continue. “I know when you're worried, and I heard you last night. That was more than a nightmare. People don't really wake up screaming in the night from a bad dream, not in the real world, not the way you screamed.”
    She pauses, and I can tell she's on the verge of opening up.
    “Please, Mom,” I continue. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
    “Don't tell your father I mentioned this,” she replies, lowering her voice, “but I just... I woke up in the middle of the night and for a moment I thought I saw someone standing next to the bed.” She sighs, as if she's embarrassed to admit such a thing but maybe also a little relieved. “It was only for a second, I was looking up and I saw this figure right there, just inches away from me, looking down and... It was such a clear image, even now I can see it perfectly, and I froze.”
    “So it was a dream, then,” I reply. “It must have been.”
    She stares at me, and I can tell she isn't convinced.
    “Dreams can be pretty convincing,” I point out. “Sometimes they can seem like they're really happening.”
    She nods.
    “But?” I continue. “What else happened, Mom?”
    “I could feel it,” she replies. “I can't even explain that part, but I could feel a presence, and I just stared up at the shape and I felt this real anger being directed toward me, as if... It was dripping, too. That's the craziest part, the figure was dripping, like its clothes were soaking wet, and then after your father had calmed me down, I went back and checked the floor next to the bed and...”
    I wait for her to continue.
    “And what?” I ask, even though I think I already know what she's going to say.
    She shakes her head.
    “Were there drips on the floor?”
    “Your father thinks there must have been a leak in the ceiling,” she replies cautiously.
    “Was it raining last night?” I ask.
    She shakes her head again.
    “And is there a hole in the ceiling?”
    “No.”
    “So -”
    “He thinks the drips caused me to have the dream,” she explains. “He's going to go up and check the ceiling properly, make sure it's fixed.” She pauses, as if she's reliving the moment, and then suddenly a relieved smile crosses her face, mixed with a little embarrassment. “It was just a night terror,” she says, as if she's trying to convince herself as much as me. “You see how easy it is to get spooked? I've been so busy warning you not to let your imagination go crazy, I forgot to keep from doing it myself.”
    “But if -”
    “I'll just grab some fresh water,” she adds, getting to her feet and heading to the door, “and then we can watch a movie, if you like? I feel so bad, thinking about you being up here alone and -” Stopping in the doorway, she looks out to the landing for a moment, almost as if she's nervous. She glances both ways, before forcing another smile and stepping out. “Everyone else is out,” she continues, clearly trying to hide the fact that she feels scared. “We'll sit in here together. I'll be back in a